“I suppose that’s my answer,” he says, his gaze drifting down to his left hand—where the silver and blue lines intertwine around the base of his ring finger.
Oh.
He meansthatkiss. The one in the chamber’s pool.
I straighten, chewing on my bottom lip as I think back on the moment after we submerged ourselves in the water.
I remember going under, feeling a strange shift in reality, and surfacing with a deeper level of suspicion about Riven’s motives than before. Anything beyond that is like trying to recall a dream that slips further away the longer you reach for it.
“Does it matter?” I finally ask, since clearly the kiss was so painful that my mind doesn’t want to process it.
Riven doesn’t respond right away. Instead, he closes the pack, and the silence stretches long enough that I almost think he’s finished with the conversation.
Then, finally, he speaks.
“I don’t remember, either,” he says, and he slings the pack over his shoulder, seemingly relieved that I also have no idea what happened in that water.
The hairs rise on my arms, the water in the small fountain by the window moving faster as every nerve in my body goes on edge.
“Did youdosomething to me?” I ask him, moving closer, even though each step feels like I’m stepping on shattered glass.
He stays put, pinning me down with that intense gaze of his that makes me feel like if I move, I’ll break.
“Trust me, Princess,” he says, and frost creeps along his fingertips, like some sort of threat. “If Ididsomething to you, you’d have woken up in my arms—not across the room with a dagger in your hand.”
The memories that cut through my mind at his comment aretoo much.
So, I tear my gaze away from his, pushing down the thoughts of all the times Ididwake up in his arms. Back when I thought his touch meant something. Back when I believed his lies. Back when I believed I washis.
I’m yanked out of the flashbacks when our chamber walls dissolve into mist, replaced by plain gray stone in an empty room with a radiator unit under the window that says,please no sitting.The air’s heavy with the promise of rain, and dark clouds are blocking any hint of starlight.
I’ve never been here before—I’d never left Maine before a few weeks ago—but Riven told me last night that when we returned to the mortal realm, we’d be in Belvedere Castle in Central Park.
“We should go,” Riven says, all business again. “Before the humans arrive.”
We make our way down to the ground floor, and the moment we step outside, a figure emerges from the shadows. A girl wearing a hooded cloak, maybe a few years older than me, moving with precise, measured steps. As if she’s been waiting here for us, ready to strike.
My dagger’s out in a flash, my magic at my fingertips, a breeze already stirring in the damp, heavy air.
Riven’s equally as prepared with his sword, frost crawling along the blade.
The girl, however, doesn’t flinch.
“Those weapons won’t be enough,” she says without introduction, her eyes fixed on me with unnerving intensity. “Neither will the contents of your pack. But luckily for you, I’m here to advise you on what’s coming next. And trust me—you’re going to be very, very grateful for my help.”
