“You might begin to feel I’m further away during the tournament.” I hear a warning from Madame Vera, a memory somewhere behind Taron’s eyes. “But you’re still mine, dear boy, and I still control you. Never forget that.”
The vision shatters like glass, scattering into fragments that dissolve as reality comes rushing back.
I gasp for air, scrambling back, my hands digging into the damp earth of the riverbank. My chest heaves violently, and my mind is reeling.
His soul. Madame Vera has his soul.
I understand now. What he meant that night in the tavern. Taron isn’t free. He’s not even his own person – trapped, manipulated, a puppet dancing on invisible strings.
The violence I had seen in my earlier visions … that flash of cruel strength he wielded over that bloodied man … it wasn’t him. None of it was ever him.
He’s been held captive this whole time, in the worst way imaginable. Madame Vera’s been holding his soul, moulding it to her every desire.
I force myself to look at Taron. He’s sitting up in the dirt, disorientated, his brow furrowed in confusion.
“What’s going on?” he asks, rubbing the back of his head. “That thing … the shadow … when it spoke to me, it felt like…” His sentence trails off, gaze distant as though grasping at something just out of reach.
I search his face. I think I know what he means. The shadow’s grip, the way it pulled at Taron, like shackles clamping tighter around his being, was no different than Madame Vera’s control. I want to tell him that I understand. That he’s no longer alone in this. But I swallow my words, eyes flicking to the muddy riverbank beside me.
I can’t tell him. Not yet.
“What’s the matter?” Taron asks.
A weary smile forces itself around the corners of my mouth. It feels like a lie even to my own lips. “I was … scared. They almost had you.”
The space between us is momentarily filled with nothing but the sound of our collective breathing. The jungle is quiet now, eerily so. The dark energy has dissipated, leaving only the steady pulse of the river beside us.
But even in the stillness there’s something raw, a shared vulnerability. I suppose it binds us in a way that words can never.
“I’m sorry,” Taron says. “For scaring you.”
“It’s OK.”
Taron scrapes himself to his feet. He extends a hand to lift me from the ground. As I rise, I stumble against him.
I’m surprised at how perfectly my forehead fits into the gap beneath his chin; how oddly comforted I feel when I smell him, a warm, earthy aroma fused with the remnants of something bergamot. It’s the same scent I’d caught in the tavern as he was tying my banquet gown. Only it wasn’t as intoxicating then.
It didn’t wrap around me like a pair of strong arms, pulling me deeper into the moment.
“How’s your bruise?” I ask.
“Better. The healing tonic is doing its job.”
“Good. I’m glad.” My hand meets Taron’s firm chest.Two bodies pressed together against wet tiles. His hand on my chest. Heat rising between us like steam.
I shake my head and peel away from him.
A look over my shoulder shows Mei’s Soul Wraith melting into the shadows. She’s still watching. Still wants him.Even in death, I think as I crouch by the river.
Cold water sloshes against my palms as I dip them in the stream. It does nothing to quell the fire simmering beneath my skin. I splash my face, hoping to douse the warmth blooming in my neck. I refuse to acknowledge it. It shouldn’t be this difficult to keep my distance. I thought I had more control over my emotions than this.
A rush of sound, something crashing through the water, jolts me. I whip my head upstream, my heart lurching as a colossal wave, a ball of water shaped like a rolling boulder, barrels towards me. It’s monstrous, relentless, roaring in its approach.
“Watch out!” Taron shouts, but it’s too late.
Chapter Thirty
The water slams into me with crushing force, sending me sprawling. My body hits the rocks beneath the surface, and it’s like I’m being dragged along a washing board, the jagged edges cutting into my skin. I’m pulled under, and the river wraps around me. It chokes me, drowns me. I claw at the current, disorientated, but it’s relentless, holding me under until I’m nothing but a rag doll in its grasp.
