Arcana Rising (The Arcana Chronicles #4)(34)

“I can pick and choose what I decide to believe,” I assured him. “To use.”

“Take care that she doesn’t poison your mind.”

“Didn’t you hear? I’m immune to poison.”

Aric parted his lips to say something, then seemed to think better of it. As he strode away, the sound of his spurs rang in my ears.

I glanced back at my sketch. When had I drawn a frame of flames around Jack?





21


The Hunter


Somewhere far in the West





“Goan to die in this hellhole,” I muttered. “Down here in the dark.”

I hadn’t choked down anything but hardtack in weeks, would be damned before eating the “meat.” My bones were jutting, but I wouldn’t last long enough to starve.

Fever would take me soon.

I shook, sweating against the freezing ground. Breaths wheezing. Dirt and salt caked my damp skin, all along the whip marks on my bare back. Stung like fire.

The slavers gave prisoners four hours a night to sleep, but I refused to pass out. I couldn’t stand the nightmares, the ghosts. They were coming for me—’cause I was about to walk among them.

I squeezed my eyes closed. Yet that made the sounds of the ghosts even louder.

Maman’s liquor bottle clinking against a glass. Her rosary beads whispering as I took them from her neck. Clotile’s soft-spoken French. The sharp pop of gunfire when she shot herself.

I heard the folks in my Azey army. Just before Richter attacked, there’d been laughter and music. Everyone had been happy. Hopeful.

Over and over, I heard Selena’s scream of fury: “Emperor!” She’d sensed Richter a split-second before he’d struck.

I replayed her fierce look as she’d shoved me off a moving horse into an abandoned mine. I’d crashed through rotted planks down into that deep shaft just as the blast had hit.

Radio busted . . . lava chasing me underground . . . a rushing flood carrying me through the mountain and out the other side . . . miles . . . pain . . . darkness . . . waking in shackles . . .

Slavers had sold me west. Now I was trapped in yet another mine.

Evangeline haunted me more than all of them. Was she among the living or the dead? I’d led her right to the Emperor. Had she been far enough away from the explosion? Sometimes I thought yes, sometimes no, tormenting myself, going back and forth.

Death hadn’t been far. He might’ve sensed the Emperor’s approach like Selena had. Domīnija could’ve used his unnatural speed to rescue Evie.

I would give anything to know she was okay. Would sell my soul to see her eyes one last time. Whenever she got excited, they shimmered. I’d imagined them all lit up when she’d talked to me on the radio about snow. She’d laughed, and my heart had soared. She’d chosen me.

Right before the blast—

My eyes flashed open in the dim mine. Had I heard whispering along with the ghosts? I couldn’t make out the words.

I darted my gaze. After my last fight with the slavers, I was still seeing double—which was how I’d gotten this fever in the first place. Desperate to escape, squinting in the dark, I’d swung my pickax at the lock on one of my ankle cuffs.

Fucking missed.

I’d gouged out a good chunk of flesh. At best, half of my leg would be lost to infection. What use would the overseers have for a slave who couldn’t mine salt? None. They’d slit my throat and feed me to the rest.

Probably why the other prisoners avoided me.

’Cause I was already dead.

The whisper returned: “Hunter.”

The hallucinations were getting worse. Losing my mind right along with my leg.

“Hunter, Hunter, Hunter.”

Sounded so real. I wanted to yell, “I ain’t the hunter!” The hunter was the idiot who got all those people killed. The idiot who might’ve gotten Evie killed.

“Hunterrrrrr.”

“Va t’en! Laisse-moi tranquille!” Go away! Leave me alone!

“HUNTERRRRRR!”

I shot upright from the dirt. Damn near blacked out. Was that . . . the Fool’s voice?





22


The Empress





Cold rain fell outside, but Gran and I were warm in her lavish sitting room in front of the roaring fire.

If the flames reminded me of Jack, I gave no outward sign, numb again after this morning. I’d furiously filled half a notebook with sketches of him.

Gran sipped from her teacup. Though I sensed a nervous energy in her, she looked more exhausted than yesterday.

She nodded toward the fancy tea tray, with its cheese and fruit selections. “Despite all of Death’s faults, he does provide some perks.”

“He’s definitely equipped to ride out an apocalypse in style.” The inside of the castle was as luxurious as the outside was spooky.

The Flash had charred its gray stone walls with black streaks. Fog seemed trapped on the grounds. Flickering gas lamps lit the courtyard, the training yard, and the long winding drive.

I remember thinking this castle was haunted by Death. By his loneliness. I told Gran, “You could call him Aric, you know. His name is Aric Domīnija.”

She shrugged. “I know. Death introduced himself when he picked me up.”