Syfoner: (A Dark Bully Romance) (Gods and Monsters Book 4) Page 4

  “You’re back.” Her voice was a murmur against my collarbone.

  I had the urge to wipe away all traces of her from my skin.

  “I wasn’t sure…” She broke off and shook her head, a wet streak running over my shoulder. I could have done without that…

  I hoped it was a streak of tears. If it was snot, I would have booted her off the bed.

  “Did you know where I was?” I asked curiously.

  How deep did her connection with Jasper run? Was it enough for him to reveal information to her?

  Ava sighed before she drew back and took my hands in hers.

  I had to bolt my shoulder muscle in place to stop from wiping my skin against my head. I was itching to scrub every drop of her tears and every whisper of her hot breath off my shoulder.

  “I knew,” she confessed and looked down at our locked hands. “Jasper told me.”

  I grunted and made a sour face.

  Ava forced a grim, watery smile. “I wasn’t sure you would come back,” she whispered.

  The small, curved mantle-clock gave a strangled chime. I looked over at its dusty face. It was as though it belonged to Felicks and he was reminding me of my time strain.

  “I have to be quick,” I muttered and tightened my grip on her hands, unwilling to let her go. “I’ve only got a few minutes.”

  Ava squeezed my palms. “Better than nothing at all.”

  I hummed. “Yeah, well I bet my marbles that the Prince is only letting me see you to fluff himself up in my eyes.” I huffed the moody sound of a child. “Prince Poison doesn’t do anything unless it benefits him.”

  Ava nodded and picked at the blanket covering her legs. She didn’t argue. “He’s a collector,” she told me, her voice a hushed breath. “Jasper thinks that you are his prized piece.”

  My face shuttered. “Be careful what you talk to him about.”

  Ava shook her head, sadness in the way she looked at me. “We say worse things about the Gods.”

  I was startled.

  For a beat, I just stared at her, at the utter conviction in her face, in those eyes of hers that once reminded me of warm cocoa drinks, but now looked like solid stones dusted in soil. There was something unrelenting about her.

  The knock at the door came too quickly.

  I sighed and reluctantly peeled my hands out of Ava’s.

  Time’s up.

  But before I slid off the bed with my weary and sore muscles, I let my gaze linger over her unreadable face.

  “I need you to do something for me,” I said. “Something dangerous.”

  Ava didn’t hesitate. “Anything.”

  Well, I doubted that. Pretty certain that if I’d asked her to kill Jasper or just castrate him, she wouldn’t have been keen on it.

  I glanced at the shut door.

  “It sounds ridiculous,” I said and turned my focus back on her. “I need you to open your window tonight and … talk to the crows. Tell them to visit me tomorrow night. Not tonight.”

  If Ava was taken aback by this request, she didn’t show it. Her face was closed and she nodded.

  “Why not tonight?” she asked with mild curiosity.

  I scoffed and shook my head, “The Prince will definitely check in on me tonight, or at least one of the guards will. If the crows are what I think they are, I need to make sure no one visits tonight.”

  Again, she nodded and I felt a little lighter, a little reassured as I left her room for the eerily quiet and ghostly halls of the palace.

  I wasn’t exactly happy or excited but I couldn’t deny that some stress had been sucked out of me that day. I had things to look forward to, things to feel a little better about; my master plan, for one.

  Not to mention my friendship with Ava … and yet I was feeling a whole lot worse about Ava’s relationship with Jasper.

  7

  Back in the room, I flopped down on the armchair and looked up at the mantle.

  A little clock not unlike the shabby one in Ava’s room was perched there. I was absolutely certain that the clock wasn’t there before.

  The face was just as dusty as Ava’s clock, the sound of the gears working to hard strained familiarly, and even the wood it was carved from looked in dire need of sanding and some treatment.

  My body weighed me down, like an anchor dropped in shallow waters. But that clock was nagging me.

  It might have just been one of those things, like when you learn a word one day, then hear it a dozen times in the days to come. Now that I’d noticed Ava’s clock, I would start seeing them all over.

  Only, the longer I looked at it, the more something seemed … off. The hands ticked too slowly, the paint was most chipped at the base as though it had lost a battle with a cat, and although it was dusty, I could make out the faint clean spots where fingers had touched.

  I pursed my lips before I forced myself out of the armchair. It was hard work. Sleeping on a blanket in a dewy cold dungeon for days on end had taken its toll on my body. The aches were everywhere. And after Nalla’s assault on my skin—her weapon of choice being a lathered cloth—I felt just about ready to fall apart.

  I dragged myself over to the mantle.

  I had to reach up on my toes to be eye-level with the clock and the moment I saw it face-to-face, my suspicions turned to certainties.

  It didn’t come with the room.

  A black ribbon was folded flat and tucked under the heavy mantle clock.

  I tried to peel it out without tearing it, but some threads screeched before ripping off on their own.

  I grimaced at the frayed edges before I straightened out the inky black ribbon in my hands.

  It shone a little, soft to the touch, reminding me of a green cravat my mother once had, stuffed under pillow. Sometimes, I’d caught her looking at it, studying every fine and smooth strand woven into the squared cloth. She’d shoved me away each time, warned me off ever thinking about it, let alone looking at it.

  It wasn’t until years after her death that Moritz sold the cravat to a sailor, and we learned that it was made of silk—a fine and expensive piece. We made enough from that sale to feed us for a whole moon cycle.

  As this ribbon glided through my fingers and caressed my skin, I knew it was silk, and I knew it was from Phantom.

  Damianos.

  Black, like the inky clothes he wore. Smooth, like his honeyed skin tone. Hidden, like his visits to me.

  Our little secret.

  At least, that was how I would play it to my advantage. I needed help getting out of this palace.

  Phantom happened to be my only useful ally.

  Giving no thought to his gift being a ribbon of all things, I rolled it back up and stuffed it between the back of the mantle-clock and the wall for safekeeping.

  I would move it somewhere safer soon, before the maids came in to clean the boudoir, but I didn’t know when to expect the Prince that night, and I couldn’t risk being caught with a ribbon from his enemy.

  Gods and their ribbons.

  I honestly didn’t think I would at all be worth the bother if it wasn’t for my power. Just as they wouldn’t mean anything more to me than a one-night fling if it wasn’t for their power.

  Maybe we’re all monsters.

  Running my hands over my tired face, I turned my back on the mantle-clock. Every gem and clip of the hand-bracelets I wore scraped down my skin. I welcomed the nips of pain and snubbed the armchair for the canopy bed, layered in fury covers and feathery duvets.

  Fuck the Prince.

  I’ve been deprived of sleep too long.

  Still, I kept the bracelets on just in case the Prince did come to my bedchamber.

  In all honesty, I wanted him to.

  I needed him to give me his toxins.

  My body craved it, and the longer my bones held onto the deep aches that had plagued me for days, the more I wondered if the pain had anything to do with the cold dungeons at all.

  I was beginning to think these were all just cra
vings.

  His poison is as addictive as his sweet malice.

  I mean, the aches and tremors in my fingertips had abated some. A few days getting clean in a cell probably helped, but there was no way I was going to last any more days without his poison in me again.

  I needed to stock up on it. Every damn bracelet had to be filled to the brim with his poison before I escaped.

  For the first week or so on the run, in hiding, getting as far away from the palace as possible meant that I wouldn’t have the time to ween myself off this addiction, so I needed just enough to buy me time out there.

  Oh, how I was itching to flee right then and there. But patience was my greatest ally, and I had to obey her.

  At the Season Festival, the Prince made it known that he’d noticed how little I explored the palace. To change that behaviour now in pursuit of a way out, would be as obvious as painting ‘escapee’ on my pale forehead.

  It would snare the wrong kind of attention, and I needed to throw all attention off of me.

  Those thoughts stuck with me as I buried myself under the heavy, thick covers and rested my head on the plush feathery pillows that I missed so much.

  Even a moan escaped me at the cloud-like sensations.

  Sometime during the night, when the sun was starting to invade the delicious darkness of the sky, the Prince proved predictable.

  He slipped into my bedchamber, his black shirt untucked as though he’d just been in a scuffle, and his skin smelling of tobacco and peppermint.

  Sleepily, I rubbed my eye and watched him round the bed until he stood a reach away from me. Lazily, he ran his fingertips over the hand-bracelet poking out from the pillow between us. My arm was stretched out under it.

  His eyes pinned me as he lowered himself down onto the mattress and swept a kiss over my cheek. Tingles glittered under my skin, black dots of poison reigniting my addiction for him.

  The Prince slipped into the bed and lay beside me, angled my way. For a while, he studied me. I could barely keep my eye open, the other pressed into the pillow.

  When he finally ended his study of me, he hooked his arm around my waist and drew me into him.

  I fell asleep in his arms.

  What’s worse is that I think he slept holding me, and not once did we fuck.

  Somehow, just sleeping with each other felt more intimate than anything I’d ever done before.

  8

  When I woke to the comforting sound of flames crackling and flicking to life, the Prince was gone.

  I sat up on the plush embrace that was my beloved bed and stretched out my tired muscles.

  Nalla was kneeling by the fireplace, feeding the baby flames some twigs that she sprinkled along a dry black log.

  Copper jugs that oozed ribbons of steam were lined alongside the screen that hid my washtub. Small things, but after the dungeons it all felt like magic.

  I sighed a small, breezy sound and flopped back down on the bed, arms stretched.

  Something crinkled against the back of my bracelet-shielded hand. I turned my frown to the side.

  Between my hand and a pillow lay a smooth scrap of parchment. The very same included in my stationary on the desk I rarely paid mind to.

  I usually sat at that desk when my memories slipped away into dreams and I brought quill to parchment, ready to write my dead brother.

  Once or twice in the dungeons, I’d believed he was alive, wondering where I was. I’d even feared the Prince would drag him into our deadly dance. But the forgetful parts of me were becoming scarce of late.

  ‘I came to understand that your memories fractured when you did.’ The Prince had told me. ‘Perhaps you are not yet whole.’

  If he was right, and my mind fractured into the false me and Monster, then it made sense that the stronger I was, the stronger my mind became. And weaker, I was fractured again.

  My sigh turned weary as I flopped onto my side and squinted at the black ink on the letter.

  There were spots of ink along the top of the parchment, as if the Prince had made to write something before changing his mind.

  He settled on a curt, unemotional letter fit for the morning after a vulnerable night for us both.

  ‘I will visit again soon.

  Behave.’

  I left the note on the pillow and climbed out of bed.

  Draped in only a silky slip, I stretched out my body. A small smile came to my lips as few pains assaulted me. Whenever I woke in the dungeons, every one of my muscles and bones cried out in aches.

  Nalla stood from beside the fireplace and gave a deep bow. She held it a little longer than usual.

  “I’ll wash first,” I said, my gaze lingering on the chrome trolley carrying my breakfast.

  I wasn’t one to eat the moment I woke. Back on Zwayk, I had little choice but to scoff down food before sunrise brought chores and work, but here in the palace, I could take my time. I could enjoy a true, free leisure. Something I made note to savour.

  These days were numbered, after all.

  “Just a moment, Almigh—” Nalla cut herself off.

  I cut my stunned gaze to her.

  For a thick moment, neither of us breathed.

  We just stared at each other.

  But then, Nalla dipped her head before she turned her back on me and fussed about with the copper jugs.

  I watched her bustle back and forth between the washtub and the table. Though I couldn’t see her face, I suspected her cheeks were burning with shame.

  I brushed off her mistake and wandered to the doors. As I cracked one open, I peeked out at the corridor, half-expecting Felicks to be standing out there.

  I meant to ask about what I was allowed to do that day, but my words were cut short before I could even speak them.

  Stunned, I gaped at the guard of the day.

  “What are you doing here?” I hissed.

  It came out nastier than I intended, not that I cared or anything.

  I would have happily cut off his head with a blunt blade.

  Adrik’s mouth twisted into a sneer.

  He wasn’t happy about his post either.

  “I ask myself the same thing every minute or so.”

  A dark look had settled on my face as a memory flashed in my mind.

  His head crashed down on mine.

  I grunted.

  My head lolled back, eyes drooping. Blood—so much blood pouring down my face, catching on my lashes, seeping into my mouth.

  I choked on it. Then the man let me go and I crumpled to the floor.

  Fuck, I needed his blood. I needed it all over me, staining my skin, his power consumed by mine.

  Another time. I would get my revenge.

  “Do you need something?” he sneered.

  Only your life.

  But that wasn’t exactly true. I needed something else from him.

  I lowered my lashes at him, venom in my eyes. The Prince’s leftovers, maybe.

  “I want to go to the gardens.”

  I left little doubt in my tone. Didn’t want him thinking he had any power over me, that he could take away my time outside of this comfy cage of mine.

  Adrik didn’t seem all that interested in messing with me, though. He shrugged.

  “Far as I know, you’re allowed thirty minutes a day for outings.”

  I snorted, then threw the door shut.

  Outings.

  Like when I was one child among many in day lessons and the tutor took us all to the edge of the dark woods. That was an outing.

  And I was no child anymore.

  I was grown killer.

  However cruel Adrik was, he stuck to his word and took me out to the gardens.

  Unlike Felicks, Adrik made sure to walk in front of me.

  I smirked at his back the whole way.

  It’s so fucking easy...

  How angry will the Prince be if I rip out Adrik’s rib cage?

  I figured I wasn’t enough on his good side to get away with something like
that. Yet.

  Adrik took the lead out of some silly sense of pride, but I was just fine with it. If any danger came our way, he’d be first in line.

  Fool.

  He might as well have called himself my shield.

  At least my shield kept a brisk pace. I didn’t want to waste any seconds, let alone minutes, of my precious time.

  Still, it took a chunk of my allotted minutes for us to reach the gardens. On the crumbling stone patio, Adrik paused by a pillar, ready to make himself comfortable. But it wasn’t just the gardens I was out here to see.

  I swept past him, earning a hesitant look to flicker on his face, and hurried over the cracked stone bridge that led to the ponds.

  It was there in the Keeper’s ponds that the letter said the Prince’s old pet died. Well, the drawing on that letter told me as much.

  I had to find the truth myself. And if that meant rushing to a dangerous God’s silvery pools of souls, then that was what I had to do.

  I knelt by the very pond I’d first seen Keeper emerge from. But unlike my first visit here, the God was nowhere in sight and the Prince was elsewhere.

  With my feet tucked under my bottom, I looked over my shoulder at Adrik. He stayed at the mouth of the bridge, watching me.

  “Don’t get too close,” he warned, then as an afterthought, he said, “Or do.”

  I scoffed and turned back to the shimmery grey water.

  Reaching out my bracelet-shielded hands, I hovered my open palms an inch or so from the surface and let my eyes drift shut.

  Woman, chained, swallowed by water.

  Woman, chained, swallowed by water.

  I echoed that over and over in my mind, a whispered mantra of sorts. I didn’t know how else to call out to that power if it even lived under the surface.

  But the power of the pond was too strong. I could feel ghostly essence drift through me.

  I shivered from the sudden cold plaguing my insides, and reluctantly, I drew my hands back.

  Looking down at my arms, silvery splotches marked my skin and drained slowly to the bracelets. I suddenly had the urge to dive into the washtub and scrub every trace of the pond off my skin.