Page 113 of A Promise of Peridot
So many nights back in the servants’ quarters in Shadowhold, I had fallen asleep to imagined moments just like this one—Kane’s declaration of love, riding off to that abstract cottage together...
But it had never been so raw, so painful.
I ached for both of us. For what we had put each other through.
I had tried touseKane. I had—
I moved off the bed, searching the room for my silk robe, wishing I could disappear entirely. “I’m sorry,” I muttered.
“Don’t be, please,” he said, standing. “Hey, that’s the last thing I want. Last night was fun, right?”
I tried to grin, but nothing had ever felt so false. I wrapped the robe around my middle. “Of course, yeah.”
“Good, then my work here is done.” He gave me that knee-weakening half grin. “I’ll meet you downstairs.”
33
arwen
Kane and I flew until we reached the woods surrounding Crag’s Hollow and then made our way on foot into the gloomy coastal town. We walked down a cobblestone road that wove between rickety, lopsided buildings shrouded in mist until we passed an off-kilter lighthouse. I smelled the brine and salt before we rounded its faded bricks and caught a glimpse of the dock at the heart of the small fishing village.
Beyond the faded signs for boat rentals and tethered canoes and anchors stretched a washed-out platform that hung over a collapsed ancient, glacial lake. The dark water of Lake Stygian spread like an ink stain against the foggy sky above, and I could barely make out a humped landmass in the far distance, like a huge, slumped figure had fallen asleep in the water.
“What is that?”
“Hemlock Isle,” Kane said.
“That’s Hemlock Isle?”
Kane cocked his head. “Where did you think it was?”
“I don’t know, actually.” Niclas’s mention of it was the first I’d heard of the place.
“The entire island serves as the largest and most treacherous prison in all of Evendell.” Kane’s voice was kind enough, but his eyes stayed trained on the milling sailors in the town ahead.
It had been slightly tense between us all day, but I was determined to alleviate the discomfort. “Is it unsafe to live here? Do escaped criminals make it to the dock by cover of night?”
“No, bird. Nobody escapes Hemlock Isle.” He didn’t smile, but the use of the familiar pet name was a good start. “The island is essentially a deep crater. It’s impossible to climb in or out unless you can fly.”
I surveyed the wet, windswept little town around us. Rocks and bluffs jutted out on either side of the street, most of the homes built into the dark stone cliffs or suspended high on stilts above the rough waters below. “So how do we find Esme?”
The houses and shops were weathered, splintered, and peeling paint—some even boarded up altogether. But the town wasn’t impoverished or dirty, just a bit worn in. I didn’t mind. The saline air was refreshing, and I sucked in a lungful, wrapping my fox fur around me tightly.
“We’ll start at her shop, the Painted Lady. Are you cold?” Kane began to pull off his gloves.
“I’m fine. I like it.”
We stepped to the side in unison as a spectacled man with a fish cart passed by us, a gaggle of children hot on his tail singing a nautical tune about seals that tired sailors mistook for mermaids.
“It’s strange,” I mused, “but I think I’m actually a little bit in love with this place.”
Kane grinned slightly and his gaze fixed on a steep cliff to ourright. The rugged stone hung over a small blue café with pale white shutters and a sign that read “Mariner’s Pub.” “I feel the same. I own that cottage up there.”
I had missed a small, crooked house on top of the cliff. With a textured stone chimney, faded gray paint, and two lanterns hanging out front, it sat all alone beside a single plum tree.
“It’s beautiful.”
Kane chuckled and I looked over to him, catching the sparkle in his silver eyes despite the cloud cover. “I don’t know about that, but it’s got a pretty breathtaking view of the lake. On the rare cloud-free evening, it’s the best sunset in all of Onyx. And right below, Mariner’s Pub serves a mean fish and crisps. Quentin brews this cider in the winter with his daughters... Greta goes a little overboard with the rum, though.” Kane’s expression had turned grave. “I worry about her drinking, but she’s just at that age.”
