The Bone Shard Daughter (The Drowning Empire, #1)(76)

“I’m fond of bold moves.”

“Bold moves get you killed.” The corner of his mouth twisted, his face gone suddenly grim as though struck by a memory that had left him bitter. “The guards in the palace will be loyal. Everyone has a price, but you wouldn’t be able to pay it. Be smarter.” And then he turned again.

I stepped lightly toward him, my footfalls soft against the cavern floor.

And then Mephi dashed across the cavern floor, slamming into my knees. He leaned into my calf, gazing up at me with wide black eyes. I bent to scratch the nubs behind his ears. “Did you eat enough?”

Gio, his back still turned, let out a heavy sigh.

“I can be quiet when I want to be,” I said. “And why do we need this sort of practice? You said you’re going with me. I won’t be doing this alone.”

“Maybe because I’m not ready to die just yet,” he said drily.

I tapped my staff against the cavern floor. The lamps sent my shadow flickering across the ground. “Show me then. Stop giving me vague directions – I never learned well from that.” I pivoted and faced the wall.

I’d barely settled my stance when a breeze stirred the hairs on the back of my head. An arm settled around my neck; a hand pressed over my mouth. I dropped my staff, startled. The man’s sinewy elbow clamped tight. Very quickly, my vision dimmed.

Something screeched, and Gio swore. He let me go.

Mephi had sunk his teeth into Gio’s boot and was doing his best to unbalance him. I thought Gio might kick at him, or pull away. Instead, he knelt and looked Mephi straight in the eyes, his demeanor flowing from surprise into calm. “I mean him no harm.” He held both hands upright, palms out. “I’m not hurting him, I promise.”

It seemed I wasn’t the only one who’d fallen into the trap of addressing Mephi like he was a person.

Mephi, for his part, unhinged his jaw and let the boot go, though he stayed crouched on the floor, all the hair on his back on end.

“Your pet doesn’t like me much,” Gio said.

“He’s particular.” I rubbed at my throat. I’d not seen Gio move before he’d attacked me. And he was deceptively strong. It seemed the leader of the Shardless Few had earned his legends. “Give him a fish though, and he’d forgive you for murdering me. Fickle beast.”

Mephi turned narrowed eyes on me. Did he understand “fickle” now too? I hoped not.

I glanced around the cavern we’d been practicing in. This hideout the Shardless had acquired was vast – larger on the inside than I’d thought possible. In a few places, light filtered in through vines, tinted green. I scooped my staff from the ground. “How did you know this place was here?”

“We were lucky. When we came to Nephilanu, one of my scouts found it.”

Lie.

I pressed him on it. “One of your scouts saw the crack in the cliff face and decided to go for a pleasure outing into its depths? Whoever this scout is, they have a death wish.”

He smiled. “Don’t all of the Shardless Few? Those of us who escaped the Tithing Festival live in constant fear of discovery.”

I let the change of subject pass. “And the rest of you?”

His grin faded into his usual grim expression. He picked up a lamp, beckoned to me and strode from the room. I followed, Mephi on my heels.

Faded murals adorned the walls of the hallway, remnants of silver paint catching the lamp’s light. I could make out some of the scenes, though some of the walls had been damaged, leaving chunks of the paintings missing. Men and women in flowing, high-necked robes, their hands upraised. Waves crashing against a cliff. Wind bending trees. And then a series of paintings that took me a moment to process. Four islands, each one lower in the water.

Not four islands. One. Sinking.

I put a hand to the wall, feeling suddenly dizzy. The ground beneath me shaking, dust clogging my nostrils. Men and women and children screaming. Animals swimming away, trying to escape. Hands clawing at thatch and tile as water rushed into homes, as the Endless Sea claimed city after city, life after life.

I wanted to vomit. It had happened before – somewhere in the long history of the islands. Back in the time of the Alanga or before.

The brightness of a lantern struck my eyes. Gio had stopped and turned. “Are you all right?”

Mephi rose to his haunches and patted my leg, little worried sounds in the back of his throat.

“Fine.” What was I to say? I would never be all right again.

He didn’t believe me, but he didn’t pry.

He led me into another cavern, this one with a hole in the ceiling that let in some light. Pallets were set up near the light. “I wanted to show you,” Gio said, setting the lamp down. “We don’t all escape. The rest of us live in fear of the day our shards are pressed into dead flesh.”

Several men and women lay on the pallets, their thin limbs held tight to their bodies, curled like the legs of dead spiders. Three of them craned their necks at the sound of Gio’s voice. The last one lay still, perhaps no longer able to hear anything at all.

“Their shards must have been in use for some time,” Gio said. “But the sickness and the weakness don’t often strike until the end. It’s so gradual, most of us don’t notice. A twinge here, a bout of exhaustion there. By the time it’s noticeable, the decline is quick.” He approached the pallets and knelt, checking in with a woman who hovered over them with a pitcher of water and a damp rag.