Page 161 of Fallacies

A weight presses on my chest, and I feel my eyes get heavy.

Salem’s hold on my wrist tightens, and his other hand comes up to support my back.

Eyes springing open at the touch, I notice concern on his face.

Whatever atmosphere we’re in pulls on my body, tugging and pushing every which way. But in his grip, I’m not moved by it—not a single inch.

My hearing falters, a rolling sound tumbling through my head, like I’ve been shoved beneath the surface of a towering wave.

It’s the same haunted echo I’d get when putting my ear to a seashell as a girl. When Ivy and I first found the Cove, we figured out that after a storm is when the sea spits out the biggest conchs. The noise is familiar enough that I find it soothing.

But the world we’ve been plunged into isn’t blue like the Cove. It’s blue like the heart of the sea. Blue like the Eldral my father gave me. My surroundings, however, pale in comparison to the set of eyes looking back at me.

Between slow blinks, I try my hardest to focus on them—the most beautiful blue I’ve ever seen. The Hound’s eyes, I’ve decided, are part of his deceptively lovely exterior. But right now they are even more breathtaking. Clearer than I’ve ever seen them. So clear, I can see my own reflection in the cerulean hues.

His irises have burst into a thousand tiny fragments, coming alive with the power he’s exerting. There are so many shades of blue that I could never even spot them all.

After another long blink, my vision focuses enough to note the way he’s looking back at me. There’s still concern on his face, but there’s curiosity too, his dark brows knitting together as if my eyes are as fascinating as his. Doubtful.

Another slow blink and my lungs start burning, the need to breathe starting up in my ribcage. I pinch my nose harder, pressing my lips together until they ache.

Despite not inhaling the fog around us, I feel its effects tapering the edge of my consciousness. It hasn’t crept in nearly enough to take me, but the desire to give in...to sleep...is overwhelming.

My heavy head bobs, and his hand comes off my wrist to catch it, a firm palm pressed into my hair. Great. We’re going to get to the dungeon, and I’m going to puke all over the floor.

At least I’ll be conscious. Hopefully. Though the effects are strengthening, and the pull to sink into it is just as demanding as the burn in my lungs.

The concern on Salem’s face deepens, and through my slowing blinks, I can see the mist moving faster around us, trapping our bodies in a cyclone of vivid blue. More color pours into his irises, brightening them beyond belief, and as quickly as it all speeds up, it stops.

Gravity hits and my body sags in his hold. My boots drop to a hard ground, and I rip my hand off my face and inhale a full breath. The oxygen soothes my lungs instantly. I take in another. And another.

“Hey.” His voice is distant, like it’s been muttered through a wall.

I feel large hands on my shoulders, sliding down to grip my arms.

“Hey,” Salem says again. “You’re good. Come on.”

The more he talks, the clearer his voice becomes, and the lighter my body feels. I blink a few times, realizing with a twinge of embarrassment that I’m death-gripping the sleeves off the Hound’s shirt.

Pulling my hands away, I rock slightly on my feet. It takes me a few seconds to stabilize myself, and he keeps his arm outstretched, just in case.

When I look up, I find that his eyes are back to their normal, striking, blue—not nearly as much life in them—and one black brow is lifted in silent question.

“I’m good,” I assure him, waving off his hand. “I’m good.”

Turning to take in my surroundings, I freeze.

We’re in the dungeons, alright, and there have to be at least a hundred blinking eyes staring back at me. At us.

The gravity of what we’re doing here hits me then. I can only imagine what they’re thinking, seeing me blink into existence with the Hound of all people. Gods, they look horrified.

The Sol remain silent, but as their attention shifts from me to Salem, more than a few people stumble back from the bars of their cages, gripping their chains to their chests. The clatter of it is loud enough that I cut my attention to the entrance to the dungeon, knowing that if Salem was right and they have increased security, there are at least two or three guards out there.

“Shh,” I urge the cages closest to me. “It’s okay.” Holding my hands out, I nod to the Hound. “He’s here to help. I promise.” I begin walking as I speak, making sure everyone hears it. “But you have to stay quiet.”

Salem doesn’t even try to look friendly. Expression blank, he nods to the far end of the dungeon—to the exit. “I’ll be down there,” he tells me. “There are three guards, but they’ll only come in here if they have a reason to, so⁠—”

“Don’t give them a reason to?”