Page 460 of Coal Hearts

At the top, we cut through the sparse trees and ended up at the cliffs.

Down below, the angry tide frothed and crashed.

Dusk had well and truly become night, and the half-moon granted just enough light to catch Henri’s nod. Without a word, we all joined in the rhythmic swing as we gathered up enough momentum to toss the body over the side.

We let go.

The body went sailing through the air.

No splash.

No sign he’d fallen.

Henri raked both hands through his blood-soaked hair, looked at the moon with a heavy exhale, then slowly led us back to the cave.

Peter lay in a small puddle of moonlight, looking as if this wasn’t just a resting spot but his new grave.

None of us said a word as Henri stumbled, righted himself, then headed toward Peter. His shoulders sagged with tiredness; his arm oozed with blood.

He towered over Peter with hands fisted and an unreadable black look. He studied my friend for so long, I feared he meant to dispatch him and leave him there.

Worry crawled up my spine.

If he means to kill him...

Both Rachel and I darted forward and barricaded ourselves in front of him. “What are you doing?”

He blinked as if the answer was obvious even though he didn’t speak.

Pushing us aside, Henri ducked to his haunches, gathered Peter’s unconscious limbs, and hoisted him into his arms.

My heart squeezed.

Hope, delicious hope.

All the pressure, the pain, and the fear of the day threatened to become too much as I witnessed a man who’d willingly bullied this jewel. A Master who’d judged him, ridiculed him, and been jealous of him—cradle him close as if he was a brother.

Tears stung my eyes as Henri swayed a little before clutching Peter closer to his chest.

Peter’s head flopped back, his shoulders supported by Henri’s arm and his legs draped over another.

Was Henri helping him because of tactic and schemes? Did he do this to stay in Victor’s good graces? Or was he helping because none of this was right? All of this was wrong. So very, very wrong.

And...he’d participated.

Silently, we followed him as he carried Peter out through the tunnel and up the stairs. I’d left the knife tucked discreetly behind a rock, aware the guards would steal it the moment I stepped foot into the stronghold.

Every instinct ordered me not to go back there, but...what choice did we have?

Enter with Henri as our reigning winner and trust him to keep us safe or...risk our lives by swimming.

Krish would never forgive me if I drowned.

No one spoke as we padded silently through the forest, climbing higher and higher, following the same paths we’d sprinted down this morning.

Every day since I’d arrived here, the hours had defied the usual length of a normal trip around the sun. It felt as if I’d been a prisoner for years, yet that journey through the woods felt like it lasted an eternity.

My muscles burned with bruises, my ribs felt far too sharp, and my feet had long stopped screaming for walking over painful things. I didn’t want to see how badly cut they were.