Dread and horror and despair grow into a pit in my throat. I blink away stupid, useless tears. A single thought echoes:I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry.
A hand reaches for me out of the dark, and I grab it. A lifeline. I hold on to it with all my strength as the light fades.
A dark and terrible voice fills the water, the voice of the Queen.I warned you not to tarry.
Would Cas have left without me? Would Dalca?
Yet you left one behind.
I’ll come back for him.
The Great Queen laughs and laughs.
Her curse beats under my skin, in time with her laughter.
A seductive voice calls to me when the blackness grows absolute, when I can no longer tell up from down. It’s the voice of the Storm. It promises things lovely, dark, and deep. It says my despair is good, that I should sink deeper into it.
I want to. How I want to.
But the hand squeezes mine. I have promises to keep, a city to save, a father to rescue.
A single spot of white light blossoms, far above. The hand pulls me toward it, but it slows, weakening. With the last of my energy, I push through the dark, grip tight around the hand in mine.
The darkness fades in layers, in fits and spurts. The Storm’s call swells.
My head breaks the surface, and the Storm releases us.
I stagger onto a gold-painted stone road, and my legs give out, but the hand won’t let me go. It pulls me close.
The fifth ring spreads before us, painted in greens and golds, spotted with pale pink ikonlight. It’s too beautiful—it must be another trick.
A shutter bangs open on the second story of a house that looks down onto the golden road. A little girl peeks her head out and gapes at me.
I choke back a sob.
Lips brush my forehead, and I tilt my head back, meeting Dalca’s gaze. He wipes away the tears that fall from my eyes.
His other hand grips Casvian’s upper arm. I catch Casvian’s gaze across Dalca’s chest. One of his eyes is swollen nearly shut and blood runs down his neck, and yet he gives me a face-splitting grin.
My tears mingle with a half-wild laugh. We’re out of the Storm. I’m pretty sure we’re all three cursed, but we made it out.
“Look,” Dalca says, and I do. Up the golden road, through the rings, to the palace and the circle of sky above.
The sun rises over the edge of the Storm, pale and solemn.