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Just as it feels like my lungs are about to explode, I suck in the sweet, frigid air.
I breathe.
Then I open my mouth and scream his name as loud as I possibly can.
“Corvan! Help—”
But just then, the wind blows fiercely, rustling and howling through the canopy above, masking my cries.
“Shut the fuck up.” Kinnivar clamps his disgusting hand over my mouth, sticking his fingers in to stop me from screaming.
Maybe it’s just my imagination, but I thought I detected a note of panic in his voice.
Of course he should be panicking. Corvan’s going to tear him to shreds.
Filled with sudden fury, I bite down on his offending fingers,hardthis time. I want to make him feel pain. I want him to bleed.
His skin breaks. He grunts in pain.
His blood fills my mouth, and it tastes strange; bitter and foul, a mixture of acid and rot. It burns my tongue. I hate it, but I have no choice but to swallow it down as the captain wraps one arm around my neck and slowly starts to choke me. “That was a mistake,” he says softly. “Go to sleep now, Finley. There’s nothing you can do. Corvan Duthriss isn’t going to last long. He’s an abomination. Should never have been given his titles in the first place.”
Kinnivar’s grip is unbreakable. I stare up at the night sky; at the huge, bright moon. My eyelids flutter. I start to drift. My consciousness is fading. The stars are so brilliant; glittering jewels of light in the inky blackness. They’re becoming blurry.
The whisper of the wind through the branches is louder than ever. It seethes and pulsates, developing a rhythm. The skeletal arms and fingers of the branches are above us, crisscrossing the star-speckled tapestry.
How did I not notice it before? There’s definitely a rhythm to it. Almost like music; like the pounding of drums and the rise and fall of strings.
Child.
What was that? A voice whispering in my mind?
Child, don’t despair. You’re under our protection. Hidden from us for far too long. How could we have missed you?
Another voice joins the first, speaking alongside it.
Child. You are bound up in a shroud of your mother’s own making. You have the seal of protection upon you. Come now, it is time to break it.
A third voice joins in, over the top of the other two.
She has no heart-seed. How can she be grown, and yet have no heart-seed?
The voices grow louder; more insistent. There are a dozen different conversations going on at once. It’s as my head has become a busy hall, filled with a crowd’s endless chatter.
“Stop,” I try to whisper, but Kinnivar’s terrible arm has cut off my ability to speak.
My body feels strange. As if my heart is a woven tapestry, and each painstakingly woven thread is being violently unravelled.
Everything’s coming undone.
These voices are going to make my head explode.
Stop.
“Take her to the carriage. We’ve already lost too much time.”
Rough hands grab me.
The voices are deafening.
