Grace and Fury (Grace and Fury #1)(62)
“No, Your Eminence,” she said, her voice hoarse. “I can’t read.”
The sun lit his eyes to a bright golden brown. Nomi couldn’t look away. “I see,” he said at last, but she couldn’t tell if he believed her. “It was a gift, as I said. Maybe not entirely innocent, but it wasn’t intended as poison. If you can read—”
Nomi’s head swam, and suddenly, the miracle of weightlessness felt like a curse. She couldn’t escape from him, not in water so deep. And she needed, so much, to escape. “Please,” she whispered, pulling against his arms. “I want to get out of the water.”
“Have I upset you?” he asked, and she couldn’t tell if he was asking with real concern or mocking her.
“I just—I don’t like the water anymore,” she said as the panic built in her chest. She yanked herself from his grasp, her head dipping under the water. She sputtered, terror tightening every muscle. But somehow she made it to shallower water. Somehow she made it to shore.
Her teeth chattered. Her lungs ached.
She splashed up onto the beach and reached for a towel from one of the chaises. It was hot in the sun, but she still shivered as she wrapped it around herself. Malachi splashed up behind her. “Are you okay?”
She curtsied awkwardly and bowed her head, aware that Cassia and Maris were watching. “I am, Your Eminence. But I’m cold. May I return to my room for some dry clothes?”
“Of course.” He looked as if he wanted to say more, but she couldn’t bear it.
The chill didn’t leave her for the rest of the day.
THIRTY-ONE
SERINA
IT TOOK SERINA three days to find the courage to approach Hotel Misery. In that time, she spoke to no one, hiding deep in her cave when the guards made their rounds and subsisting on clams she dug out of the sand and berries she found near the edge of the forest.
She hoped that Jacana would bring her news, tell her Oracle had already brokered a truce.
She waited for Val and wondered why he hadn’t come to find her. Had he forgotten their conversation about the eastern beaches? Or did he not care, now that she was likely to die anyway?
She thought of Nomi, at the mercy of cruel men. Had the Heir celebrated his birthday yet? She knew what would happen when he did, and how much Nomi would suffer.
Serina tried to guess what Renzo was doing. She closed her eyes and imagined him wandering through Lanos’s central market. He passed stalls of fresh meat, skinned rabbits and chickens hanging by their feet, ready to roast. The fruit vendor, with buckets of burgundy cherries, bright bloodred strawberries, and juicy peaches for sale. Next, a stall of dried fruit: sweet pineapple, crunchy dried banana chips, chewy rings of apple spiced with fresh-ground nutmeg. In her mind, Renzo paused before their favorite baker, Alonso, and his baskets of warm loaves of bread. Renzo chose a cornetto and a flaky pastry filled with hazelnut cream. He grinned boyishly, flicking back his dark hair.
Without Nomi there, who was cutting his hair?
Serina pulled her thoughts back to Mount Ruin with an effort. Tears snaked down her cheeks. She stood up. It was time.
Before she left her little cove, she collected as many clams as she could find and twisted them into her shirt. She took a tiny sip from Jacana’s water flagon and slung its strap over her shoulder. Her knife, the one salvaged in the fight, hung from a hole she’d cut in the waistband of her pants.
She hiked south along the coast for an hour before heading inland. The island wasn’t large—it would probably take a full day to travel from the southernmost point to the northern tip—and it was relatively easy to navigate. Paths crisscrossed the grassy lands and the forest, and the lava fields were open, allowing full visibility. Serina used the guard towers to mark her progress, though she steered well clear of them.
She found a small stream and replenished her flagon. She watched for boar, but found no sign of the animals.
Eventually, she reached the amphitheater. Full of women and death, it was terrifying. Empty, as it was now, it was eerie. Too silent. The air thickened, and for a moment, she fancied the spirits of all the women who had fallen here watching her. Serina shook her head, trying to banish the thought.
By the time she reached Hotel Misery, it was late afternoon.
Just after the turnoff to the half-ruined building, a tall woman stepped into the path. Her hair hung over her shoulders in two long braids and a thick scar ran along the side of her neck. She crossed her arms over her chest threateningly. “We don’t take in strays.”
Serina unwound the end of her shirt to reveal the clams, heart pounding. “Call this a peace offering. I’m not asking you to take me in. I just want to talk to Slash.”
The woman gave her a long look. At last, her hard stance relaxed. “Follow me.”
Serina followed her down the rocky path to the hotel. Massive entry columns extended crookedly to the sky, caught in an eternal wave of lava rock. The lobby’s carved latticework ceiling had collapsed, and chunks of white marble tile were visible in a few small gaps the lava left untouched. Huge ceramic vases lay broken and half melted, their vibrant blues and reds scorched off. Tattered, charred bamboo walls tapped eerily against each other when the wind blew.
Serina shivered. She’d thought Oracle’s cave was a depressing place to live, but this was truly a misery, as its name suggested. It was too easy to imagine the hotel guests running for their lives. Too easy to imagine the ghosts.