Page 72 of Once the Skies Fade (Immortal Reveries #2)

Chapter 72

Matthias

I didn’t know how many dreams I spent searching for Calla, but she never appeared. Did the bond have some sort of range? Maybe we simply weren’t catching each other at the same time. That was a far nicer idea than the alternative: that she simply wasn’t thinking of me.

We’d been sailing for what seemed like a fortnight, but based on the number of meals one of the crew had brought me—if one could call maggoty bread and flat ale a meal at all—it was no more than a few days. Four, at most.

Graham didn’t visit me again, which might have offended me had I not wanted to gut him with my bare hands. It was a colossal waste of energy to imagine all the ways of killing him, and it did nothing for my plummeting morale, so I tried to focus instead on Calla.

My mate .

Shadow Keeper. Queen.

My best friend’s brother’s widow.

I cringed every time I reminded myself of that fact, and no matter how often I tried to shrug it off as the stars’ bad joke, the awkward discomfort remained. Would Connor and Lieke understand? They had to. They were the most hopeless romantics I’d ever met. If anyone could understand, it would be them.

An intense rumbling vibrated the entirety of the ship, pulling me out of my thoughts. Pushing to my feet, I steadied myself against the bars. The ship was slowing. They must have been lowering the anchor—my best guess, as someone who knew little-to-nothing about ships.

A moment later, Graham was stepping down the ladder, a set of chained cuffs in one hand.

“Time to go,” he said. “Give me your wrists, and don’t do anything stupid. The entire crew has orders to kill you if you arrive above deck without me.”

Obliging, I allowed him to bind my arms together and lead me up out of the ship’s belly. I squinted against the drastic shift in light despite the overcast sky. Dark gray clouds hid the sun and made it impossible to determine the time. The small crew—a rough and haggard group who rivaled even the surliest of crowds Connor and I had met in the taverns around Emeryn—filled the deck, hands either gripping their weapons or hovering at their hilts. Graham said nothing to anyone, only nodded at a male sporting an impressive hat and an even more impressive beard before dragging me across a wide plank that connected the ship to the simple, narrow dock.

It wasn’t until my feet were on solid ground again that I got a good look at my surroundings, and I couldn’t tell which dropped lower, my jaw or my stomach.

The land—Dolobare—was like no place I’d visited on Sandurdam. Steep cliffs of jagged black rock lined the coastline, their peaks lost in the thick mist high above. In the distance, white falls cascaded down narrow crevices along the mountainsides, only to disappear into the rock. Cold and desolate, the land appeared devoid of any vegetation, and if not for the dock beneath my feet and the few buildings dotting the black sand beach, I would have assumed it was devoid of life altogether. Though, as we neared the end of the dock, I realized the buildings were in various states of disrepair with roof thatching caving in, doors hanging askew, and glass in the windows cracked or shattered. Further down the coast, rock and timber littered the sand, possibly the ruins of the rest of the village.

“A bustling port of trade, I see,” I said, hoping my sarcastic tone was sufficient to hide the apprehension swirling in my gut.

“Once was,” Graham noted. “At least, so I’m told.”

“What happened here exactly?”

Graham whispered a single word, “Nightwalkers.”

I swallowed hard. “Are they still here?”

He shrugged and continued walking up the beach toward the cliffs, yanking hard on the chain so that I nearly lost my balance. The chilled air nipped at my skin as we trudged on.

“Where are these human friends of yours anyway?” I asked, though I expected him to ignore me.

He ignored my question. “What do you know of the island?”

“Only that the nightwalkers—who make exceptional brandy—fled here when the war broke out, while the humans—who presumably create the poison wreaking havoc on Sandurdam—aren’t happy to share the island with their new neighbors.”

“And why should they, when those neighbors use them as food?” Graham asked, a hint of humor present, as if he held the humans in such little regard as to ridicule them for not wanting to be drained of their own blood.

“The island is ruled by the nightwalkers, though, and—like us in Emeryn—they’ve been struggling to eradicate the human rebellion.”

Graham was silent for a bit as he led me into a narrow canyon barely the width of three males standing shoulder-to-shoulder. Staring up the sheer rock faces towering over us, I shivered at the expanse of mist that seemed to be closing in on us from above. The ground slowly shifted from sand to rocky soil, though I still found no sign of any flora.

“Funny,” Graham said. He kept his voice low, but it did little to prevent it from echoing around us. “All the benefits we immortals possess have mattered little in this war against the humans.”

“Who said it was a war?” I asked. “It’s not?—”

“Perhaps that’s why you’re losing, general.”

I sucked in a sharp breath. Was this pitiful excuse for a fae actually right? Were we—both fae and nightwalker—failing to overcome the rebellions because we didn’t take them seriously enough?

“You think Calla had it right then? Exile or kill all of them?”

Graham wrinkled his nose at me, not out of disgust, but as if he were legitimately pondering the question. “I don’t know. Maybe. But then again, the humans have proved rather helpful for my ambitions.”

This nearly had me stopping in my tracks, but pretending to stumble, I forced myself to keep up with my captor. What were his ambitions? The way he’d said that implied the humans had done more than simply provide him with the poison, but what else had they done?

Wrenwick.

I’d nearly forgotten Calla’s words from our dream. The humans in Wrenwick had killed Brennan, and they could have quite easily done that at Graham’s behest. But then wouldn’t Minerva’s spell have pointed to Graham instead of the Olanders?

Tricky mage.

It was like that old myth the humans once believed about not making deals with us fae, as though we all took some wicked delight in toying with mortals. Of course, there were some delights to be had with them—some of them, perhaps, even a little on the wicked side—but not in the sense the humans believed. No, it wasn’t the fae that deserved such suspicion; it was the mages.

Or rather, the mage.

Minerva was the only one I’d ever heard of, though she had mentioned a sister once. Something about her being lost in time and space, but that seemed nothing more than the nonsensical ramblings of a psychotic recluse.

Pulling my mind back to the present, I followed Graham further and further into this trench. After several minutes of nothing but our boots scuffing against the ground, I sighed loudly, if only to irritate my companion.

“If I’d known we were going on such a long hike, I would have requested provisions,” I said.

Graham didn’t look back at me but tugged on the chain lead once more. “As if you were in any position to make such a request.”

“Whether you listen or not, there’s nothing to stop me from asking.”

This time he did peer over his shoulder, a smirk creeping across his lips. “A swift punch to the face? A gag? More poison?”

“I could still talk with a swollen lip, can make obnoxious noises around a gag, and, well, rendering me unconscious doesn’t seem a viable option. Would be a shame for you to hurt your back trying to carry me.”

“You do love the sound of your own voice, don’t you?” He snapped his head back around.

“It is pretty nice. I mean, Calla seems to appreciate it.” I watched Graham’s back as I mentioned the queen, but he neither tensed nor bristled in response, two reactions I would have expected if he were doing this all out of jealousy.

“Too bad she’ll never hear it again,” he said.

“You don’t expect her to find me? I am her mate after all.” Again, no reaction, except a slight tremor through his shoulders when he laughed.

“It will be rather hard for her to reach you here—at least in time to do anything to save you.”

“Is that why?—”

Graham held up a hand, his feet skidding to a stop, and I clamped my mouth shut on my unfinished question. His head shifted to the left and then to the right.

“What is it?” I hissed.

Before he could answer, a tall figure seemed to slip out from the rock fifty meters ahead of us. He didn’t approach, but remained standing, his feet set firmly and arms crossed at his midsection. A sentry of some kind. He had to be a good half-meter taller than either of us, his black eyes glaring down at us as if we were nothing but inconsequential vermin about to be exterminated. From this distance I could see the ink that decorated his hands and neck, but I couldn’t make out what the designs were. His rounded ears indicated he was no fae—at least not a full fae.

Graham took a bold step forward, which pulled the chain between us taut so that my arms extended out straight in front of me.

“Alek,” he said, and the stranger dipped his chin slightly in recognition. “I’m here to see the Lassiters.”

Alek started to shake his head before Graham was finished. He pointed a long, slender finger my way. “Not with him.”

Now Graham bristled. I nearly chuckled at seeing him so perturbed.

“He’s a gift, a fae. Thought they could use him.”

“Perhaps you should have checked first,” Alek said, and I might have liked this guy’s matter-of-fact handling of Graham if it wasn’t for the discomfort he sent shooting through my veins.

“Can I at least plead my case before they decline?” Graham asked.

“Not with him,” Alek repeated. His dark eyes flashed to mine, and despite my longing to look away, I couldn’t.

Graham huffed out an impatient groan. “Can you watch him?”

“I’m not a babysitter,” he said, and I could have sworn a smile almost cracked through his cold demeanor.

“Last I checked, that was exactly what you were.” Graham sniggered.

In a flash, Alek was standing in front of Graham, looming over him. His spindly fingers snatched Graham up by the neck and lifted him off the ground until their eyes were level.

“Careful how you speak to me, worm,” Alek hissed. Graham tried to speak, but only rasped groans escaped him. “You aren’t the only contact we have on Sandurdam. You are replaceable, and you only draw breath right now out of my good graces. Understand?”

He maintained his hold on Graham’s throat as his black eyes shifted to mine again, but this time he looked me over like he was assessing a cow at the market.

“Who is he anyway?” When no response came, he slid his gaze back to Graham and released him, letting him fall to the ground in a gasping heap. I winced at the crack his knees made against the rocky ground. Graham’s head hovered low as he struggled to catch his breath.

Without looking up, he answered Alek in a rough whisper. “No one of consequence.”

Alek’s laughter boomed through the pass. “If he is so inconsequential, why not throw him into the Laraburn? Why keep him alive?”

I had to admit, it was the question that had bombarded me since he’d taken me from the dungeon.

Graham, still bent over, shook his head slowly. “Pain. He deserves pain, as does his mate.”

Crooking a brow at me, Alek frowned as he pondered this. “There are painful ways to kill him without bringing him here.”

“Nothing compares to what the Lassiters could inflict on him,” Graham explained, groaning as he pushed up to his feet.

Alek didn’t disagree but simply lifted one shoulder. “Very well then. I can take you to West Peak––until they decide what to do with you both.”