Alder is already walking, following the guards, but I barely notice until his hand clamps firmly around my elbow.
“Try to keep up, Gemma.” His grip is unyielding, but there’s a spark of mirth in his gaze that makes my teeth clench. “I can’t keep an eye on you if you’re always lagging behind.”
I yank my arm free with a glare, but despite my irritation, I follow him. My steps falter as we near the platform, and the sound of rushing water grows louder. One of the waterfalls splits like a curtain. It doesn’t slowor lessen in force, it simply…parts.
The water cascades to either side with a hiss that reverberates through the air and shakes the ground beneath my feet. Mist sprays outward in delicate arcs, catching the sunlight and scattering it into colored light that shimmers against the burbling moat below.
Behind the parted veil, the ferry emerges, its dark, polished wood glinting as if freshly lacquered. The sharp prow cuts through the waves as the vessel glides forward.
The ferry’s hull is massive, sleek, and carved with deep serpent-like grooves that funnel the water away, keeping it gleaming and mostly dry despite the churning spray. The railings are lined with ornate silver filigree patterns that twist and curl like the flow of the water around it, their edges catching the light and throwing it back in dizzying swirls.
As the ferry nears the platform, steam hisses from hidden vents along its sides, curling upward in ghostly tendrils that mingle with the mist.
The figure at the helm steps forward, their silhouette sharpening. They’re cloaked in deep midnight blue, and their face is obscured by a smooth metallic mask gleaming cold in the sunlight. The mask is expressionless, featureless except for the faint ridges where eyes, a nose, and a mouth should be.
A chill skates between my shoulders. “Are we crossing the Styx?” I mutter under my breath, my voice trembling slightly despite my attempt at sarcasm.
Alder hears me. His lips twitch. “Sweetheart, if this is the afterlife, you’re stuck with me for eternity.”
I shoot him a look. “Then I’d rather take my chanceswith the underworld.”
He tsks, shaking his head. “That’s no way to talk to the man who’s saving you.”
“The man who thinks he owns me,” I correct, folding my arms.
“Tomato, tomahto,” he drawls. “Either way, you’re mine.”
The ferry halts with a smooth, almost imperceptible motion, bobbing gently in the rippling moat. The parted waterfall continues to hiss behind it, a shimmering veil just waiting to trap us inside.
The masked figure at the helm tilts their head in silent acknowledgment.
My stomach twists. Nope. Nope, nope, nope.
The guards march ahead, boots thumping against the wood as they file onto the ferry. Alder, of course, follows without hesitation, stepping onto the deck like this is a VIP yacht experience. I advance slowly, every cell in my body screaming not to, but I force my feet to step on board.
The ferry glides forward, the oars cutting through the silvery water in steady, rhythmic strokes. The metallic tang grows sharper as we move toward the castle, and I grip the edge of the ferry, my knuckles white against the polished wood.
It’s salt.I tell myself, my gaze flicking to the cascading waterfalls and the churning moat.It’s just salt from the water. That’s it.
But the taste lingers on my tongue, metallic and wrong, coating the back of my throat like blood.
Alder leans against the rail beside me, his golden hair catching the sunlight. “You look like you’re about tothrow up.” His voice is far too amused for the current level ofholy shitwe’re experiencing.
“I’m fine,” I snap, even though I’m absolutely not fine.
“You sure?” He eyes me, and the corner of his mouth lifts. “You get this cute little wrinkle right here”—he taps his index finger between my brows—“when you’re spiraling.”
I swat his hand away. “I am not spiraling. Stop saying that.”
“Really?” He leans in, voice dropping to a lazy murmur. “Because you’re gripping that railing like it owes you money.”
I glance down. My fingers are clenched so tight around the polished wood that they look about three seconds from snapping off.
Slowly, I peel them away and shake out my hands.
“Unclench,” Alder advises, grinning like a bastard.
“Unclench?” I repeat, my voice pitching higher. “We’re being ferried across a moat by a masked…Grim Reaper impersonator to a castle that looks like it was designed by Tim Burton, and you thinkI’mthe problem?”
