Page 50 of Heir of Illusion

Choking and suffocating are much the same, both requiring the absence of air. But for some strange twist of fate, these familiar horrors should have cut my life short many years ago. Instead, they haunt me from grave to grave, unable to close the casket. No matter how many times I survive, each standoff with this enemy fills me with terror. My fingers move to my collar, wrapping around it as I recall the way my lungs burned.

“I drowned once,” I whisper. “As a child.”

That day marked the first time I escaped the clutches of death, but not the last. I’m not sure why I bring it up, but I can’t take the words back now. Perhaps I longed to say something real. Something honest. Maybe I thought he might understand the urge to speak an ugly truth instead of a pretty lie.

Thorne’s head tilts to the side, sending a strand of wet hair falling across his forehead. He makes no move to brush it away. Instead, his attention is focused on me, as if I’m some strange problem he can’t solve. For a moment, I think he won’t respond, but then he gestures to my necklace.

“You touch that a lot.”

“Do I?” I drop my hands into my lap, balling them into fists to stop their shaking.

“I didn’t think most highborn ladies wore the same jewels every day.”

The unasked questions in his eyes demand answers, forcing me to look away before I do something crazy like give them to him.

“It was a gift,” I murmur, staring at the shadows once more.

“From your lover?”

“From the king,” I correct him, as if somehow that distinction matters.

“Is there a difference?”

Yes. I want to scream the word. I imagine my voice echoing off the walls of this cavern, bouncing all the way back to Baylor himself. But I hold my tongue, shifting to face Thorne with a practiced smile.

“No.” I shake my head. “Not really.”

We sit in silence for a few moments, swaying with the gentle swells of the river. He turns his head, gazing at the path before us. A bit of green clings to one of his dark locks, no doubt a piece of algae.

Without thinking, I move forward to brush it away, but a gloved hand darts out, snagging my wrist in a punishing grip. He drops it immediately, as if I burned him. He physically recoils from me as he moves to the other side of the canoe.

“Don’t. Touch. Me.” His eyes are feverish as he stares at me with disgust. “Ever.”

My eyes widen as heat flames my face. “I’m sor?—”

“Don’t apologize,” he cuts me off, his tone harsh. “Just tell me you understand.”

Dropping my gaze, I nod as my stomach churns from the shame.

That’s a boundary I can respect—should have respected from the start. I don’t know why I reached out to touch him. We aren’t friends. We’re barely allies. Of course he doesn’t want the king’s whore anywhere near him. No one wants the dirtypetto get too close, even if it was innocent.

I scoot back, awkwardly settling into my seat at the opposite end of the boat. Picking up my oar, I avoid looking at Thorne.

“We should keep moving,” I say, my voice steady.

“Ivy, I?—”

I shake my head, cutting him off. “Those creatures are gone for now, but they could come back.”

I don’t glance in his direction again until he settles into his own seat, turning his back to me. Neither of us speaks as we begin to row again. The heavy atmosphere pushes in on me, but I ignore it.

Thinking back over my day, I realize it was designed to test me. All of my carefully concealed nightmares somehow followed me into my waking hours, accompanied by horrifying new monsters that will no doubt haunt me forever. Picturing the squid’s sharp teeth, I wonder if Darby encountered them too. Did he even make it out of this cave, or did he meet his end underneath the waves? And if all of this was a test, what exactly are the Fates trying to prepare me for?

After another hour of rowing, we finally come upon a shoreline only a few yards from the mouth of the cave. A much-welcomed breeze floats over the water, carrying the scent of the lush forest on the other side. Moonlight peeks through the opening, casting an ethereal glow upon the lonely canoe banked in the mud.

“I guess this confirms Darby survived the squid,” I mutter as we wade through the sludge, dragging our boat to shore.

“But he didn’t escape unscathed.” Thorne’s voice is cold as he points to a bloody handprint on the side of the vessel.

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