The few torches that still burn inside the hallway sizzle as new cracks appear and more drips come through.
When another hard bang shakes the obsidian castle, lengthening the crack in the hallway’s ceiling, Justus mumbles a prayer under his breath.
“I didn’t take you for a devout man,” I murmur.
“I very much believe in the Cauldron. But I’m not currently praying; I’m listing all my favorite moments on this earth in case I expire.”
I roll my eyes. “You’re a pureling. A water-one to boot. A little swim in the ocean won’t hurt you.”
“It’s not the ocean I fear; it’s your mate since he undoubtedly assumes I lured you back inside.”
“I’ll set him—” The wordstraightflies right out from my mind when his gorgeous—and extraordinarily angry—voice erupts between my temples.
We cracked the ceiling, Lore!
I pray my mate’s silence comes from observing the ocean churn as the prison sucks Mareluce into its black belly.
The ocean, Lore.Fly to the ocean. I’m coming.
He still doesn’t reply.
A breathy gasp slips from my lips when something wet sprinkles my forehead. I frown until I notice moisture beading along a crack in the chamber ceiling.
“Draw gills across your throat with blood.” Justus’s voice echoes against the black walls. “It will help you breathe.”
“Won’t the water wash away my spell?” I call back.
“No. The blood will penetrate into your skin and keep you breathing for a while.”
Repetitive thuds bang against the collapsing ceiling as though the serpents were hurtling gondolas at it.
“How long are we talking?” I ask as I baste my fingertips in blood.
“Long enough to reach the surface with oxygen to spare; not long enough to swim to Shabbe.”
“That really narrows it down.”
With a sigh, he says, “It depends on the witch’s blood. Since you’re of Meriam’s line, I suspect yourwhilewill be quite long.”
I drag my fingers down either side of my neck. When my skin prickles, a potent thrill shoots through me.
“Antoni, get in the room!” Justus beckons him into the filling bedchamber.
Antoni doesn’t move, transfixed by the swelling dribble that plops onto his upturned face.
I yell his name to snap him out of his daze. He’s a half-blood, and halflings cannot survive buried beneath rubble at the bottom of the ocean.
He still doesn’t move. Does he have a death wish?
“Antoni, come on!”
When another groan rolls through the stone surrounding us, I catch ahold of that gilded monstrosity of a bedframe that clashes with the bare, carceral feel of Costa’s home but matches the framed portrait of him to perfection.
“Get on the bed and draw the portal sigil, Fallon!” Justus is already astride the enormous mattress, one hand held out to help me up. “Quick!”
I clasp his fingers and vault onto the squishy mattress, then raise my hand to the ceiling just as a spiderweb crack appears.
“Paint faster!” Justus mutters.
