The sound of her body hitting the water echoed in his ears.
He turned away from the well, his face toward the crowd, and saw her there.
Loriana.
Lips, the exact pink he remembered touching, remembered kissing,quirked into a smile. But through her stunning grin, Toran could see the framing of the Gash buildings. They cracked her lips in the wrong way, and his heart cracked at the sight. He dragged forth the word for what he was seeing, one he didn’t want to acknowledge even as fresh tears welled behind his eyes.
Ghost.
He blinked and Loriana’s face vanished from the crowd.
The King had banned him from the pub, forbidden him from having even one drink. But the King didn’t understand. It wasn’t about getting drunk. And it wasn’t about the way the alcohol kept him from caring.
It was about her. It had always been about her.
Because he couldn’t bear to see her anymore. For it was only when his veins were clear of alcohol that Loriana’s ghost appeared to him.
6
Nes
Nes followed her feet as they wandered the streets of the Ditch.
She’d spent much of the last week like this—lost in thought, unaware of the dirt beneath her own feet.
Nes had seen death before. The Ditch was where everyone dumped their bodies. But she didn’t want to remember Mikaud as a corpse.
They hadn’t been close, she reminded herself. She didn’t know his favorite food or even what drink he ordered when he stopped by the Siren’s Hair. And yet, some part of her had liked him. Liked him enough to tell him her real name. Now she would never hear that name—taunting or sensual—from his lips again.
Just as she would never hear it from her father.
No.
So she’d lost her plan and her backup in the same day. That didn’t matter. She’d found her way to Gadore on her own. She would find another way to free her father.
Something stirred inside her at the thought. Something that unfurled just enough to remind her she already had another way. Magic.
She took a sip from her flask. The liquid rioted, salt water burning its way under her skin as it ran down the back of her throat. Calm washed over her as she inhaled, scanning the street for other sources of magic. Nothing tickled her nostrils, no scent that didn’t belong. But she did feel a phantom finger slide up her spine and settle on the back of her neck. Eyes. Someone was watching her.
She turned, but there were too many people to determine whose gaze was heaviest. Twisting the cap back on, she stowed her flask. She’dneed to refill soon—probably one of the reasons Phineas was having her followed. No doubt he believed she’d come crawling back to him, tail between her legs, once she ran out. She didn’t want to consider the other reason he’d have her followed. Not for the flask she carried but for the power in her arsenal. She was too valuable for him to let go. At least that meant he wouldn’t kill her—for now.
Someone knocked her shoulder, and she stumbled forward, nearly falling to her knees. As she straightened, someone else bumped her. More and more people pressed in against her.
They came from all sides, like a herd trying to escape the threat of a wolf. Except these people weren’t terrified. No, they were…excited, their faces marked by wide eyes and eager lips pressed thin.
Nes had seen these markers before and knew what they meant. Another suspected Witch was being sent to her death.
Nes tried cutting through the mass, using her elbows to propel her, but she was forced back. The crowd continued to thicken around her until she couldn’t have carved her own path if she were as heavy and tall as a bear.
Dread coiled tight in her gut.
“Excuse me,” she croaked, her throat suddenly dry. “I need to get through.”
She pressed a hand to someone’s shoulder, trying to squeeze by, only to be pushed back into place by someone else.
“Let me by,” she tried again. No one listened. Her plea was nothing but a lone bud in a field of weeds.
People continued to pour into the square, filling every possible space until they stood shoulder to shoulder, Nes unable to move.
