The fabled ruins must be close. It must be… responding to the magic in my veins in some way. This isexactlythe proof I was hoping for. But I can’t celebrate or bring myself to tell the others.
It looks exactly as Zephyra described it.
Her story racks through me, harder than when she first shared it. I had no idea what she’d gone through. I had no idea a demon—atruedemon—like the sorcerer existed at all. I was meant to dedicate my life to scourging rot, but Ifailed. Because here it really is. Thousands of feet below the sea. Worse than anything on land. I want toraze it to the fucking ground. I hope he comes. Once I’ve procured the heart and saved Zephyra, I hope the sorcerer returns and I can make him feel every ounce of torment he put her through. I will make him bleed. Not for eight years—for a hundred.
I touch the silvered cord and find Zephyra is doing the same. Across from me, her face flushes pink, her gaze traveling up, up, up to take in the impossible height of the tallest tower. She gulps, her throat bobbing uneasily as she shuffles a minuscule step forward. Anguish rings her eyes in the shade of plum bruises. For her, I want to destroy it.Allof it.
But I can’t. Not yet, at least.
“It’s massive,” one of Amaya’s soldiers says.
“Never seen anything like it,” another agrees.
“Wretched.” Amaya shakes her head as if she can’t quite believe what she’s seeing, a rough brown tricorn hat dipping low on her hairline. “There is power here. I can feel it singing to my blood.”
An ominous moan rises from the ground at the last, and Zephyra’s gaze snaps to the garden ahead. She points a sapphire dagger toward it. “Careful what you touch. The coral venom will paralyze your muscles. You’ll decay here. Forever.”
A labyrinth of coral reefs twists through the sand around the castle, its colors so vivid, so neon, they almost distract from their lethality.Almost.Bones tangle in the maze, stripped of flesh and gnarled in knots. They howl like wolves, ghastly voices haunting empty, open air. Cursed.Definitelycursed.
Zephyra tears her eyes from the mangled skeleton of a child-sized body. I wonder what she’s thinking, remembering. I wish I could take her hand and make this better. But I know I can’t. What she’s going through right now… it’s unimaginable. It makes what I went through with Cultus Mortis seem so minuscule, and—no. That’s not fair. To either of us. Still, anger pulses through me: pure, effervescent rage blooming in my chest. Because I want tofix this. I want to help her. And I can’t.
What is thepointof being a warlock if I’m so gods-damned helpless?
“It’s not as loud inside,” Zephyra says finally. She sets her chin androlls her shoulders back as if she refuses to let her fear win. “Hurry up. We need to be quick about… all of this.”
“Fantastic.”Gavriall carries a sword close to his chest as he studies the coral moat with a deep-set scowl on his tawny face. “You forgot to mention this shit.”
Zephyra rolls her eyes. “Step over it, historian. Don’t fall. You’ll be fine.” She carries on without looking back, though her grasp doesn’t leave the cord. I focus on it, on the dim silver bond, trying to feel her through it. To carry some of her emotions. But there is… nothing.
Almost as if the magic of the castle is smothering it somehow.
Being here, in this moment, is everything I have ever wanted, and absolutelynothingI could have planned for.
Vesper huffs, grabbing my sleeve and dragging me away from a fat pink caterpillar. It rears back and hisses through razor-sharp teeth. “Mind the salt-leeches. They drink blood.”
“Of course they do.” Gavriall glares at me rather than the siren. As if this is my fault. As if he didn’t follow me here of his own accord. “Anything else you merrow want to tell us? Or you, skull?” Gavriall turns around to face one of Amaya’s infantry—Carmen—who carries Queen Emilia on a velvet pillow.
The skull chatters merrily.“Blood and gore and gore and blood. Soon your bones into mud. You will die, and he will die, and she will die, and so will all. Go forth, dearie, and do go fast. Your life simply cannot last.”
Gavriall grumbles to himself. “I don’t know why I bothered.”
We move forward, through the coral, over the cursed skeletons and moaning bones, lifting our legs with slow precision to avoid the deadly reef. Amaya’s soldiers have clearly trained for all sorts of combat, their movements exact and strong, even compared with that of the mermaids. Zephyra holds her breath the whole way. Vesper holds her arms out for balance. My wings splay out behind me, straight as an arrow, careful to avoid the mess of the ground. And Gavriall—he’s doing the best he can with his long, lean limbs. Down here, he looks more like a beanstalk than a man. Flailing and wavering with every movement.
But even he makes it across without hurting himself.
It takes several minutes of maneuvering and tiptoeing, but eventually we all make it. A disjointed unit, but a unit nonetheless.
My magic pings around my chest, as if searching—no,fighting—for a way out. Desperate to connect with the dark powers of the trench. I follow that feeling forward. Straight to the doors of Zephyra’s worst nightmare. And instantly, I know it will lead me wherever we need to go.
It will lead me to Abysses. Perhaps even to the heart.
Gods, I need that fucking heart.
Strangely—my lungs constrict, airflow tight in my chest—I’m not even sure why I want it anymore. To survive, yes. To save our lives. But afterward… afterthis…
I glance at Zephyra, at her pink lips and pinker hair and sparkling turquoise eyes. I glance at her trembling hands and her tight jaw. I recall the last few nights of whispering secrets and dreams to each other, of falling asleep with her in my arms, and it felt so… so fuckingright. Righter than anything I’ve done in my life. In Tower Arcana, there were glimpses of what I assumed to be happiness. Moments where I would single-handedly win battles for the king, apprehend the most criminals, slaughter murderers. Moments where I felt I was serving a higher purpose. Moments where I was told I might become the greatest warlock in the history of the world. But that wasn’t happiness.
I wrap the silvered cord around my finger, and Zephyra turns to meet my eyes. Her brows pinch.
