Page 40 of Bound By Roses

Gods, that laugh. I don’t want to go a single day without hearing it.

The land rises slowly, and soon we’re following the shoals around the edge of a steep cliff. More than once, I thought I spotted the entrance to a cave amidst the uneven rock, but every time it was merely a deceptive shadow. We have to be nearing the cave by now. If we don’t find it soon, we’re going to have to postpone the search until morning and set about finding a place to make camp. The sun still floats above the horizon, but it’s far lower than I would like.

“There it is!” Abby says suddenly, pointing to an outcrop of rock ahead of us. I squint my eyes against the sunlight, but don’t see what she’s seeing.

“Are you sure it’s not another shadow?” We’ve been scanning the cliff-side for almost an hour now and everything has looked the same to me.

“Positive. Watch the waves.”

I let my gaze settle on where she’s pointing and watch the steady flow of water as it washes over the shoal and hits the rock face. There’s a small spot where the waves don’t break, as if they’re pushing deeper into the stone.

“You never cease to amaze me.” I’m supposed to be the one with enhanced senses and she’s putting me to shame.

The entrance to the cave is flooded with knee-deep water, and that alone is enough to make me nervous. With the tide out, there’s a very likely chance that this cave will flood entirely when it returns. “Should we wait until tomorrow?” I ask, really not wanting to. I’ve never been this close to answers, and denying myself them now is the last thing I want.

Abby touches the stone wall as high up as she can reach. “It’s dry. I don’t think it floods completely, so we should be fine.”

“That’s not exactly reassuring.”

“That sounds awfully similar to complaining.”

I kick a knee up, effectively splashing her. Her playful shriek echoes through the cave. From the sound alone, I can tell it’s not as deep as I was originally thinking. There’s likely only another room or two up ahead of us, so at least the likelihood of us getting trapped in here if it filled with water is minimal.

“Let’s go,” I say, taking her hand in mine and helping her wade through the water. It’s nearly up to her hips, so traversing this part of the cave is significantly more difficult for her. She makes it clear that she doesn’t need my help, but will take it all the same for just the excuse to hold my hand. I definitely don’t deserve her.

The cave is surprisingly well lit as light streams in from holes of various sizes that litter the ceiling above us and the wall at our backs. They look natural, but I wouldn’t put it past the sirens to have carved it that way. There’s also less water now. The snaking tunnel must run on a slow incline because before long, we’re out of the ocean entirely.

I just hope it stays that way.

The tunnel opens up ahead of us into a room that’s significantly brighter than where we are now. I’m now certain that it was designed this way, and even if I still had my doubts,those would have been washed away the moment we entered the room.

Carved into the wall directly ahead of us is a massive stone mural. Holes of varying sizes speckle the ceiling and provide just enough light to navigate the cavern comfortably, while also illuminating the faces etched into the mural in a way that seems intentional. There have to be at least fifty people carved into the stone, and all of them are strangers to me. At least at first.

We start on the left side of the room, neither of us daring to speak a word in case it shatters the sanctity of this place. The carvings are painted lightly in some sort of dye that hasn’t so much as flaked, never mind bleached from the sun and sea. Whatever the sirens used, it was built to last.

As my eyes scan over the various people depicted here, I can’t help but think I notice subtle similarities to myself. The shape of a nose, the hardness of a stare, even the carelessness of a hairstyle looks as if it too never quite sits right no matter how much styling was involved.

This is my family. My lineage, following my mother’s line back generations. As I move towards the right, the faces grow more and more similar until I find her there.

My mother.

She looks younger than I remember her, her skin far smoother in a way that has nothing to do with the rock. Her eyes are bright and full of the same joy I’d always seen there. They’re the exact same colour as mine and every bit how I remember them. How many times had I said I would give anything to stare into those eyes again?

Behind her stands a much older woman. Her face is stern and seems to lack any of the joy filling my mother.

This is the weaver. The queen. Mygrandmother.

No man stands beside her. I’ll have to remember to ask Aurelia why that is. There are other men shown throughthe generations, but for whatever reason, my grandfather isn’t among them.

Beside my mother, two other young women stand. One I recognize as Aurelia, though she looks far less like my grandmother than she does now. Her features are softer, warmer, and although her eyes don’t hold the same brightness as my mother’s, there’s a spark of hope existing there. A spark that I know went out when her mate died beside her on what should have been the happiest day of her life.

Abby gasps suddenly, the first sound either of us has made since entering this glimpse into the past. Her attention is glued on the woman carved on the other side of my mother.

So this is the aunt Aurelia said was gone.

She looks a lot like her siblings, though her hair seems to shine red in the sunlight cascading down from one of the holes above us, and her eyes—her violet eyes—seem to stare into me.

Just as they did the first time I ever saw her, and every time since.

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