“It’s your birthday gift,” he says. “I know it’s early, but I couldn’t wait.”
“It’s…”—I hold the pendant out before my eyes—“magical.”
“It was my mother’s. She gave it to me a while ago. I used to love it when I was little. If you look through it, it gives the effect of a kaleidoscope.” He breathes out. “It reminds me of the sea, which always reminds me of you.”
Closing one eye, I peer through it with the other. On the opposite side of the crystal, Nico’s distorted, mixed into a hundred Nicos all staring straight at me from different angles.
“I love it.” I hold it up toward the light shining through the window, and it casts several shimmering rainbows on my wall.
I swivel to the side and lean my head down. Lacing it around my neck, I hold my hair up so Nico can clasp it.
He does, and the way his fingers, light as feathers, graze the back of my neck gives me a shiver and a fresh layer of goose bumps.
“There,” he says.
I turn back toward him and he’s smiling. “It suits you.” But he’s not looking at the necklace, he’s gazing into my eyes. “Happy early birthday, Veda.”
“Thank you. Truly. It’s so special.” I cup the stone in my palm over my chest. It’s heavy, but so incredibly fragile, the cuts precise and delicate, the chain a hundred tiny gold links perfectly pieced together.
But this gift, one that should, and does, make me happy, is also singed with sadness. Deep down I fear this gift means more than happy birthday. Nico’s army agreement, left crumpled on our kitchen floor, still nags at me.
I fear this gift—on some level, maybe even one we’re unaware of—means goodbye.
As Nico and I make our way out my window and into the dark night, I clutch the pendant in my fist, determined not to let that happen.
* * *
IT’S COMPLETELY DIFFERENT sneaking around the island with Nico by my side. I don’t glance over my shoulder nearly as much. I don’t jump at each and every sound that catches me off guard.
And while we don’t dare speak a word, we’re able to communicate as easily as ever.
I point up at the moon. It’s full and so bright, only a scattering of clouds surrounding it. Nico takes my hand as we pass over a pond, stepping across slippery rocks. And he doesn’t let go once we’re on the other side.
In this moment, surrounded by the darkness I so often fear, Nico and I are together. Without worry or wandering eyes or Dogio obligation, Basso judgment. Right now, us being something, being more, doesn’t feel so completely impossible.
It’s too good to be true.
Because this is reality, where Dogio and Basso are never more.
A whistle blows to our right.
Then another to our left.
Nico and I share a look of pure panic, dart into thicker wooded forest, when “Hey! Stop!” rings out right behind us. A soldier grabs Nico by the arm, jerking him to a stop. My best friend no longer by my side, on instinct or stupidity—I’m not sure which—my feet slow. I look over my shoulder back at Nico.
He’s not even struggling. In fact, he’s got his arms up in surrender and is talking with the soldier who stopped him, giving some kind of excuse. Almost as if he’s stalling …
Almost like he’s making it so I can get away.
I turn to run when the other soldier comes out of nowhere and I slam right into him, knocking us both off-balance.
Nico shouts, “Go! Run!”
I scramble to my feet and take off in the opposite direction, only catching Nico’s eyes long enough to see a flash of the reflection of the silvery, full moon.
I’m forced to leave the forest and travel the main walkway. It’s reckless … I’ll be seen by another soldier or the Night for sure. But I have no choice.
My boots echo with each quick, hard step against the stone. I splash through puddles. I’m completely out of breath and breaking all the rules I’d vowed to keep when out before sunrise.
Before too long, the soldier’s whistle sounds again.
I take a hard right into the dark square.
At least two more whistles blow. More footfalls.
The tunnel is nearly within reach and I can’t believe I’m going to run through it at night, alone. But—I gaze back—the alternative is jail. Worse.
Three Imperi soldiers enter the square.
“Stop!” one shouts. The others blow their whistles.
The candles that mound on the tops of the altars usually provide light, but they’ve long burned out. The tunnel is nothing but a black hole in the stone wall.
Without hesitation, I sprint toward the entrance.
A tall figure steps out of the shadows.
I gasp and skid to a stop before slamming into him.
CHAPTER 10
Out of tunnels, from the ground they’ll crawl, dark as night, death to all. Run, hide, scream for help, straight down a devil’s den is the fate you’re dealt.
I’M STOPPED.
Frozen between something dark and menacing and several soldiers. The Night and the Imperi. A death sentence.
But when the figure steps into the pearly moonlight, I’m greeted by a pair of silver-blue eyes. Even though the person is cloaked in black, hooded, I know those eyes. Blue agate.
“What’re you waiting for—come on!” Dorian hisses, hand outstretched.
Still in shock, confusion muddling my brain, I take his hand and run into the tunnel.
The last I see of the Imperi soldiers is them sprinting toward us, but before I can panic, Dorian throws something at them, a large flume of blue smoke the result. The soldiers cough and sputter.
It’s the last I hear before the ground drops out from under me.
The world as I know it disappears and I’m sent from the tunnel, down, down, down, the slick metal beneath me refusing to allow my fingers an ounce of purchase. Any hope to claw my way back up is dashed when it hits me.
Devil’s den.
I can’t breathe; my chest burns, constricted from shock, from running across the island. From the terror ripping through me because I’m sliding down one of the Night’s devil’s dens—undetectable snake-holes that lead right to their underground caves—and there’s nothing I can do about it. I’ve only ever heard tales, rumors of these holes that appear from nowhere only to vanish just the same. Imperi soldiers can’t seem to track them down. I’d assumed they were legend, another wild story, but they’re real.
Real as Dorian’s arms wrapped tightly around me. Real as the roots and vines and Sun knows what else scratching past my body, cutting any exposed skin with the sting of sharp needles. Real as the scream inching up my throat. But I don’t dare release it for fear of what underground horrors it might stir all around me.
When the sliding stops, there’s a moment of freefall before we land on top of something soft. I bounce twice, then still.
The minute Dorian lets go, I scramble, my hands and knees falling through what must be a large net. I’m unable to move toward escape before Dorian, suddenly standing before me, lit lamp in hand, says, “There’s literally nowhere to go but down.” I back away, tripping over my own feet.
This is it. The end. Dorian is a member of the Night, and no one comes back from the Night.