Page 79 of Mortal Things

When I’m finally able, I hold up my hand, my shackle clanking at my movement.

My ring, my steadfast Artifact, is gone. Likely destroyed by Raven.

The sapphire eye that had watched over me for the last few years, with all its dry amusement and sardonic expressions and impatient eye rolls. It is no longer on my finger.

How stupid, to feel grief at losing nothing but a ring. But that ring had been a gift from Laine, and over the years, I’d come to lean on it, to feel comforted by the phantom feeling that it was looking out for me. As if Laine were still here. Now it’s gone. And maybe it was never quite real, an enchantment from Raven that was only meant to preserve me as his investment.

My thoughts go to Étienne, to the snow dusting him in that secret Parisian street. The way he had held out his hand to me, asking me to dance. The stiffness of his posture, the way he’d winced when I’d touched his back. He knew Thorn was after me, that Thorn intended to find a way—any way—to take me from Raven’s hands.

How many times had Étienne saved me? How long has he done this, over and over, without ever being able to tell me why? He had protected me during my tests, warned me about the Wraiths, shielded me from his patron god.

And he had lied to me, too, had kept me in the dark ever since I became a Harbinger.

Rage suddenly hits me, bringing with it a burst of strength. I bolt upright, then take one of the shackles and try to force my hand free. The shackle remains ice-cold, burning against my skin. I grit my teeth and keep tugging, desperate to squeeze my wrists through. I pull until the pain is too much, until I break skin and a thin trickle of blood leaks down my arm.

I let the chains go slack again, then look frantically around for any way out. My eyes go to a small, round window at the top of the wall, right below where I’m shackled. I hurry to the spot where my chains are nailed to the wall, wondering if I could climb up using them. Steadying myself, I put a foot against one shackle point, then kick off, stretching up as high as I can.

I grapple for the edge of the windowsill. Again and again, I try. But it’s too far away, and my chains are too heavy for me to maneuver. In desperation, I throw myself as high as I can—only to lose my footing and tumble back down. The side of my head hits the floor hard, and I let out a grunt of pain.

Again, I straighten and remove one of my boots, then try to force my foot out of its shackle. I push until I can feel the bones of my ankle protesting, almost ready to snap. I put my boot back on and try the other foot. No luck.

My attention shifts to the balcony doors. I crawl across the floor as far as my chains will allow me—maybe if I can swing them open, I can try shouting for help, on the off chance that someone, anyone, might hear me and act.

But try as I might, I’m too far away.

At last, I huddle back down along the wall, exhausted, my wrists and ankles throbbing in pain. There, I kneel and bow my head.

Raven has always weaponized those I love against me. Laine. Étienne. Even Terran, who had died simply because he was in the way, because Raven had always intended for me to become his true Regent. What a fool I was, to think that my patron god had chosen me because he cared for me, that I dared to think an immortal could ever love a mortal heart. What a fool I was, to cherish a false kiss from him that was only intended to target Étienne. He has done nothing but use me, exploit me, isolate me from everything that ever mattered.

Grief thrums through my veins, and I grip my arms tightly, rocking.

Release me.

How many times had I begged Raven to release me? How many times had he refused? Not out of love, not out of duty, not out of a bleeding heart. No, it was because he wanted to use the power of my soul.

And in this moment, in the depths of my despair, I hear a sound. The door handle jiggles once, stops. Then follows the sound of something metal—a key?—scraping against the lock. I go still, listening, my heart pounding. Another one of Raven’s angels, sent to check on me after the commotion I must have raised in my escape attempts. Or perhaps it’s Raven himself.

The scraping continues until there is a faint click. The room settles into silence again for a moment, and then the door swings open without a sound. A long shadow steps into the room, followed by its figure, who comes to a stop in front of me. She has a crossbow hoisted in one arm, and her eyes lock immediately onto mine.

I stare at the new arrival, speechless.

Laine.

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The sight of her breaks the dull paralysis inside me. Suddenly, I start to cry.

It’s her.

No. It must be an illusion, just like she’d been during my second test. Hallucination, psychosis, waking dream. It can’t be her, because how is she here? How has she found her way inside? Why is she here, after so many years away?

And yet, in spite of the fact that everything about her is different—her grim eyes, her dark expression—she is the same. Same frizzy blond hair, tied up high in a bun. The same clear eyes, studying my face. The same constellation of freckles across the bridge of her nose.

The same blue pendant I’d once gifted her, still hanging around her neck.

“Laine?” I whisper again, but my voice breaks.

She adjusts her crossbow and bends down to me. Then she gives me her crooked smile. And it is this familiar gesture that shreds the last fragments of my heart.