“Look, Ryatt,” I say, keeping his attention on me. His mouth drops open, and he whips a finger in my direction, making his strawberry hoard fall to the ground. “What’s that?”
“I got my magic,” I say, trying to sound happy, sniffing so that I can make myself stop crying.
Excitement flashes over his red-stained cheeks. “Can I touch it?”
“Sure.”
He hurries forward, his red-stained finger smoothing over one of the black spikes. “Does it hurt?”
I shrug. “A little.”
He grins, turning to our mother, but whatever he was going to say to her gets tossed away, and he frowns. “Mother?”
She has a pasted-on smile, and she’s already wiped off her cheeks, but she still looks all wrong. “Ryatt, those strawberries look very good.”
He’s not deterred. “You’re crying?”
“I’m alright, darling. Just took a tumble. See?” she says, motioning toward the bottom of her dress.
He nods and then slips his red sticky hand into her other hand. “That’s okay, I fell too,” he says, pointing to his soiled socks. “And know what?” he asks.
“What?”
“The grass stains match your eyes too.”
I don’t think I ever saw a smile that looked so sad.
CHAPTER 6
SLADE
Aside from the stalagmites that reach up from the ground in the cave, there are also bold stalactites hanging from the ceiling too. They perfectly taper around the front door of the Grotto like an archway, the craggy pillars hanging down in sharp peaks. They’re wrapped in thin coils of fluorescence, casting blue shadows upon our faces as we pass beneath them.
I have warring emotions when it comes to being here. On one hand, it’s a comfort. On the other, it feels like a punishment. It might be strange for some that we have a house inside a cave, but it’s private and hidden, and despite the bleak gray walls, I have found some comfort here.
Ryatt steps in front of me and shoves the front door open, its hinges squeaking from the perpetual damp in the air. I rush through the dark house, not needing the light, knowing where everything is by memory.
I quickly make it to the front room, scant shadows making up the shapes of furniture that I know by heart. I feel my boots hit the white fur rug that sits in the center of the room, just beneath a circle table that has rings stained on the wood from all the glasses of alcohol my Wrath and I have set on it, condensation be damned.
I stop when my shins hit the cushioned sofa, and by the time I set Auren down on it and start to pull off her wet shoes, Ryatt is already behind me, getting to work on lighting a fire.
Using the cushions, I carefully prop Auren up so that she’s not lying directly on her back. Because her back…
I can’t bear to think about it.
About what he did to her.
Rage surges inside of me, and I wish I was in Ranhold, that I could turn back time and bring Midas to life again so I could kill him myself. I’d do it slowly. Cutting off limb after limb. Rotting him one vein at a time. Crushing his heart in my fist.
Making him suffer.
The strike of a flint draws sparks at my back, and I calm my anger to focus on my task. I need to get her warm and dry, or the rot inside of her won’t matter, because she’ll die of hypothermia instead.
I strip the wet layers of cloaks off of Auren. I toss them both to the floor, clumps of ice breaking as they land, water puddling beneath them. I’m thankful to find that her dress beneath is damp but not soaked-through, only small pebbles of snow stuck to the hem. I quickly yank the blankets off the back of the sofa and pile them on top of her, tucking them in tight around her body.
A soft orange glow begins to light up the house, and I waste no time pulling the sofa forward, its legs screeching in protest as I drag it across the floor and settle it right in front of the fireplace. I can hear Ryatt moving around the room, lighting sconces as he goes, trying to ward off the chill.
I hold my hand in front of her parted lips, feeling Auren’s breath come out slow and steady.
“Auren?”
I’m not expecting a response, but I’m filled with disappointment nonetheless. The only way I can swallow the dread is to keep moving, keep doing, so I remove her sodden leggings. Then I check her fingers and toes, cupping them in my gloved hands to blow warm exhales on them. I don’t care if her power did kick in now that it’s morning. I need to warm her up. When I’m satisfied with their temperature, I cover them in the blankets once again and then gently wipe the frost from her hair.