Zephyra was half unconscious when the wave collided with us, when the river flooded the chamber and swept us out. She sank first. She didn’ttransform. Her pale legs kicked; her nails clawed for purchase. Clumsy, flailing movements. It’s as if, without her tail, she doesn’t know how to swim. As if she’ll drown. And without our bond, without being able toseeour silvered cord, I can’t find her.
I slice through the water. Count to a hundred, a thousand, two thousand in my head. Nothing in the last few weeks—the last twentyyears—has mattered as much as this. Finding Zephyra. Saving Zephyra. I’m dying, but if our bond has vanished, she might still have a chance. She might not have to die too. I catch a glimpse of pink in the undertow and react instantly. Zephyra still flails, her blue eyes wide with horror as the water ripples around her body and seems to lure her deeper. She claws at the water to release her, but it doesn’t.
She’s drowning.
With a snarl, I pull myself forward, muscles rippling and wingsfighting the current. There is no more pain. There is only Zephyra. And if becoming a warlock brought me to this—gifted me the ability to ignore the agony inside—so I could fight for her, it was worth it. Every moment. Every second. My pink-haired mermaid is drowning, but I’m close. Close enough now to seize her fingers. Her gaze crashes into mine, and bubbles burst from her lips on a silenced scream. She cannot speak in these waters. She cannot breathe in them.
Nor can I, but I am used to that.
I grab Zephyra around her waist, hauling her against me as my wingsheaveus toward the surface. Opposing currents battle for claim. They wrap around my ankles, our throats. The crystal blue overhead splashes harder, accelerating around us. Zephyra spins in my arms, her pale legs kicking weakly beneath her. Pink hair tangles in the waters, whipping me in the face as my wings finally break through the surface. As they tear into the open air with ferocious brutality.Thank the fucking gods.My shoulder blades shriek in agony from the torment of gnarled pressure, but I don’t care. My wings flex wider, higher, until we’re pulled out of the waters. Up into the air. Flying.Free.
Zephyra clings to my neck, a whimper finally ripping from her throat, but I’m too weak. Too exhausted. Too pummeled.I’m dying.I can’t carry her. I can’t even carry myself. My wings strain, but they aren’t enough.
We fly for seconds before we fall.
Before we slam into a hard embankment.
Zephyra coughs, heaving water from her lungs as she palms the ground. Her hair clings to her cheeks, her neck. She wipes it away from her face. “What was that?” Her wordsburnwith a hoarse gasp. “What happened? There was a door—Arion, IswearI opened a door.”
I don’t know what she’s talking about. I haven’t understood anything she’s said since she began telling us about those voices, murmuring to herself, whispering so quietly none of us could hear her. “There was a tidal wave. The river flooded the chamber—”
“I’m not talking about the wave.” She lurches onto her knees. “I’m talking about the darkness and the ghosts and thedoor.”
Ghosts.
She’s seeing ghosts now.
“Zephyra,” I say hesitantly, offering her a hand and helping her back onto her feet. “I don’t understand.”
Her brow furrows, and her eyes narrow with hurt. She shakes her head. “I’m not crazy. I’m not… I’m not fucking crazy!” She screams these words so loud, I imagine the entire trench could hear her. She doesn’t direct them at me, however. She turns back, shouting at the castle in the distance. Far, far in the distance. “You can’t make me fucking crazy!” Then, to me, she breathes, “Arion, I’m not. I swear I saw what I saw.”
And the conviction in her gaze is too strong to ignore. She believes she saw ghosts and opened a door and heard voices, and I’m not going to argue against that. We’ve been through too much.She’sbeen through too fucking much. “I know. I believe you.”
She sinks into me at that, resting her head on my chest and twining her arms around me. Her breaths rattle from her lips. And I hold her. I hold her because soon, I won’t be able to do so anymore. I hold her because my muscles are seizing, my bones turning leaden, and there is a part of me—a larger part than should be possible—that loves her.
I love Zephyra of the Syl.
I am dying.
“If you two wouldn’t mind reserving that simmering sexual tension for later,” Gavriall says, gasping for breath inches away, “we have shit to deal with right now.” He gestures toward the swirling pool of water, but when we all glance at it—Vesper and Amaya tangled in a heap just behind us—the water vanishes. Between one blink and the next, it’s just… gone.
“What?” Zephyra breathes, just as Vesper whispers, “What ishappeningto us?”
I have no choice but to agree with both sentiments. Whatever that room was for… it must not have wanted us there. And I’m not sure we have any way to return. I’m not sure anyone willwantto return. Vesper and Amaya struggle to separate, Vesper’s legs also remaining in human form, while Gavriall retrieves his sword. Hehisses when he touches it, and the blade shatters. It smokes not from flame, but from ice.
Zephyra stares at the broken blade. “No. No, it doesn’t makesense. We found that doorway. There was a river and ghosts and—and I opened anotherdoor.”
“Ghosts?” Amaya asks. “What are you talking about?”
Zephyra whips around to face the princess. “You didn’t see them?”
Amaya shakes her head slowly, just as confused as the rest of us.
I don’t want Zephyra to panic—tokeeppanicking—so I say, “Let’s just figure out what’s going on. Maybe we can regroup on the ship…” My words drift off as I turn to face the ship, and I realize suddenly, sharply—
We aren’t on an embankment at all.
We’re on astep.
