“It’s a long story,” I start, “but the short of it is that Zeph told me to leave…and never come back.”
Ryn’s eyes widen with surprise, and his gray gaze bounces back and forth between my resigned lavender stare. He can see the truth there, and he shakes his head in disbelief.
“I’m going to kill him,” Ryn declares, and he steps away from me and runs his fingers through his light brown hair in frustration. “Why the rut would he do that?” he asks me, suddenly pacing around the cell like some caged beast.
A distant clanging interrupts my response, and he freezes. We both listen, although I have no idea what I’m listening for. Ryn steps back into my personal bubble and cups both of my cheeks.
“I have to go, Falon. When the guard comes back, he’ll check on you, and then you’ll be called up to answer to the Syta. You can’t tell them anything about me or the time you spent with the Hidden. If you do, we’ll both be tortured and killed.”
His warning and his gaze burn white hot through me.
“I wasn’t planning on doing that even before you landed on the beach and fucked me up,” I growl quietly. “I’ll stick with theI don’t know how I got herestory,” I pause and realize there’s just one big problem with that plan. “Ryn, do they have anyone like Ami here? Anyone who can see that I’m full of shit?” I ask, a new wave of worry coursing through me.
“They do, but the seer that will be in there today will cover for you,” he answers simply, like it’s just that easy.
A soft bird-like whistle floats in from the hallway, and Ryn’s head snaps in the direction of the metal door.
“I have to go, but don’t worry. You’ve intrigued the Altern of the Avowed, and you’ll be fine. Just stick to the story, and I’ll get you out of here soon, okay?”
Ryn doesn’t wait for me to respond. His lips crash down on mine, sealing his promise, and I can’t help the moan that his mouth coaxes from mine.
Why do all the assholes here have to be such good fucking kissers?
He pulls away and slips soundlessly out of the door. I internally facepalm.
That was unlocked this whole time? What the fuck?
I reach for the handle and give it a yank. Screw waiting for Ryn to get me out of here, maybe I can be my own knight in Narwagh armor. Of course the fucking door doesn’t budge now. I release it, defeated, and then huff out a long irritated sigh.
Footsteps sound off in the distance, and I sit back down on the stone bed shelf and wait. I reach inside of myself to try and check on Pigeon, but there’s no indication that there’s anyone else inside this body other than me. I search harder for her presence.Could the fall have hurt her permanently?Is that even possible? I know that Pigeon and I are separate in ways that the other gryphons aren’t, but I have no idea what exactly that means for us. Can she die while I still remain? Can the opposite happen?
I just barely touch on what feels like a deeply wounded consciousness when the clanging of metal pulls me from my thoughts and internal efforts. I look up to see a small metal panel pull back on the door. Dark eyes peer in at me, and I can see surprise register in them for a split second before the panel is quickly closed and heavy footfall leads away from my cell.
I swing my feet, not liking the heavy feel of the metal that’s linked around my ankles, and study the walls of my cage. I don’t know what I expect to find—claw marks, rats, some kind of tally situation—but the walls are dark and bare, and the cell clean and cold. I’m not sure how long I wait, but the sound of marching fills my ears, and my adrenaline kicks in and hikes my anxiety up to a whole new unhelpful level.
The rhythmic sound of heavy footfall is ominous. I swear it sounds more like the boom of war drums signaling my impending death. I try to control my breathing and to keep from panicking, but I’m not doing so well. I curl up in the corner of the stone bed shelf and try to make myself as little as possible. I hate that I feel this way again, helpless, out of control, scared, but no matter what I do, I just keep finding myself here.
Sutton’s voice fills my mind, and I try to focus on the things he taught me. I tell myself to focus on what Icancontrol, to be smart about this. I give myself a little pep talk to try and stem the anxiety, but it’s only half working. The door to my cell flies open, and I jump and whimper at the sudden booming sound.
I really need to stop being so fucking jumpy all of the time, it’s not helping my rep.
Large armored guards file into the small space, and suddenly I don’t want to feel as small as possible; I want to be as big as Zeph and rip them all apart.
“You have been called to appear before the Syta. Rise, and you will be escorted there in peace. Refuse, and...well, you will be taken there anyway,” a guard informs me.
I snort, unable to help it. The dude really needs to work on the climax of his delivery. I unfold myself on the bench bed and stand up. The guard gives me an approving nod and kneels to remove the shackles from my feet. He tuts when he sees the abrasions on my ankles. I don’t say anything. I’m pretty sure I did that to myself when I went for Ryn, but if he wants to feel bad for me, I’m perfectly fine with that. He can get in line right behind me, and we’ll drink wine and throw an epic pity party.
“Follow me,” he instructs, his tone softer, and then he moves out of the cell.
I’m instantly surrounded by big beefy guards and escorted down a hallway. The dungeon looks like it’s torch lit, but when I get close, I can see that what I thought was fire is just a strange moving light. Whatever it is, the flickering of the non-flames still causes the shadows to play tricks on my eyes.
It’s surprisingly quiet down here. There’s no tortured screams or begging from other prisoners for help. I don’t even spot another person. It’s like I have my own private wing of the dungeon. There’s no moaning or groaning like I’d expect. There’s just the sound of the guards’ heavy boots on the stone floor as we wind our way through the eerie quiet.
Eventually a staircase appears, and I’m led up several flights. I’m starting to seriously rethink my need for cardio when we stop climbing and instead branch off down a wide hallway. We stop at a gargantuan heavy-looking door, and the lead guard proceeds to do some kind of secret knock. The metal squeals in protest as it opens, and I’m ripped from the dimly lit dungeon and forced into the light.
I shrink back, blinded by the overwhelming and painful brightness. I try to stop and shield my eyes, but the guards push me to keep moving. I blink rapidly in an effort to adjust, but my eyes well up from the illuminated assault.
“Keep walking,” a guard demands, like his shoving me around isn’t enough and he feels the need to add useless narration.
