It ate the only piece of my father I had.
That bastard.
I reach to attack, thinking death by horn may be the only future that awaits me—and that it’s still worth it. But a whistle captures the creatures’ attention. Their heads snap back and freeze. Their claws extend, growing longer than fingers. They latch onto the steep walls of the pit and climb despite the soft earth, as though simply walking up stairs, not a ten-foot wall. The last creature climbs out.
And I’m in. And so far down. The cold earth chills me. So this is my end? I die a slow, cold death of dehydration in a pit. My essence is taken from me. Then I rot.
I. Think. Not.
“Fill it up,” Zandrite yells.
I wait for air to reach my chest again before I can scream. “Furry fucker!”
Moist dirt showers my head, muddy chunks landing at my sides. Only the tunnel runners’ legs and sharp claws are visible from this angle, kicking the piles into the pit. I scoop the dirt against the wall, smacking it to pack it flat and create steps out, but it’s too damn soft. My arm pushes in past my elbow. The more I exhaust my options of getting out, the faster it fills. I try to keep ahead of it, stomping the dirt to stay at ground level.
I can’t think beyond that. I’m weak, bombarded with urges. It’s too much, too fast, as if the ground dropped into itself and took me with it. Cool dirt surrounds me, trapping my legs. Then my waist. My chest and arms. I’m swallowed up.
But I’d rather reach for pathetic hope than let him be responsible for my death. I will fight until the end.
And as if it were as natural as death to me, I search for roots, for connections, for life, for magic. I put every breath and beat of my heart into it. But I sense nothing. I’m alone in the damp, dark earth. I wrap my arms around the top of my head, blocking my face and creating a pocket of air as the dirt piles in around me. The dim light is snuffed out. And my courage dwindles as fast as my confidence.
I work the chain in my hand, pulling the stone closer with one tug at a time as I face the truth. I wanted my necklace with me in case I didn’t make it—not because I’ve always had it, but because I don’t want to die alone. Which means,maybe,some part of me believes that gods are real. That Ametrine is real. That I carry her with me everywhere. And always have. I grip the stone tight, my heart screaming for help.
Took you long enough.
I snort into the darkness, the dirt around me falling away inside my head, the symptoms and urges of linking dampened.How do you manage to make me feel better with four words?
I do know you better than anyone.
The stone heats in my palm.Are you real? I’m not crazy?
Ever, I’m real. I’ve been with you from the start. I can’t see the world around me, but I feel all the emotions. I couldn’t communicate with you because Centress Oreyla had the other half of my stone, but I promise, you’ve never been alone.
Never has my heart shrunk so small and grown so much at once, feeling exposed and cared for—and not knowing what to do with either.You could really feel what I felt? All my life?
Every death. Every rejection. Every fear. The destruction of your trust and hope in people and the world. In yourself. I was there for it all, unable to let you know.
I make two tight fists, one over my pocket that held my father’s eyeball for those short minutes—the closest I’ve ever been to him—the other holding the creator of the world inside it. Believing and insanity are the same, it seems… I only had one choice all along. Ametrine owes me nothing, but somehow, my sunken soul falls into her hands.I wasn’t okay.
I know. The plan was for my stone to be whole. Then I could have guided you through everything, told you who you were from the start, who you’d become and what I need from you. I’m so sorry.
Her remorse is surreal, making unused corners of my heart itch. But I have to understand.Where did my essence come from?
The arrival of a new demigod in the Mortal Realm—your birth—broke the rules of nature I had set and cracked my death stone in half. That was the plan, though, to give away the last of the essence I held. I had no way to use it. And the stone was already weak. A fracture had formed from—she pauses then picks up on the next thought without explanation. Just like I’m talking to you, I spoke with Malachite,your father and my true love.I sent him to the Mortal Realm with my stone. It had to be present when you were born so the essence would enter yourbody. I made him pick a mother for you and pretend to love her until you were born, but his taste in mortals is atrocious.
I dismiss her story. Or try to. How can I believe that the creator of the world sent my father to the Mortal Realm to choose a woman to bed, only to have me. To have somewhere to put her essence? That’s not real life. But I hold on to the idea anyway, my heart clutching the possibility that I wasn’t alone all those years.You couldn’t have been there for everything.
I was,she says.For every foster parent, for Reggie Junior, for every map left unfinished. I felt everything—your emotions and those of everyone around you.
Then you knew Cam was lying to me.It’s a cold accusation.Every time she left me at another foster home, it was a lie. She knew where I belonged.
Ever.Warning laces her tone. It only makes my thoughts come faster.
You didn’t stop her. You let her keep me from home, from my people and magic? From my fucked-up mother? You let me trust her.
Ever, listen.
No. Too late.How come you let all this happen?It doesn’t matter that she had no control over any of it—she orchestrated my existence.
