Page 141 of The Sun King's Noon

“What—” His eyes bulged. “No, no,no!” He scrabbled out of Richard’s hold. “No. No, no, no, no—” His head whipped towards the shredded cocoon, and he keened. “Let me go back! Let me go back, gods damn you!”

“Flint—”

“Put me back in!” Flint seized Richard’s shoulders. “You had no right! Please! Please?—”

“Enough!” Richard grabbed his neck and shook him. “Think of Edith! Will you leave her to waste away?”

That landed. Flint’s eyes widened. The corners of his mouth pulled downward, and tears brimmed over to spill past his cheeks.

“We were just children,” he whispered, broken.

“I know. I am sorry.”

“We were just children.” He clutched at Richard’s tunic. “What wrong—” His voice cracked. “What wrong did we do?”

He gave a ragged sob, and his knees buckled. Richard sank down with him, hugging him close. For a long while, Flint only wept into his chest.

“It was no fault of yours,” Richard murmured, rubbing the man’s back. “Too many failed you three, and still, the harm lingers.”

Flint’s sobs ceased. He shrank away from Richard and staggered up, swiping an arm over his eyes.

“We went looking for you last night,” he said hoarsely. “Kaelen heard you screaming and ran off—though that were probably the siren. Then, I heard Edith and Lyell screaming, and well—” He shrugged and checked his inner pocket. “It’s likely got Kaelen somewhere.”

Richard rose with a nod. “We must find him. And end the siren.”

Flint snorted and gestured at an emerging trail of spiders. They scampered in urgency, some climbing over one another. “Good luck with that. I wager the siren’s being warned as we speak.”

* * *

The spiders ventured deepinto the forest—a thin, dark river coursing between roots and over stones. Richard followed, nettles scraping against his trousered knees. Every tread of his boot sank into muddy ground, but the leather—Ardenia’s finest—kept his feet clear of water. Flint’s flimsy shoes, however, were waterlogged.

The man did not complain, his eyes distant and his steps behind Richard slow. It was almost a relief when the terse silence was broken by the faint sound of waves crashing.

“Cliffs,” Flint muttered.

“We are climbing.” Richard brushed at the stray cobwebs on his sleeves. “What became of our packs?”

Flint grunted. “At the camp, wherever that is from here.”

Richard exhaled slowly. He could only hope the ship and the rowing boat were still in place.

They kept walking. Richard scanned every tree for a sign of Kaelen. His lips were parched, his tongue dry, but the thought of drinking from the little streams they passed repulsed him. After an hour, his sword arm ached from holding the blade ready, but he refused to sheath it. Not when the spider trail only seemed to be thickening, writhing with too many legs clambering over each other.

“Flint. Do you see how it has thickened?”

Richard paused when he heard no answer and turned.

The path behind was empty.

“Flint!” Fury blistered through him. “Flint, you coward!”

The bandit hadn’t been taken. He’d not heard a struggle. No, Flint had gone. Slipped off at some bend, likely heading to the cliffs for those Skullbreath flowers.

“Deceitful lout!” Richard yelled. “You may well go and fuck your—” The words felt too foreign to continue, and with a ‘tch’, he continued to walk.

After another fifty yards, a greenish glow lit the surroundings. The trees grew further apart, and strung between their trunks was a giant web, an enormous lacework that hung in shimmering tiers from the canopy. It started far above his height and spanned the distance between five trees. Dew beaded its silk, and little spiders streamed through the trails in their thousands.

The hairs on Richard’s nape rose.