“She needed to get out of the Grotto.”
All three of our attention snags to the fire, where Ryatt is now surrounded by villagers. Looking at him, you would never know that he was practically spitting anger just a few moments ago. Right now, he looks relaxed. Happy. There’s no indication whatsoever of the emotion that must still be churning in his head. Instead, he seems completely at ease in the camaraderie of the people around him as they laugh and talk.
Until his eyes snap to mine from across the space, making my stomach go sour as I turn away.
I want her gone.
We all saw her in that ballroom.
Fifty-seven people.
I open my mouth to say…something, but every turbulent thought grinds to a halt when I spot something against Slade’s cheek. “Is that blood?”
He lifts a hand to his face and tries to wipe it away, but all that does is spread it.
“Is that yours? Are you hurt?” Maybe he and Ryatt actually came to blows before I came over?
But Slade shakes his head. “It’s not mine.”
“Then whose?” Ryatt didn’t look like he’d gotten hit, didn’t have any visible blood.
Slade’s eyes dart to the right. Back toward the tunnel, and a chill scatters down my spine.
“Whose blood is that?” I ask again.
His green eyes flick to Lu, and they exchange a loaded look.
“Gildy,” she says, moving up beside me. “How about you and I go finish up our wine—”
I shove away before either of them can stop me, plunging into the fissure where Slade and Ryatt just were. I hear him calling my name, but I ignore him, just as I ignore the darkness I’m suddenly plunged into, even the way the claustrophobic walls seem to press in on me as I scramble through.
Something drives me forward, my pulse pounding in my ears, and then I’m through the crack and stumbling into a dimly lit cavern. The first thing I see is the thick iron door. A barrel and chair shoved against the jagged walls. Lanterns hanging from a hook. Somehow, the fluorescence in here looks more sinister, like the veins of the mountain have spoiled into a sickly green in some parts.
I hear footsteps behind me, so I push forward, my pulse thumping loudly in my ears. I approach the door, peering through the slats at the top. At first, I can’t even discern what exactly I’m looking at.
But the smell…
“Auren.”
Slade’s hand comes down to my arm, trying to gently pull me away, but I shrug him off. My eyes are adjusting to the dark, my mind telling me what I’m seeing, even as it simultaneously revolts against it. But there’s no denying that person-sized lump.
The smell wafting from the room grows more intense the longer I stand here, and I pin my lips together, trying to hold my breath. Yet the putrid scent feels like it’s sinking into my pores, clogging my skin with its foulness, making my stomach roil. And there’s a sound, an incessant buzzing that seems to vibrate all the way through my bones.
I’m about to turn away, about to ask Slade who this is, when a pair of swollen eyes spring open, the shine of them catching in the low lantern light.
I gasp and stumble back a step.
How can he be alive?
This man—if he can even be considered a man anymore—is looking right at me where he’s lying on his side in the middle of the dirt floor. Even with the low lighting, I can see that his body is swollen beneath shucked up pant legs and sleeves. His skin has browned and peeled back, his hair nothing but tufts of rotten strands clinging to a molded scalp. There’s curdled blood on his lips, and his teeth…
“Great Divine…”
Slade’s arm wraps around me and tugs, and this time, I let him pull me away, my steps unsteady as he leads me further down the tunnel. When I feel a breeze of air, I turn my head in that direction, taking in great gulping breaths.
“I didn’t want you to see that,” he says as I brace a hand against the wall of the cave.
I look up at him. “Who is that?”
“Didn’t you recognize the clothing?”
“I was too busy noticing his fingers rotting off his hand.”
Slade’s lips press together, and he looks away, his sharp-jawed profile bathed in warring shadow.
Breathing out, I take a second to think past the shocking parts, to remember the rucked up clothing, and my eyes go wide. “His coat was gilded.”
He turns back to look at me, his face grim as he gives me a nod. “Yes. He was a spy for Midas. Sent here to get information after we made the Deadwell deal,” he explains. “They tried to flee when I arrived, but Ryatt tracked them all down.”