12

Beauty Sleep

Panic wraps an icy grip around my throat that has nothing to do with the weather. Tabra is facing Eidolon on her own, without me there to stand between them. Which is literally the only reason for my existence.

I have to get back to her.

That will only happen if you’re smart about saving your own life.

I know this. Even if I don’t like it.

Forcing myself to stay calm when I’m most definitely not, I study the tree where Reven is apparently already asleep.

“Want this back?” I hold the water satchel out, dangling it from the tip of a single finger.

Shadows reach out from the trees and swallow it whole, the weight disappearing in a whisper. He never even opened his eyes.

Whatever.

Climbing this thing will be different than shimmying up palm trees in search of their fruit, but I still think I can manage. With only a few scrapes—my leggings would have served me so much better than these stockings and the damn skirt getting in my way—I manage to get up to the branch that extends from the other side of the trunk from where my captor lies.

“The pampered princess can throw knives and climb trees.” I hear his silky murmur from the other side.

Ass.

“What else can she do, I wonder?”

This time I catch the confusion in his tone. “Guess you should have done your research.”

“I did.”

“Better.” I seethe. If he had, he would’ve taken the right princess, after all.

It takes me a while to settle, but at least my clothes—especially my cloak—protect my skin from the rough bark.

“I’m sure you’re getting comfy for your beauty sleep, but can you stop moving around?”

“If this is beauty sleep, I’m a Devourer,” I mutter to myself.

“Not all the Devourers are monsters on the outside.”

It takes me a beat to realize he’s commenting on my muttering.

“The Reverie takes any shape that is the most appealing to the looker,” he continues almost casually.

He’s seen the Reverie? The creature that lurks outside the whirlpool at the mouth of Mariana and, as far as I know, has killed everyone unfortunate enough to cross its path. I have so many questions, but the last thing I want is to give him the satisfaction of asking.

I don’t manage to swallow them all down. “What form did it take for you?”

Silence.

I picture having some kind of Enfernae power over silence and choking him with it. Not that I’ve ever heard of such a thing, but the image makes me smile.

Sand really is useless.

“I need a rope,” I say, making my voice as demanding as I can. I might not be able to escape—yet—but I don’t have to make this pleasant for him, either.

A second later, one floats around the side of the trunk, carried by shadow. I don’t thank him. I will never thank him for anything. Not ever.

As soon as I’ve tied myself in the same way he did, I lean my head back and close my eyes.

“How did you know my size?” I ask. “For the clothes.”

Then wince because I hadn’t meant to ask that. It gives away too much, like how vulnerable that made me feel. Had he been watching Tabra? Had he been in her rooms? Or had he guessed?

“How do you know how to throw knives and climb trees?” is his reply.

Because not everyone is who they seem.

I mash my lips together. Apparently neither of us is going to be giving the other any answers tonight. I quietly relish the day he learns that he got the wrong girl, imagining his shocked and defeated expression.

So long as that moment comes when I am able to get away.

I force myself to close my eyes, only to open them again with a frown and the sudden sense of being watched. Which is ridiculous. He’s on the other side of the tree.

Familiarity teases my mind. I’d felt the same thing in Enora the night we met. Who—or what—is this man?