Page 16

Talysse

B iting my lip, I watch Aeidas swing his long legs over the stone well ring. His body sways over the opening, the bluish light of his wisps reflecting off his silver hair. His corded forearms strain, and just like that, he’s gone, swallowed by the dark depths.

That bastard really left me alone.

With a scoff, I throw myself on the dirty floor.

Tiredness is seeping through my muscles down to the marrow. If it were a normal night, dawn would be breaking by now.

The chain still swings, clinking softly against the stone. He hasn’t reached the bottom yet. The thought of what might be lurking in this pitch-black chasm makes me shudder.

Seems there is only one solution. One way out and it involves a descent into these dreaded depths, a possibility of drowning, and a murderous Unseelie. But staying here means certain death. Even if Gale has survived whatever has decapitated the mercenary, it would be difficult to open the trap door alone.

Think, Talysse.

Two options: a slow, certain death here or a slim chance at life if I follow the Unseelie. I’d take slim chances over certain death any day.

Maybe, with some luck, the water below is not too deep. My bitter laugh shakes the golden cages with the dead birds in the trees around. Me and luck, those two things never go together!

The chain rattles again. Soraya’s gilded lounger shimmers coldly between the black trunks. Should I just give up, stay here, and wait for the next adventurer to find my bones? What would I say to Tayna in the halls of Atos after? That I sat and waited to die?

No. Giving up is no option.

My decision is made; I flick my hair back and approach the stone ring. Far below, the faint glow of Aeidas’s wisps flickers like a distant star. The air from the well is cool, carrying the scent of wet stone—no foul stench, thank the Elders, just damp earth.

Small steps, Talysse. Focus.

Grasping the chain, I begin my descent. Darkness immediately wraps around me, thick like a black blindfold. My eyes are fixed on the faint light above, and my hands move slowly and deliberately.

It’s harder than anticipated. My muscles burn, and my palms sweat, causing me to slip a couple of times, ripping nails in the frantic search for purchase. The lack of light and sound paints terrifying images in my mind—ancient, monstrous creatures lurking in bottomless underground lakes.

Then the chain rattles again, louder this time. A screech echoes from above. My heart leaps into my throat as I realize what’s happening—the old mechanism is breaking, unable to hold the weight of two. When I open my mouth to shout a warning to Aeidas, it’s already too late.

I’m falling.

There’s no time to think, no time to panic. The icy water hits me like a wall, its coldness immediate and brutal. It fills my nose and mouth, piercing me with a thousand needles, pressing against my chest like a vise. I fight the instinct to gasp for air—a death sentence. My limbs flail desperately, searching for something, anything, to grab onto.

But there’s nothing. Only the relentless, biting cold.

I open my eyes, but the darkness is profound, impenetrable, as if I’ve been swallowed by the ether before the Elders created the stars. The weight of the water is crushing me, pulling me down into the abyss. Hope fades, and my self-control shatters. My mouth opens in a terrified scream, my last breath escaping in a torrent of bubbles, swallowed by the dark mass of water around me.

Kicking and thrashing, I fight the inevitable. The cold is a merciless enemy, sapping my strength. Just as the last bubble and last remnant of hope leave my lips, something grabs me. A powerful force—an arm or a tentacle—wraps around my chest, yanking me upward with superhuman strength. Or is it pulling me down? Everything spins in a maelstrom of terror, and then something solid slams against my legs. I’m dragged over a rocky shore. The sharp edges of the stones cut through my pants, biting into my flesh, but it doesn’t matter.

Breathe!

“Breathe, Talysse, breathe!”

Hard ground. I roll onto all fours, coughing and spitting out water, gasping for air. The air burns my lungs, but it’s life. Slowly, I sit back on my heels, my breathing erratic but steadying. Only then do I look up to see what—or who—saved me from drowning.

Before me, in the haunting light of the two wisps, stands Aeidas. Strands of wet silver hair stick to his face, and his chest rises rapidly under the shirt; the wet fabric clings to his muscled torso.

Of course, that cursed Unseelie catches me staring.

“You like what you see?” he asks, panting.

“You’ve lost your jerkin.” I shrug and take my boot off to drain the water. Anything to keep my mind—and eyes—off this chiseled torso. “Why did you save me? Did I infect you with some disease unnatural for your kind, like conscience?”

“Don’t make me change my mind, human.” His words are dark, but his lips stretch into a smile in the cold light of the wisps. My trembling hand pats the pocket with the Flint. Elders, it’s still there.

“I will not rob you. This is your area of expertise.” Aeidas crouches next to me, studying my face from too close. Too damn close to this rugged plane of rippling muscles. “How do you feel?” he murmurs, his eyes softening.

How do I feel after nearly drowning? After walking, climbing, running, and fearing for my life for a small eternity? The air in the cavern is warm, so there’s at least that, but my body desperately needs rest.

But he’s not getting the satisfaction of mocking my human fragility.

Instead, I just scoff, give him a thumbs up, and slip my wet boots back on. It’s terribly uncomfortable, but being dead is even worse. His eyes, capturing and reflecting the scarce light, linger on me.

“Thank you. For…you know.” The soft words slip unexpectedly. He remains silent for a long moment, then looks away and pushes himself to his feet.

“Very well,” Aeidas declares, resuming his cold and commanding demeanor. “Let’s go then. The water drains this way. I am sure there must be a way out somewhere here.”

My feet are burning, and my head hurts as I follow him, stumbling on the rocks in the vast cavern holding the lake. The fatigue burns in my eyes and slurs my speech. I desperately need some sleep. But how to fall asleep with the world’s deadliest predator at my side?

Aeidas walks with confidence, his dark clothes blending with the shadows around him. His broad back tapers into a lean waist. Even in plain clothes, there’s an effortless grace to him. Despite his simple appearance, there’s a power about him that doesn’t need anything extra to be felt.

Following the underground creek, we’ve lost track of time. My boots are still wet, making funny squelching sounds with each step, but my hair is almost dry, draping down my back as a warm shawl.

A soft glow coming from somewhere ahead reflects on the moist stone walls. We rush forward, hoping for a way out—

And we step into another world.

Glowing mushrooms in tender pastel colors hang from the walls of the cave chamber while veins of crystal sparkle in the rocks, capturing and multiplying the light. The damp earthy scent lingers, and drips of water mingle with the babbling of the creek.

“What is this place?” I ask, unable to move. Elders, there are really wonders in the Wastelands!

“This, little human thief, is a miracle of Cymmetra!” His entire posture changes. Gone is the hinted menace in his gait and the determined line of his shoulders, replaced by a child-like wonder. I lean closer to get a better look at the blue-shimmering mushroom he’s admiring. It has a long, translucent cap and a graceful stalk shrouded by a veil-like ring. It’s beautiful and glowing, definitely the first of its kind I’ve ever seen, but to call it a miracle…

“This is Cymmetra’s Veil, Talysse! Do you know the story?” He throws me a playful look, and I’m caught between suspicion and fascination. Is it another insidious Fae trick? “Legend has it that the Elder of nature, Cymmetra, was seducing her husband Atos, wearing only a veil, and running away from him to fuel his desire, a trick that always works, by the way—”

Why is my face burning? Thank the Elders, the prince is engrossed in studying the mushroom, oblivious to my embarrassment. “Atos tore her veil piece by piece, and everywhere the magical fabric landed, these sprouted! This is a mature specimen, Talysse, extremely rare,” he murmurs. My reaction to his description of the Elders’ foreplays is deeply disturbing. Disturbing as my imagination picks it up and—

“So, if I tap it carefully like this,” he gently touches the cap with his knuckles and screeches like an excited schoolboy, “it releases its spores!”

Indeed, a shimmering haze rises from the mushroom, and he deftly collects it with his fingers. “I will just put these spores here with the others…” he rambles, oblivious to my presence. “Elders, I hope I haven’t lost the other seeds when I fell—”

He fusses around, patting his pockets, and meets my stunned gaze. “What?” he asks, arching a dark brow.

“Atos’s hairy armpits.” It’s not the spores that shock me, but his obsession with something so…tiny. Doesn’t fit the image of a murderous Fae. The Unseelie Prince, in my mind, was a cold, despotic, self-centered monster, and this version of him right now is a contradiction. Well, one can be a power-hungry maniac who killed his own brother and sentenced hundreds to death and still has hobbies. I walk around, inspecting the mushrooms and trying to process this information. Maybe use it to my advantage somehow.

“Didn’t take you for the gardening type,” I say, letting the disbelief drip from my words.

He snaps his head toward me. “Should I be offended or flattered?” He pulls a mock-offended face that looks utterly out of place on his usually stoic features. “I love plants,” he declares. “I even have a little garden—” He stops, realizing he’s said too much. It’s not the kind of thing you share with a rival.

“A little garden?” I ask, unable to mask my dismay. “Don’t you have something better to do with your royal time, like signing death sentences or murdering?”

“One must always find time for their passions, and death sentences and murders just don’t happen to be my thing.” He shrugs, pulling a tiny wax paper sachet out of his pocket. “By Cymmetra, those are completely ruined!”

“Wait a minute, sending people to the gallows and murdering is not your thing?” I take a step closer, peeking into the sachet he holds. It’s full of seeds, blossoms, and random plants.

What kind of trickery is this?

“We all have jobs, Talysse, just like yours was robbing naive strangers and getting them beaten up to a pulp. Mine was to keep the peace and the law in the provinces…do you think those are still good?”

“Hey, Ann’s boys are usually gentle! And that was not my main job—”

“Oh?” he asks, tilting his head and presenting an ear, ending with a gently pointed tip. “Please do tell me more. Those will get moldy by the time we get to Nighthaven—”

We . He said we —

“I was just trying to make some money on the side for me and Tayna…those seeds will definitely get moldy, Aeidas.”

“Your younger sister, right?” Shadows cloud his brow.

“Yes,” I say softly, not liking this turn of the conversation. Sharing private details with the enemy is the worst idea ever.

“I’ll just empty the sachet to put in the spores then.” Aeidas breaks the silence that stretches between us. “It’s just a gift for an old friend,” he declares, stuffing the wax paper package into his pocket, trying for nonchalance. “Someone who’s into plants, too.”

“I’m sure they’ll appreciate your…enthusiasm.”

An old friend interested in botany? That’s even more intriguing! Is it a lady friend? Some pretty Fae noblewoman with a small, coquettish garden? Surely, someone like him gets a lot of female attention, I note, frowning.

“And what friend might that be?” I palm my face as I realize I said it out loud. The last thing I want is for this royal prick to think I’m interested in his private life.

“Viridis has practically raised me,” Aeidas answers, his voice distant. No mocking, no snappy comments. “He taught me to love and respect all living things,” he adds, crouching. “Oh, look, this is Satyr’s Wart!” He points at another modest, non-glowing mushroom. “You can eat this, it has excellent flavor!” He throws the mushroom in his mouth and closes his eyes, obviously enjoying the taste.

“No, thank you. The name itself has ruined my appetite,” I declare, crossing my arms at my chest, but my stomach rumbles loudly. The participants in the Trials were not allowed to take provisions, so our last meal was at that feast. Hunger is nothing new to me, but I need to remain strong if I want to survive this, so I pick up the mushroom with the not-so-appetizing name and study it.

“I wouldn’t have eaten it myself if I wanted to poison you,” Aeidas says, chewing.

“Why Satyr’s Wart, though?” I ask, cautiously taking a bite. Elders, he was right. The flavor is excellent.

“Sure you want that story while you’re eating?”

I shake my head and pick up a handful of the delicious mushrooms. Aeidas’s fingers close around my wrist, and my pulse quickens when his touch lingers an instant longer than it should.

“You don’t want to get sick, Talysse,” he says, and I am painfully aware of the grip of his warm fingers around my wrist. “Three are more than enough.”

This prince seems to know his plants.

Uncomfortable silence settles between us, full of questions two people know they should not ask. I can’t help but wonder what will happen if we find a way out. Will he kill me on the spot? Or will we just part ways, each fighting their way through the rest of the night? My heart suddenly feels heavy. Stupid, stupid heart. Some similar thoughts seem to be bothering him, too, because his head hangs somewhat…hopelessly.

“It’s time to go, Talysse,” his whisper is softer than the stream’s murmur. “This way.” He points to a dark opening. “There’s fresh air coming in.”

I reluctantly push myself up, not bothering to hide my exhausted sigh. The prince hesitates, and for a moment, it’s as if he wants to say something—anything—but the silence between us is louder than words. And then, without another word, he turns, leading me into the darkness.