Page 153

A Sketch of Fate

Lyra

Muted light filtered in from the curved windows of the cabin, the sea almost grey as it churned restlessly beneath the oppressive cloud cover.

I didn’t mind the constant rock of the ship, almost finding comfort in it as I sat on Rythos’ bed with his drawings spread out around me.

There were more drawings scattered on his desk this morning, the ink still wet as if he had drawn them instead of sleeping.

I looked at them one by one, drawings of the same throne etched in black ink, except the patterns of rot worsened with each one. Each drawing showed more rot seeping through the throne, until the last one was a crumbled mess. But it was the next drawing that I picked up with shaking hands.

It was my face, drawn beautifully with excruciating detail, except when I held it closer, every bit of shading was made up of words.

“Death,” I whispered out loud, running my hand along the freshly written ink. “Elysium.” I stumbled over the foreign word, not understanding its meaning.

Staring at them wove a feeling of dread through my veins like the ice lingering on the windowpane.

Why was he drawing this? I’d never seen the Throne of Gods, but some part of me recognised it even through ink etched onto a page.

I ran my hand along the freshly written ink, that one tiny word repeated hundreds of times until it no longer looked like a word at all. It became the shadows. Darkness.

“Save him.”

Maraveth’s face was inches from mine.

A gasp tore from my throat as I recoiled, my spine slamming against the bed’s headboard.

She crouched before me on the bed that had been empty a moment before. Her silver dress pooled around her, ripped and covered in black blood. She was close enough that the tip of her translucent nose almost brushed mine.

“Will my death save him?”

Her mouth parted, but no words came out. Dark water spilled over her lips instead, streaming over the porcelain skin of her jaw before dripping soundlessly from her chin as those cerulean eyes bore into me.

My heart battered against my ribs, panic sharpening with every frantic beat until all that remained was rage.

“Tell me!” I shouted, my voice splitting into a thousand layered tones that made the ship rock viciously.

She laughed, water spraying in my face with the sadistic sound. Of course she wouldn’t give me an answer.

I bared my teeth and lunged at her, only to fall straight through her onto the sheets.

A frustrated scream left me as I slammed my hand down on the bed.

“Lyra?” Rythos formed from the shadows in the room, standing before the bed with his chest rising and falling as the shadows writhed frantically as if they did not want to let him go.

She was gone. As if she had never existed.

“Let the kingdoms fall,” her voice whispered through my mind, dragging along my consciousness like a nail on stone.

The door to the cabin burst open, and Helion barged in, his white tunic half buttoned, and sleeves pushed up his corded forearms while flames burnt through his eyes. “What happened?” he demanded, looking around the dimly-lit room for a threat that didn’t exist.

“Just a dream,” I murmured, trying to calm my racing heart. I’d seen ghosts since I was a girl, and telling people had only ever caused me pain. “I’m okay.”

Just the presence of them made my breath come a little easier, the bonds in my chest flaring and reaching to them for comfort without my permission.

“Are you sure?” Rythos knelt on one knee before me, hands wrapping around my forearms and lowering his head to meet my gaze. “We can feel when you lie to us, Little Drownling.” My eyes flicked up to his, black eyes reflecting sheer concern as the smell of fresh night air and something darker eased through me.

We… Us… He had used the words as if they were not two males who wanted to kill each other, but two males who shared the same concern.