CHAPTER EIGHT Now
I’m in the dark, falling, falling. I hear howls and screams, the scrape of claws against stone. Pale feathers cloud the air and they are crumpled, spattered with blood. As though they have been violently torn loose. An enormous, flame-bright eye blinks open, the pupil dilating as it struggles to focus on me. I open my mouth to cry out, but I’m beneath the ocean. Salt water pours down my throat as I gasp and choke; a strand of seaweed binds my neck like a snare.
Then the brisk wind rushes over me. I reach out, desperate, and clutch a roughened edge of stone. I’m on the shore, curled in the hollow of an empty tide pool. It’s night, the sky is full of stars, a cleaved moon reflects silver against the beach. Past a wide stretch of sand, waves crest and break with a hush, hush, hush.
I push myself up to my knees. Far in the distance I can see my cottage, wreathed in ivy and tucked behind the breakwater. All the windows are dark. My brothers are gone. I am alone, out here beneath the starlight. But—how?
When I was in the bathroom, my hands plunged into the icy water, the sun was still setting. Now it is thickly dark. I’ve lost hours or more, but it feels like the space between one single breath.
I think of the torrent of water on the stairs. The veil on its hanger. The faces I saw outside my room: Therion’s furious image, the anger in his eyes. He’s angry at me. I imagine him back in the chthonic realm, awash in rage as he reaches out for the bride who escaped him.
I betrayed him. I never intended it, but the fact remains. We’re married. I promised to stay with him in his world until the end of the salt season. And now I am not there.
I clamber out of the empty tide pool and brush the sand from my skirts. I’m filthy and bruised, my knees throbbing and my palms scraped. My bare feet are cut and bleeding. I drag in an aching breath, still lost to the memory of being caught beneath the water. The thought of going back to my empty house fills me with renewed fear. But if I don’t go home, there’s only one place I can go.
I turn toward Saltswan, tall on the cliffs, windows glowing beacons in the dark. Memories come back from the night of my betrothal, fleeting and tangled. Alastair, cutting my hair, his strong arms as he carried me out of the mine. Alastair, taking my obsidian mirror and hiding it in his pocket.
He lied to my brothers. He stole from me. The last time I went to Saltswan—four years ago, after the summer bonfire—I swore I would never speak to him again. But I don’t have any other choice. Right now he’s the only person I can ask for help.
As I make my way to the clifftops, there’s a frantic rustle from the grasses. I stumble back, caught by panic. My imagination paints shapes against the dark. Orange eyes, a snow-white wing, a sharp-toothed snarl. The sound of the waves below becomes Therion’s howl as the brazier scattered, as the boy pulled me away from him.
“It wasn’t my fault,” I say, my voice trembling, reedy against the stillness of the night. “I didn’t want this to happen.”
There’s a burst of motion from the field, the wildflowers parting. I clutch at my throat, too afraid to even scream. An enormous hare bursts from the grass. It rushes past me, close enough that I feel the hot, fleeting touch of its fur against my ankles.
I stand, frozen in place, as the sound of the hare dies away into the field. All I can hear is the thunder of my own heart. It fills my ears as I force myself to move, to follow the moonlit path toward the iron gate of Saltswan.
The house is exactly like I remember. The manicured garden, everything clipped back and espaliered into shape. The front door with its frosted glass panels. The iron bell, the silken rope. This time I’m not afraid to ring. I grasp hold of the rope and pull it, hard. It clangs out a harsh, metallic note. A sound comes, muffled, from deep inside the house.
I ring the bell again. There’s footsteps, a blur of movement. Finally, Alastair opens the door.
He’s holding a book with his finger marking the page. A loosened silk tie drapes about the unbuttoned collar of his shirt. He scowls at me and I’m fourteen again, my hands clasped around a ribbon-tied bundle of letters. My voice sticks in my throat. I want to turn and run back to my cottage. It takes all my effort to be still.
When I don’t speak, Alastair’s brows slant into a heavy frown. “What do you want?”
“I want my mirror back.”
He closes his book and tucks it under his arm. “I don’t have anything of yours, Lacrimosa.”
“You took it from me outside the mine.”
“Why would I have been anywhere near that sinkhole?” He shifts his stance, planting his feet widely in the doorway as though I am planning to force my way inside. My stomach twists, my cheeks turn hot. I imagine myself snatching his book from him, throwing it onto the ground.
“There’s no one here but you and I, Alastair. Stop pretending you don’t know what I’m talking about.”
His mouth thins, his fingers tighten around the book. “Not that it makes a difference—because I have nothing to say to you—but we are not, in fact, alone.”
He gestures toward the stairs, where Camille is on the landing. She’s wearing a gauzy cotton skirt and an oversized blouse patterned with tiny flowers. The paleness of her outfit is interrupted by a pair of black woolen socks that are far too big for her feet.
The sight of her, sleepy and flushed, sends a rivulet of newer, softer feeling through my anger. Picked out in hues of gold and umber by the lantern light, her hair as rich as chocolate ganache, her cheeks rosy, Camille is beautiful as a forest nymph.
She leans over the banister to smile down at me. “Hello, Lacrimosa.” Then her eyes narrow as she looks me up and down, taking in my disheveled nightdress, the cuts on my feet. “Is everything all right? I thought you’d be with your betrothed by now.”
“There was…” I pause, searching for the words. “A change of plans.”
Alastair, not turning to look at his sister, says, “Camille, go away.”
Camille ignores him, descending to the lowermost step. “Gods, he’s so rude. I’d say he’s been raised by wolves, but wolves have better manners. Come inside, don’t stand out there in the dark.”
An ache tugs at my chest as she holds out her hand to me, inviting me into the house. I can’t help but think how different it would have been if she were here the last time I came to Saltswan. I wouldn’t have felt so small when Alastair turned cruel if Camille had defended me like she is now.
I take a step forward. Alastair casts a murderous glare at Camille, but he moves aside to let me pass.
Inside the front hall, a salt lantern burns on a sideboard table. The entranceway is decorated similarly to the parts of the house I saw on my first and only time inside. Flocked wallpaper, expensive furniture. Countless frames hung up like in a gallery. The paintings are all of sour-faced Felimath relatives, staring down with disapproving expressions.
Alastair goes up the stairs without waiting for me. He calls impatiently over his shoulder, “Well, are you coming or not?”
“See what I mean?” Camille laughs, rolling her eyes at me. “Even wolves are more polite.”
Alastair leads me to a room at the end of the hall. It’s a library, with three of the walls filled by shelves and the fourth taken up by the polished hearth of an unlit fire. Another small salt lantern, like the one downstairs, is the only source of light, and the corners of the room lie in dusky shadows. High ceilings give it the feel of the carved chambers in the salt mine, a sense of being far from the rest of the world.
A velvet chaise is drawn close to the hearth, and a rumpled blanket at one end marks the place where Alastair must have been sitting. There’s a stack of books on the side table, a teacup beside them.
Alastair lays down his book on top of the pile, lifting the cup and taking a sip of tea while eyeing me over the rim with irritation. “When your brothers told me you’d agreed to be married to pay their debt, I didn’t realize your bridegroom was Therion.”
I stand in the doorway, my arms folded. “It’s nice to know you’ve had a sudden return of your memories. I thought you were nowhere near the mine on my betrothal night?”
“I can’t believe they would actually sell you off to him, to our god.”
Anger prickles beneath my skin, turning me hot and restless. He’s completely unapologetic, though why should I have expected otherwise? “They didn’t sell me. I wanted to go.” I cut off, letting out a tense, irritated sigh. “I’m not going to justify my choices to you, Alastair. Maybe if you’d forgiven the debt when I asked—”
Alastair snorts disparagingly and puts down his cup. “This isn’t my fault, whatever you want to believe.” But his teeth clench, and his eyes slide away from me toward the open window. “Anyway, it seems you’ve gotten away lightly, despite that idiotic bargain.”
“As per usual, you have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Did you come all the way here just to argue with me?”
I move into the room, closing the door. Beyond the house, past the window with its curtains looped back, is the distant gleam of inky ocean shifting beneath the moonlight. “Alastair, what were you doing in the mine?”
“I was sick of the crowd at the bonfire, so I went for a walk along the clifftops. And there you were, sailing in that peculiar boat. So I followed you.”
“You followed me,” I echo. “Why?”
“Morbid curiosity, I suppose.” He raises one shoulder, a lazy shrug. I stare at him incredulously until he clenches his hands into fists. With reluctance, as though he has to force out the words, he adds, “I was concerned about you.”
All I can do is shake my head at him in disbelief. “You didn’t seem concerned when you refused to—how did you put it?—beg for clemency on my behalf.”
“You’re lucky I did follow you, because when I was near the main entrance to the salt mine, I saw someone cutting open the lock on the gate. If I hadn’t gone after him, you’d be lying dead under a pile of fallen rocks right now.”
I twist my wedding ring around my finger, trying to set together everything Alastair has told me. A cut lock, the boy at the altar, Therion’s cries as the darkness filled the room. “Who was that boy in the mine?”
“If I had to make a guess, I’d say he was one of the Salt Priests. Therion is special to them; they wouldn’t want him connected to someone outside their sect. Particularly not someone like you.”
“What do you mean, someone like me?” I know exactly what Alastair means—the same unsaid reasons he intimated when he sent me away from his house four years ago. That to him, to everyone, I am not worthy. Heated indignation burns me, makes my nails dig into my palms. I wait for him to answer. I want to hear him say it.
He holds my gaze with studied carelessness. Silence draws out as we stare at each other, then he runs a hand through his hair, letting out a dry, mirthless laugh. His mouth twists, an expression that is more grimace than smile. “To begin with, you don’t drink salt water.”
I let out a slow breath, shaking my head. “How would the Salt Priests have heard about my betrothal?”
“I don’t know, Lacrimosa. I’m not an expert on the ways of Salt Priests.”
“Funny, you act like an expert on everything else.”
Alastair sits down on the chaise, pinching the bridge of his nose with a tired sigh. “Perhaps Therion sent them an invitation to the ceremony,” he says sarcastically. “Or maybe they had a vision of you during one of their seawater-drinking rituals.”
I take a heavy step toward him, picturing myself grabbing the front of his sweater and shaking him until that snide look is gone from his face. With effort, I swallow down my fury and sit at the opposite end of the chaise. “It would have been helpful if you didn’t lie to my brothers about what happened.”
“I didn’t see a reason to overcomplicate things: You were safe, the danger had passed.”
“Or you didn’t want them to know that you’d stolen from me.”
Alastair shoves himself up from the chaise and crosses the room, to where his overcoat is draped on the back of a chair. He starts to rifle through the pockets. “Why do you need the mirror so urgently? Do you intend to summon Therion again? Perhaps you miss your husband.” He snorts, shaking his head. “I didn’t realize it was a love match.”
I take a deep breath. The truth lies in my mouth with a taste of smoke and bitter berries. It aches to be so honest with Alastair Felimath, of all people. I feel as though I’m drowning and I’ve grasped for a tether line without thinking of who holds the other end.
“I was supposed to go with him to the chthonic world. That was our agreement: He’d restore the mine and I would stay with him until the end of the salt season. But instead, I woke up here.”
Alastair comes back to the chaise and drops my mirror carelessly onto the cushions beside me. If he’s shocked by what I’ve told him, he doesn’t let it show. “And you’re … disappointed, to still be in Verse?”
“I’ve seen things, inside my house. Water pouring down the stairs. My veil was in my room, but I know it was left in the mine. A face at the window—it looked like Therion. He’s angry with me, because of what happened at the ritual.”
“Who would have imagined plying a god to do your bidding would have consequences?” Alastair mutters to himself.
I ignore him, forcing myself to continue. “And I … lost time. I closed my eyes in one place, woke up in another hours later.”
He’s quiet for a moment, as though deep in thought. Then he gestures tersely in my direction. “May I…?”
“May you what?”
“I want to check something. Hold still.”
He shifts closer, one hand outstretched. I dip my head as his fingers pass lightly over my temple. He’s barely touching me, and his face is scrunched up in an expression of annoyance. But even in the dim light of the library, I can make out a stark blush on his cheeks.
As he traces along my hairline, then over the curves of my skull, my skin turns heated, my nerves crackling. I don’t want to think of the last time he touched me like this—his fingers in my hair, his forehead against mine, the catch in his breath when I said his name. But I can’t help it. It shouldn’t feel nice to be so close to him again, but it does, and I hate it.
Then he presses down. I hiss at the sudden pain, wriggling away from him. “Ouch!”
“You have an enormous bump right there,” Alastair explains. “You probably hit your head in the mine. Between that, all the chthonic liquor, and breathing in whatever you burned in the brazier, I’m surprised you didn’t see a whole pantheon of gods outside your room.”
He’s being dismissive rather than reassuring, but part of me wants to believe him. If what I saw was only a hallucination, then I’ll be safe. But there’s too much proof for me to pretend it isn’t real. “I don’t think all of this can be so easily explained away. And I didn’t just see Therion outside my room. The Salt Priest from my betrothal—what if he’s still here?”
Alastair drags a hand through his hair with an irritated sigh. “Look, I’ll walk you home, check around your house.”
“Fine.”
He picks up his overcoat from the chair and has put one arm through it when he pauses and turns abruptly toward the closed door. With the coat hanging down from his shoulder, he strides across the room and opens the door. Camille is on the other side.
“I told you to leave us alone,” Alastair snaps. “How long were you out there eavesdropping?”
She brushes past him and comes over to me, staring with wide-eyed wonder. “Are you really married to Therion?”
I nod helplessly, too overwhelmed to tell anything but the truth. Camille takes my hand, looking at the salt crystal ring, how the stone gleams in the muted lamplight. Her fingers are long, elegant—pianist hands. She strokes her thumb gently against my palm. My stomach gives a flutter, like a trapped butterfly. I want to lean my face into her shoulder.
But then she turns to give Alastair a scolding look. “You might have told me the whole of it at the bonfire, instead of being so mysterious about why I should follow her to the beach.”
“You followed me because Alastair told you to?” Realization settles in, and I pull away from Camille, rubbing my hand against my skirts, wanting to wipe away the feeling of her touch.
She bites her lip, looking chagrined. “We wanted to be sure you weren’t … going to be harmed.”
“Harmed by who, exactly?”
Alastair steps forward, regarding me coolly. “I thought your brothers were going to sacrifice you to Therion, to restore the mine. Like a Salt Priest ritual.”
“You thought they were going to sacrifice me?”
“Is it so much different from the truth?”
“He was worried about you,” Camille says quickly. “We both were. He told me to follow you, and I did, because I wanted to know you were safe.”
I glare at Camille. “And I suppose he told you to kiss me as well?”
Alastair lets out a startled laugh. “You kissed her?”
I clap my hand over my mouth, horrified at what I’ve done. “I’m leaving.”
I storm out of the library, my face burning. I’m on the verge of tears. Camille runs after me, catching hold of the door before I can slam it. We’re out on the landing, in the shadows, watched by an enormous framed portrait of a gray-eyed Felimath ancestor.
“Lark,” she says, reaching out to me. I step back before she can touch my arm. “I owed Alastair a favor. He was suspicious after the bonfire, and he asked me to follow you. He was worried. I’m sorry I deceived you. I should have said something then, but I didn’t want to ruin your night once I realized you weren’t in danger. At least, I thought you weren’t in danger. And the kiss—” She pauses, biting her lip.
“I don’t want to talk about it. I’m going home.”
I hurry down the stairs, sniffing fiercely as I fight back tears. For a brief, foolish moment I had been drawn to Camille, enough that I let down my guard. But now all I can think of is Damson and how everything ended between us. Her sharp-edged smile as she whispered to her new friend, their eyes on me as I came toward them. How I knew they had been talking about me when I wasn’t there.
And now Alastair and Camille have done the exact same thing.
I picture Alastair laughing as he told his sister how I came to Saltswan and cried when I tore up the letters I’d written him. Shame burns across my cheeks, hotter than bonfire embers.
I rush out into the night, tip back my head, and let the wind cast over my face. Clouds have covered the moon; I can barely make out the clifftop path beyond the manicured garden. But I forge ahead anyway, ignoring the sound of footsteps behind me.
A beam of light dances over the ground, throwing my shadow into an enlarged silhouette. Alastair draws up at my side, holding a flashlight. Camille is farther back on the path, hopping on one foot as she tries to lace up her boots.
“You’re going to fall into the sea,” Alastair warns, gesturing to the edge of the clifftop with the beam of his flashlight.
“Good. I’d prefer that than being anywhere near you.” I feel so wretched and humiliated. I turn my back on him and continue walking. He stays at my side, his long-legged steps easily keeping pace with me.
“I’m still going to walk you home. If someone really is sneaking around your house, it isn’t safe to go back on your own in the dark.”
I glare at him. Lit from beneath, Alastair’s face is thrown into a chiaroscuro, which makes him look like a pen-and-ink sketch. I wish my brothers were here. I wish for anyone except him.
But when I imagine myself back in the empty cottage, chased by those same creeping shadows, I feel cold and scared and I don’t want to be alone. Wretchedly, I realize that I’ve started to cry.
Alastair searches through his pockets, then passes me a clean, folded handkerchief. “It isn’t poisoned, if you’re wondering,” he says.
I snatch it from him, wipe my eyes, and blow my nose. As I do, Camille catches up to us. Her feet are now shod in brown leather boots, and she has a woolen scarf bundled up in her arms.
“Here, put this on,” she tells Alastair, draping the scarf around his shoulders. “Or you’ll catch a fever.”
“A fever is a symptom, not an illness,” he says. But he obediently winds the scarf around his throat.
I take the flashlight from his hand. “You can both come to my cottage,” I bite out, as I move back toward the path, now illuminated. “But walk behind me. I don’t want to look at either of you right now.”