That he would loop bands of burning, golden compliance about my throat and douse the flames from my heart once and for all.
But he nodded.
Pulling out, he rolled to the side. A terse, “Don’t be long,” chased by a nod, he looked away. Occupied by arranging dark sheets stained by what we’d done, giving me the illusion of privacy so I might grieve in peace.
Legs almost boneless, I fled without glancing back. Staggering through the door to the en suite bathroom, my cheeks burning with the fall of salty anguish. With the heartbreak tearing me to pieces.
Separate but not alone, I stood in the quiet found behind a closed door. Dragging great, heaving breaths between clenched and pointed teeth. Trembling in the cold, dim light. My silks hanging from my frame at odd angles, no longer doing a thing to conceal my nudity, I was bare.
Dripping.
Frozen.
Unable to twist my neck and glance at the box I’d given everything I had left to protect. One last secret.
The only thing that stood between me and oblivion, if there was even half a hope at all.
My knees wobbled before they buckled. Kissing the tiles in a dull thump, I caught myself with sweaty palms. Gasping, tears racing down the length of my nose. Unable to give a name to the feeling pouring from the wounds shredding my chest to garish ribbons.
Trapped.
I was caught in a box with no window and no escape. Forced to trust my enemies, or lay down and accept my doom.
Knuckles going white and bloodless, I clenched my fists. Dragged a whistling breath through my nose, and crawled into the shower stall on hands and knees. Bruised, soiled, my hips swaying as I fought for each pathetic inch until I was curled in the darkest corner of the shower stall with a harmless, unremarkable box clutched to my chest.
Tarnished silver buckles gleamed in the gloom. Mocking me.
I flicked the latch with my left hand, and with the right, flipped the lid on hinges that squeaked a tiny protest.
A black velvet bag, cinched tight. Too small to be a weapon, too light to be anything I might use to free myself.
I set the box aside, fingers clumsy and shaking. Pulling on the strings as if watching from outside myself.
Four golden, mismatched rings tumbled into my palm.
A set I recognized.
Rings that were a perfect match to those that were sunk into my flesh—a complete set of unused, Tritan chains.
The very set that General Harper Tilcot had tried to use to steal me from the captain, before he’d fallen into his own trap.
Nausea splashed at the back of my throat, and I choked on acid, swallowing a scream of violent frustration and bile. That Sasha would give them to me, that she would use her last moments to have them delivered tomeand not Carly—to not use them herself.
A huff of laughter bubbled up from the bottom of my gut. Quiet, teetering toward madness, for her plan wasn’t the brilliant musings of a tragic genius.
Neither a savior swooping in at the last possible moment, nor a vehicle of untold carnage and destruction.
I’ve had something delivered to the captain’s rooms… Something I think you’ll know isn’t the answer for the rest.
And I did.
Know.
Because it was the last weapon we had left.
The chance to take something corrupt and make it new. To force new life into a barren tomb and rewrite the laws of nature so they might suit the downtrodden. The enslaved.
My fingers curled around the soft gleam of gold, and I let my head thump back. Striking tile, I pulled a steadying breath between my lips…
