“How long has this rebellion been going on?”
“Since the Cormacs invaded.” His voice was flat. Tired. “The queen’s father was a cruel man. His daughter’s not much better. We’re lucky to have found the Nowhere Grotto, but others haven’t been so fortunate.”
A pit formed in my stomach. How many people had suffered under their rule? How many had died?
“Do you think you’ll ever be able to overthrow the queen?”
“I honestly don’t know.” His silver eyes met mine—distant, like he was reliving every nightmare this realm had given him. “But nothing would ever make me serve her. I’d rather be dead.”
The quiet determination in his voice chilled me. He meant it. Every word.
I uncapped the ointment and spread some gently across his wound. He swore softly under his breath.
“Sorry,” I murmured.
“Don’t be.” He exhaled slowly. “Pain means I’m still alive.”
That was so cold. So hopeless. My chest ached for him—for the man who'd learned to measure his survival by how much he hurt.
I carefully wound the bandages around him, trying not to cause more pain. He didn’t curse or groan or hiss.
I tied off the bandage as quickly as I could. Done. I should leave now—let him rest, put some distance between us before I did something I couldn't take back. But my hands lingered on his skin, reluctant to pull away.
“Maybe you should rest a little more.”
“Maybe just a little.” His voice was already fading.
He lay back and closed his eyes. Within seconds, his soft snores filled the quiet.
I watched him sleep for a moment—the rise and fall of his chest, the way his face relaxed, the dark hair falling across his forehead.
He looked almost peaceful. Almost safe.
I pulled a blanket over him and turned away before I could do something foolish. Like kiss him again.
I looked at the bin. Those definitely needed to be washed. I thought about using my magic, but the last time I did, I flooded the laundry room. Suds and water everywhere. Tinker Bell hadn't let me forget it for months. No—better to do this the old-fashioned way.
I left Darius sleeping and hunted for more bins, finding two empty ones in the corner of the cavern. I hauled them over and filled each one with water from the falls—one for washing, one for rinsing. The waterfall was their drinking supply and soapy water would ruin it.
I emptied some Brillig Buggles into the washing bin. The sheets were soaked with blood, so I added an extra splash for good measure. Hopefully that wouldn't backfire.
White suds erupted from the water, frothing and swirling, rising toward the ceiling in lazy spirals. And then—singing. Tiny, high-pitched voices drifting up from the bubbles.
Scrub, scrub, rub-a-dub!
Dirt and grime into the tub!
Stains away, stains away!
Brillig Buggles save the day!
I stared. The bubbles were singing. Of course they were. Because nothing in the Elder Dimension could just be normal.
Some of the bubbles popped against my nose, leaving behind the scent of sunshine and fresh linen. Others drifted past my ears, giggling as they floated away.
I shook my head and got to work.
I found some rope near Grump’s bunk—hopefully he wouldn’t mind—and strung it between a coat hook and a table leg. Not elegant, but it would hold.
