Page 57 of A Haven of Brimstone and Darkness

“Ruen.” Caedmon draws me back to him and I find it easier to step closer to his side than the Goddess of Shadows. He wiggles the book out from between the bars again, and as I take it, I notice the marks on the edge of the pages.

Flipping the book open, I frown at the symbols written there, red staining to black on the yellowed parchment as it seeps beyond the first page and into the next and the next and beyond. The longer I stare, the more transparent the liquid becomes until it disappears altogether.

“What did you do?” I ask.

Caedmon rubs his hand where blood is starting to slow and I realize that must be what he’d used to write in the book. “Because of my imprisonment, my abilities are far weaker than usual,” he tells me.

I watch as he flips his wrist over and taps the side of his shackle. It doesn’t move. I frown and lean forward, nearly pressing my forehead into the bars. There’s a bit of space between his flesh and the brimstone cuff, so it should be able to turn slightly even if it can’t be slipped off.

Caedmon offers me a vague smile. “Bolts,” he murmurs in answer to my unspoken curiosity. “Bolts of brimstone are bound through our wrists, keeping us here. The book likely hasn’t been working despite the proximity because as I am weakened, so too is its ability.”

I am silent as I take in the information. It’s good to know that the book is tied to him this way, but the cruelty of this kind of imprisonment only acts as a reminder of the blood thatruns through my own veins. Azai and Tryphone are no different. Cruel and greedy beings as they are.

Tightening my grip on the book, I manage to scrape out another question, though the words on my tongue taste like ash. “What happens if”—I swallow roughly—“you die? Will the book simply remain empty after that?”

Caedmon shakes his head. “I don’t believe so,” he admits. “I think the last of my ability will pass on to it and it will actually draw strength after my death, but … I don’t know for sure. No one else with an ability for foresight has ever created a book of prophecies.” His eyes linger on the tome in my hand.

I hear what he doesn’t say. If Tryphone were to find this and know that information, then he might kill Caedmon rather than keep him imprisoned. A book, after all, is far more controllable than a living, breathing man.

“I will come back,” I promise him. “You will be free before this is all over.” I glance at Ariadne. “You as well,” I tell her.

“Freeing us now would be a mistake,” Caedmon says. “But when the time is right…” He glances to the woman before me. She looks so much like Kiera that it makes a piece inside my chest ache.

“I understand,” I say, “but regardless of mistakes made, we won’t leave you down here forever. We will not forget you.”

Ariadne nods and takes a step further into the darkness of her cell. “Just remember Caedmon’s warnings,” she urges. “And…” She disappears into the shadows, but her voice echoes from it as she finishes the last of her request. “Take care of her, Ruen. Take care of my daughter.”

Chapter 28

Kiera

Ascream peels me from sleep, yanking me into the world of the awakened with violent claws. Sitting up, surrounded by shadows and the sense of dread, I don’t move for several long moments as I try to ascertain whether or not the scream had come from my own throat or someone else’s. Twisting to look around the room, I realize that silence is the dark’s only companion. There is no feminine scream full of agony and fear echoing into the corners of the bedchamber. I reach up, touching my throat with my fingertips.

A second passes and then another and another. My door never opens. No one comes rushing in to rescue me from a nightmare I can’t seem to remember. A small bump jumps beneath the surface of the sheets that cover my legs and then moves swiftly upward. Peering down as Ara dives out from the blankets and skitters to where my hand rests, face down, on the mattress, she uses me as a ladder—climbing up my arm to my shoulder.

I didn’t scream, I slowly start to realize. Ara’s nervous energy is obvious from the tapping on my shoulder. She circles and circles, diving for my neck and tapping me there before she reaches out and clutches on to the strands of my hair. The stickyends of her legs catch on the strands, tugging, and though it’s such a light pull, she’s never done it before. Reaching up, I cup my fingers around her, gently separating her legs from my hair to move her to my palm when I feel the harsh sting of a bite.

Gritting my teeth against the urge to snap out a curse, I curl my fingers around Ara even tighter and pull her—much less gently—away from me to set her on the bed in front of me. Before I manage to drop her in my lap, she bites me again. The sharp pain isn’t followed by any sort of hot sear that spreads outward, so I know she hasn’t used her venom, but it still fucking hurts.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” I mutter, annoyed as I shake my hand out, trying to rid myself of the sensation.

In my lap, she circles again, legs tapping crazily as she hops up and down. Closing my eyes, I breathe through my mouth and reach out a mental hand to her smaller mind. Images flash through me. Blood. Water. Wind. A fractured window and the pale fabric of a dirtied dress dragged over stone. Red ribbons fanned out in an array of gray shadows. The scream that repeats back to me from Ara’s memories mimics the scream that had woken me. I focus on the ribbons. I know they’re red due to how often I’ve had to differentiate what my spiders see through their different eyes, but something about them is throwing me off. That’s when I realize, they’re not ribbons at all. It’s hair.Red hair.

My eyes slam open. “Maeryn.” Ara dives off me as I fling the covers back and jump from the bed. I don’t stop to grab my boots, thankful that none of the Darkhavens had crawled into bed with me knowing that it would’ve meant I’d have been woken up by my Spider Queen naked.

I’m at the door and across the corridor in seconds. I don’t bother to knock on Maeryn’s door, choosing instead to twist the handle. When I find it locked, I rear back and grip either side of the door. The first hit of the flat of my foot against hardwood elicits a loud bang and a groan, but no actual splintering. I debate going back for my boots as I line up for the next hit. Two doors open behind me. I ignore the sounds as I slam my foot into the door again. Another groan, still no movement.

“Fucking shit.” Now that the others are awake, there’s no point in keeping quiet. “Maeryn!” I yell her name and pause, listening. There’s no sound on the other side of the door.

I lock my hands back onto either side of the doorway and lift my foot. “Let me.” I’m plucked off the floor by one pair of hands as Kalix steps forward. I blink, frowning as he moves in front of me before realizing that Theos is the one who’s moving me back to give his brother space.

Even though Kalix is just as barefoot as I am, it takes considerably less effort for him. Kalix jumps up and positions his own hands a bit higher on the frame—all the way at the top, in fact. He dangles there, his feet barely grazing the floor as he swings his body back and forth, the muscles of his arms bunching with the effort. His front smacks the door, but he doesn’t seem to notice as he strains his arms. His entire lower body swings wildly away from the door and as he comes back to it, he lifts his legs and kicks.

The door cracks, a fissure racing up towards the top of the door and then down to the bottom from the place he’d hit. On the second attempt, it breaks completely, the two halves tearing apart so that a large chunk of the upper part falls inward. The space is only about a foot wide at the top, trickling down to the formation of the crack in the middle. It’s enough, though, for Kalix to drop back down and reach inside.

His arm disappears in the hole and then the lock of the door clicks. I throw Theos’ arms off me and rush forward, gripping the handle and flinging the rest of the door open to find … nothing. I turn and turn again. My breaths heave up and down in my chest as I take in the empty floor. The lack of furniture. Kalixand Theos’ footsteps follow me inside, but they remain silent as I examine every nook and cranny of the place, sure that what I’m seeing must be an illusion of sorts.

There’s no bed. No washbasin. No sign of anyone having stayed here at all. Turning back and rushing into the hall, I look up and down the corridor. While I know there are more rooms around the corner, our rooms—two for females and three for males—are the only rooms in this section. There’s not another room for Maeryn to have stayed. I drag a hand through my hair, confusion and questions spiraling through my mind. That scream had been so real. Terrified.

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