To Bleed a Crystal Bloom by Sarah A. Parker

Murder guts you, leaving nothing but an animated shell. I realize that while I sit, balled on the wet ground, rocking back and forth in a puddle of my own bile.

All these years, I’ve been hiding from myself. Functioning without a pulse.

The Vruks didn’t slaughter everyone that day. They simply caught the scent of a sizzling meal and came running to gorge on the carnage Icreated.

Me.A tiny, two-year-old child.

I rock and rock and rock, ripping at my hair, clawing at my arms, my neck, my scalp ...

Me.

There is no pretty way to paint over all that ugly.

I severed my tether to humanity at the tender age of two—lost control and butchered not only the people who broke into our home and took my brother from me, but also the servants, the cooks ... my mother.

I murdered my mother ...

I shudder, dry heave, pray it was a swift and painless death.

Pray she didn’t suffer.

Her scream echoes through my mind; the sound she made when the axe was swung—

Of course she suffered. She watched her son bleed out, then saw her daughter turn into a monster.

Watched me die in a different way.

Rhordyn took me in and dressed me as a lamb, not realizing I’m actually the wolf. Except my weapons aren’t fangs and claws, but an inky fire so noxious it severs—leaving fleshy, bubbled bits that weep their life.

My rocking becomes so violent my bare skin grates across the stone.

No wonder the people in Whispers haunt me. That their perusals burn. No wonder part of me tried so hard to put them back together.

I thought the unintentional paintings were my gift for the ones who lost themselves that day, but it was an overflowing well of guilt worming its way out of me in any way it could. Forcing me to look.

So many faces.

So many wide-eyed, condemning stares.

Murderer ...

A strangled sound claws out of me, raw and roughly hewn.

Did my subconscious create my Safety Line as a way to cage me in? Perhaps it considered me best kept isolated should I lose control again?

And what if that does happen? Do all the people who run the estate end up being torn to bits—their scorched remains scattered throughout the castle halls? Does Baze?

Rhordyn?

I release a low, throaty whimper.

They call me a child-survivor, when I’m actually their unbridled demise just waiting to unleash.

I need to atone for everything I’ve done, and I can’t do that if I’m tucked high in the clouds.

No.

All I’m achieving here is to waste my life, living in a protective bubble I don’t deserve—one that could burst at any moment, be it from the inside or the out.

Cainon’s proposal was much more of a gift than I realized. Fate is giving me a chance to save lives, and I refuse to look at it any other way. It’s too late to go back and change things, so I’ll have to do what I can with what little I’ve got ...

A blue and gold cupla.

I claw up the edge of that mind-chasm, heaving and bruised, broken and bloody. There’s not a single part of my insides that isn’t ugly, so unlike the real me hiding beneath this skin I wear.

The irony isn’t lost on me.

Landing on the ledge, I tamp that gulf full of enough shadow to smother the pile of slumbering death and spin, shutting off my mind’s eye.

Refusing to look at the past again.

I lift my head, teeth chattering, body trembling.

I have to go.

Rolling forward onto skinned knees, I scoop water from the edge of the spring, using it to wash my face and legs and the bile from the ends of my hair. I remove the calico package from around my ankle and stand, wavering on unsteady feet.

My vision splits, collides. Splits, collides ...

I draw a deep breath and take one step toward the stairs, then another, until I reach the wall and can use it as a crutch. Tentatively, I begin the climb, legs shaking beneath my weight. But I push myself, feeling my body grow a little stronger with every inhale.

It’s not until I’m halfway up the chute that I realize Rhordyn’s shirt is ripped, exposing my right thigh and a long, fleshy wound that’s dribbling blood.

“Shit,” I mutter, glancing down the stairs, seeing a peppered trail of red everywhere my foot has been.

I’ll have to bind that before I can go anywhere.

I exit the stairwell and hobble down the hallway, every unsteady step bringing me closer to Rhordyn’s inevitable return.

If he finds me like this, I’m screwed. He’ll probably chain me to a wall somewhere and bark at me until I scream my truth.

My heart skips a beat, and I double my speed, shoving myself into a jog—teeth gritted, fists bunched.

Pushing past the zap of pain that lances up my leg every time it drives forward, I practically fly up Stony Stem, rounding on the echoes of an argument. Vanth and Kavan are at my closed door, doused in blood and rain, throwing profanities back and forth. Their disagreement comes to a silent crescendo the moment they notice me standing four steps below, and they almost leap out of their boots.

Seriously, worst guards ever.

Kavan looks me up and down, wide eyes settling on my bloody thigh. “What the hell happened to you?”

“You’re bleeding,” Vanth proclaims, as if it isn’t obvious. “And dressed in a man’s shirt.”

I ignore his righteous tone and shove past. “We’re leaving,” I rasp, pushing the door open, tossing the month supply of caspun on my bed.

“What?” they bellow as a clap of thunder shakes the tower, followed by a flash of light that etches everything in an eerie brilliance.

Ignoring the calamity the sky is unleashing, I wrap my hair in a knot on my head, using a large pin to prod it in place before rifling through my drawers for something to bandage my bloody thigh.

“Mistress!”

Kavan’s use of the title makes me bristle. In truth, I’d forgotten they were there.

“The boat,” I snip, tearing a strip free of a tattered shirt. “We’re sailing for the South. Now.”

Vanth snort-laughs, though the sound is barren of humor.

I spin. “Something funny?”

“Yes, actually. You’ve been stalling for the past few days, and you choose now to leave? Have you even looked outside?” He points out the western window. “Only someone with a death wish would sail in that weather.” His eyes narrow. “Unless you want our ship to sink ...”

“Why would I wan—” I shake my head, dismissing his condemning tone. “Look. We either sail now or you can return to the Bahari capital with nothing but this,” I say, shoving my shackled wrist in his direction. “Because once Rhordyn gets back from his hunt, I’m stuck here. For good.”

My attention darts between the two, and I wait.

To be fair, these guys haven’t exactly been pushing to get me on that boat. If they take the cupla and go, Rhordyn’s theory will be proven correct—that Cainon was only in this to stir the political pot.

I’ll never live it down, but sailing off into an encroaching storm with a boat full of people I don’t know or trust would be the height of stupidity if I haven’t at least tested Rhordyn’s theory.

The two share a look, neither of them taking a single step inside my quarters.

“Fine,” Vanth grumbles, pointing at a basket in the corner of the room. “You have five minutes to fill that with stuff, wrap that wound, and change into more ... appropriate attire. If we’re doing this, we have to be out of that baybefore we lose the remaining light and your naïvete damns us all to a watery grave.”

He pulls the door closed before I can say another word.

* * *

My button-down is rolled to my elbows, my tight, waist-high pants offering an extra layer of pressure for my bandaged thigh. Sporadic gusts of icy wind whistle down the callous steps behind me, assaulting my ears, threatening to toss me down the cliff and no doubt take out my spear-wielding guards on the way.

Every few steps, I steal a peek over my shoulder, half expecting to see Rhordyn charging after me.

“Can you guys move any faster?”

Vanth grumbles something and they both quicken their pace. Hard to be sure, but I think they might be getting sick of me.

The basket I’m carrying is light, only full of essentials. The fact that it’s all jammed inside a pillow slip that smells of Rhordyn should be entirely discounted.

I know I was supposed to burn the thing, but I kept thinking of reasons not to.

I’m not okay.

These wet, slippery stairs feel like increments toward the gallows. Like I’m being led to an execution block and not a boat destined for a foreign territory where I’ll be sworn in as a High Mistress, surrounded by people who aren’t my people.

Tanith, Cook, Shay, Kai ... I’ll even miss the grumbling gardeners. I’ll miss the trees and the flowers and the bushes I’ve grown from seeds. I’ll miss the view from my spot where I’ve always felt safe despite my haunting past ...

My stomach churns.

The rain has abated. If I were the sign-seeking type, I’d believe this is right, even though my heart is screaming for me to turn back and run. For me to hide in my tower, lock the door, and never come out.

My boots finally hit the sand—boots I wore to prevent from sinking my toes deep and grounding myself. I can’t afford to dig new roots when I’m nursing the nubs from the ones I’ve recently severed.

Our hurried footsteps dent the sand as we sweep around the bay. We’re almost at the jetty when Baze steps out from behind a jagged line of rocks that have always reminded me of shark teeth.

My heart slams to a halt. My feet do the same.

He’s dressed in black leather pants and a loose cotton shirt only half tucked in. Three buttons hang open at the neck, as if he got dressed so fast he had no time to put everything in place.

He pushes back the disheveled flop of his hair with a dash of his hand, revealing eyes that appear almost black, reflecting the dark smudges stamped beneath them.

My brow pleats, gaze falling to the wooden sword hanging from his fist ...

I mutter a curse.

“Take this to the boat.” I shove my basket toward my closest escort while holding Baze’s stare. “I’ll be right there.”

“He’s armed,” Vanth hisses, refusing to accept my belongings.

I glance sideways to see him white-knuckling his wooden spear, blue eyes narrowed on Baze.

“You’ll be fine.” I push my basket at his chest again. “Just take this.”

He snatches my things and thrusts them at Kavan. “No, I’m worried about you.”

Oh.

“Well ... that’s sweet.” I sweep my hand around and weave it under my shirt, retrieving the Ebonwood sword I’d stashed there.

Baze’s eyes narrow, and he begins to stalk forward.

My grip tightens.

“But with all due respect,” I say, low and steady, “you’ll both just get in the wa—”

Vanth charges, spear at the ready, kicking up sand with his booted feet. I snarl and dart forward, dropping low and sweeping my leg out, knocking Vanth’s feet out from under him.

He drops like a boulder, flat on his back, mouth working like a fish out of water. His wide eyes draw wounded gulps of me looming over him, as though he can’t quite work out how he ended up down there, in the sand, with my sword kissing his carotid.

“What the fu—”

“You don’t touch him,” I hiss through clenched teeth, digging the sword a little deeper. “And if you insist on getting between us, that spear has to work its way through me first. And then you’ll have to explain to your High Master why you impaled his promised. Do I make myself clear?”

He squirms a little. “Crystal.”

The word itches so much my upper lip peels back.

I release him from the nip of my blade, leaving a bead of blood dribbling down his neck. He leaps to his feet, wipes at the wound, and studies the red smear on his palm with an insulting amount of shock in his eyes.

“Go,” I tell a round-eyed Kavan who’s regarding me as if this is the first time he’s laid eyes on me. “Prompt the captain to prepare the ship. I won’t be long.”

He looks me up and down. “Cainon’s getting much more than he bargained for.”

It’s far from a compliment.

He stalks off toward the jetty with a narrow-eyed Vanth in tow, tossing cursory looks over his shoulder every few steps.

“I hope you’re ready to watch that ship sail away without you,” Baze volleys, snagging my full attention.

So this is how it’s going to go, then.

“I’m leaving of my own free will,” I counter, moving the majority of weight onto my strong leg and widening my stance, sharpening my focus. Assessing his every breath, every blink for signs of what to expect next.

If Baze is going to try and stop me from leaving this stretch of sand, I’ll have no choice but to fight.

“Only because you haven’t beenfully informed,” he snaps back, mimicking my motions, readying himself for a battle I doubt either of us wants. His shoulders flex as he passes his sword from one hand to the other, the gems on his ring glinting in the low light, catching my gaze.

Catching my interest ...

I slide my foot back half an inch, anchoring to the sand. “I’m afraid it’s you who is uninformed, Baze.”

His lips curl up in a half sneer. “I doubt that.”

We leap forward at the same time, black swords crossing with a sharp, wooden clang that seems to echo down the beach and almost makes me gag.

Fucking Ebonwood.

We hold—stares as locked as our swords. Our muscles. Our warring resolve. Though where I’m sure and steady, I swear his hold is a little less stable than it usually is.

Than it always is.

“Don’t do this,” he grates out, his hot breath fogging the air.

I can see the torment in the depths of his eyes. Can see that he hates this just as much as I do—what this turn of events has done to everything we’ve built.

“It’s already done,” I snip, referring to the cupla cinched around my wrist.

My life began to unravel the moment I accepted it, but I can’t bring myself to regret it. Not when so much is hinging on this union.

There’s suddenly a well of sentiment in his stare. “You don’t know what it’s like out there, Orlaith. You have no idea what you’re up against.”

“And whose fault is that? Who kept me in the dark for nineteen fucking years?”

I shove away, then stab forward.

His blade sweeps in and knocks my strike to the side with another jarring clang, taking a large bite from my composure. I snarl, letting that discomforting sound fuel me as I whirl, coming down at him from another angle.

He dodges.

This may be a wooden sword but when it whips through the flutter of his shirt, it’s just as merciless as steel—leaving a gaping hole that exposes smooth slabs of muscle contained in a flawless wrap of porcelain skin.

For a moment, I think he let me get so close to gutting him. But when my gaze flicks to his face, I see twin seeds of shock in his tawny eyes ...

Seems this new sword isn’t so bad after all.

Tossing it from one hand to the other, I root my feet in the sand, keeping as much weight off my right foot as possible.

His attention darts to my wrist, and a darkness falls over his face. “Did they hurt you?”

I roll my eyes. “You mustn’t have very much confidence in your training abiliti—”

His sword whips out, the flat side landing a blow to my right thigh, sending a lick of pain shooting down my injured leg.

I yowl as it buckles beneath my weight, and he whirls around, taking my armed hand with him, pinning it behind my back between the press of our bodies.

“I thought I taught you to always shield your weakness,” he seethes, immobilizing my other arm and shredding the bandage with a smooth flick of his blade.

The dark blue tourniquet flutters to the sand.

A laugh bubbles out as he studies the deep, crescent wound punched through my wrist. “What did you do, leave him a doggy dish full of blood?”

The fact that he worked that out so fast is a little concerning.

“Yes ... actually, I did.” I stomp his bare foot with my solid boot—something he’s not used to me wearing.

He howls, pulling away just enough for me to slip my arm free. I twist out of his hold and dip low, the hilt of my sword clouting the back of his knees.

He drops like a rock, a dense oomph pushing from parted lips as my knee collides with his chest. All my weight is pressed into the one point of contact, the sharp tip of my sword poised atop his heart.

There’s a war in my chest, and I take a moment to check our surroundings—to ensure we’re hidden behind the shark-teeth stones and that my two guards are well and truly out of sight.

It’s just us on the beach; nobody bearing witness to my victory aside from Baze’s wounded pride.

I zero in on his hand that’s holding my knee, as if he’s considering an attempt to shove me off. Gripping his ring, I watch his eyes widen while all the blood drains from his cheeks. “Always shield your weakness, huh?”

“Orlai—”

I pull.

The shift is instantaneous, the utter vision of him so shocking I whip away from the safety of the rocks, leaving him in the maw of their protection while I marinate in the open air.

I can barely bring myself to draw breath, because I don’t recognize that man.

Not one bit.

His hair is so white it appears to harbor its own light source, his ears pointed at the tips, the outer shell lined with the same crystalline thorns that decorate my own. And his eyes ... they’re big and round.

They remind me of his.

But it’s like they’ve been dipped in dirty water, dulling their shine. And those black smudges beneath his eyes are now darkened dents in his face.

My gaze roves down, breath catching.

Heart stilling.

Every visible inch of Baze’s pearly skin—aside from his unfamiliar, statuesque face—is scarred. Riddled with bite marks big and small. Some are perfectly mirrored crescents, as though teeth were simply stamped upon his flesh. The rest are so messy, I can’t imagine how long they would’ve taken to heal.

But his neck ...

The skin there is puckered and bunched in places, gouged in others, as though it was wrapped in a barbed wire collar years ago. Like he fought against it, shredding himself beyond repair.

My insides gutter, stare shifting from the man I thought I knew to the castle casting us in its big, boastful shadow.

Did Rhordyn have anything to do with this ... this torture Baze has sustained over the years?

I blink, feeling a warm wetness dart down my cheeks. “And you had the nerve to call me a liar,” I rasp, and the voice is not my own.

It’s fragile.

It’s the voice of a girl who just realized how lonely she’s been for the past nineteen years.

I regard the dazzling pits of his eyes. “How very hypocritical, when you know exactly how it feels to be living in a skin that doesn’t belong to you.”

He’s crestfallen, trying to cover his torso with the scraps of his shirt.

Part of me feels guilty for stripping his mask without his consent, but the feeling swiftly disintegrates the moment he opens his mouth.

“He won’t let you go, Orlaith.”

I retreat another step, eyes hardening. Trying, and failing, to picture this beautiful, broken man as the Baze I’ve come to know and love.

The Baze I thought was unbreakable.

“He’s already lost me,” I respond in a voice too soft and vulnerable. I lift my chin to counter the weakness. “At least this way I’m securing those ships for the people who really matter.”

“So naïve,” he spits, shaking his head, top lip peeling back—blue from the cold. “You get on that ship, and he will hunt you. You have no idea what he’s capable of.”

An oily blackness spilling out in vicious, torrential spears.

Burning.

Silencing.

“Yeah, well, I think that sentiment works both ways,” I rasp past a smear of bile, pushing the probing image deep into that chasm of death and destruction and heart-impaling regret.

I look at the ring sitting in my palm; the perfect mask to hide his pain. Just like my necklace, it feels too light to be heavy with so many secrets.

Right now, it’s my only guarantee he won’t chase me to the boat.

I swallow, waving the piece of jewelry at him. “I’ll leave this on the jetty, and if you want to keep your ... your secret,” I push out past the lump in my throat, “I suggest waiting until we’re gone to collect it.”

His lip twitches, and he stabs his gaze at the sand beside him, as if he can’t bear to look at me.

Taking that as my cue, I spin, stalking toward the quay. “And someone needs to water my plants,” I throw over my shoulder, rolling my sleeve and concealing my torn-up wrist.

Feeling like a boulder has landed atop my chest, I climb the stone stairs that rise from the sand and merge with the elevated wharf, keeping my shoulders back, walking with the ruse of a certainty I don’t possess.

I scale aged, weather-beaten planks slippery from the rain, chin notched high, ignoring the odd flick of silver frills through the waves to my side.

I hope Kai doesn’t try to accost me ... If he does, I’ll fall apart. Scatter on this dock and refuse to pull myself together again.

He’d probably still wrap me in his ocean arms and tell me everything’s going to be okay. But it’s not. And it shouldn’t be.

Not for me.

I count each of the five hundred and twenty-two steps it takes to reach the boat with the big blue sail, its deck busy with the bustling energies of numerous seafaring men.

Baze’s ring scalds my palm, and I dare a peek back down the jetty that’s hazy from a spray of sea mist.

He’s nowhere to be seen, and I wonder which he’s more ashamed of: his scars or his heritage.

Me? I’m not hiding from anyone but myself. My fake shell might be tight and uncomfortable, but what’s below the surface is much worse ...

A beautiful, malignant disaster.

Kneeling, gaze still pinned to the dim scoop of the bay and those shark-tooth stones that decorate its gloomy smile, I set the ring down. When I rise, I somehow feel heavier.

My attention swings to the long, sleek boat that’s built specifically for cutting through the harsh terrain of an unforgiving ocean ... not that it alleviates my chest-cinching anxiety.

Toes barely kissing the ramp, my feet anchor to the pier. The strong, sturdy, familiar pier I’ve looked down on every day for the past nineteen years, never imagining I’d be in this position.

It feels more like a plank because once I step onto that vessel, that’s it. I’m across my Safety Line.

Those final steps seem insurmountable.

My pulse whooshes in my ears, louder than the crashing waves.

Strong, resilient, composed ...

I glance up into a mix of unfamiliar faces. The captain is staring down his nose at me from the deck—gray hair tied back, blue blazer pinched with golden buttons that hug a strong physique.

He scans my face as if he’s seeing all the cracks there. “The tide’s dropping. If we don’t leave now, we’ll smash our keel on our way out the bay.”

“Shit,” I mutter without moving my lips.

Always shield your weakness.

I draw on the sea air, then step onto the ramp—every muscle in my body braced to pounce. The sword hanging from my hand becomes the victim of my crushing fist, each footfall taking me deeper into unsafe territory.

But that drop to the deck comes too swiftly, and I swallow again, trying to force my sledging heart down my throat as I look at my feet ...

I feel like I’m standing on the edge of that chasm in my mind, peering into the gloom, afraid of what might be down there. Knowing it’s likely something hideous that will rock me to the core.

But I can’t afford to hide anymore.

You can do it! Just push your arms out like you’re flying and slide your foot forward ...

His voice sings to my tortured soul, shooting steel into my spine. I nod to myself—to him—stare stabbing out across the bay.

I picture his hands outstretched and waiting. Picture his big, half-moon smile. Pretend I’m moving toward that bolt of happiness that struck me as I fell into his arms and was tickled into a ball.

Breath held captive, I step onto the sturdy, hard-wood deck ...

I expect to feel some immediate shift in the air. Expect my entire body to fold over in unimaginable pain, or for a Vruk to spring forth and slash at me with talons that squeal with every swipe. I expect many things, and though none of them happen, I feel no relief.

I just took the most important step of my life, and those tickles never came.

My fault.

All my fault.

I release a fractured breath, trying not to blink—worried that if I do, my emotions will spill down my cheeks and everyone will bear witness to my fragile state.

My weakness.

Captain studies me through pale eyes, many years etched in the wrinkled skin around them. He makes a gruff sound, then mutters something below his breath before relaying a bunch of orders to his crew.

Kavan shoves my basket at me and stalks toward the stairs that disappear below deck. Vanth stays a moment longer, watching me with a guarded expression that makes me want to fidget.

“You’re on a Bahari vessel now, Mistress.”

The last word is tossed at me like a threat.

“Thank you, Vanth. I’m well aware.”

“Good.”

He scores me with scrutiny for a moment longer, gaze flicking to my cupla before he follows the same path Kavan just took.

The moment he disappears from sight, I loosen a tight breath ...

Perhaps he didn’t take too well to being knocked on his arse.

Everyone begins to buzz around, preparing to break away from port. Desperate to tuck into a quiet corner, I make for the bow of the boat where I can look down on the wake it will soon be carving through the merciless, gray ocean.

I remove my hairpin, letting my heavy locks fall around me like a shield, as if it could protect me from the stares drilling holes in my back.

Gripping my baby conch, I search for another sign of those silver frills stirring up the water, but Kai is nowhere to be seen.

A painful pang of regret twists my insides ...

I should have been honest with him, but Kai would want nothing more than to rescue me, and he can’t save me from myself.

I close my eyes and lift the shell to my lips. “I’m so sorry ...”

The words are whispered, and I swear the shell speaks back to me, though when I lift it to my ear, all I get is the breathing sound of the ocean.

Glancing out across the bay, I’m unable to stop the tear that slips free, using my shoulder to wipe it away.

Strong, composed, resilient.

I shouldn’t look to Castle Noir—know that if I do, it could plant yet another seed of regret.

Not that it stops me.

My eyes flick up, stare landing on the dense, black smudge protruding from the cliff like a grisly diadem. Salty air whips at my hair, seasons my lips, and chills my cheeks as I explore everything I hold so dear ...

It’s hard to breathe looking up at my whole life from afar, so I dip my nose into the basket, letting him fill my lungs and soothe my chaotic mind.

“Outward bound!” one of the sailors shouts, and the boat peels away from the dock. The main sail is lowered and wind fills its belly, lurching us forward with such force I’m compelled to drop my basket in exchange for gripping the rail.

A deep rumble rattles the air, as though a mountain just shifted from its ancient perch. The hairs on the back of my neck lift, and my gaze lashes to the tip of Stony Stem perched high in the sky like the pinched bud of an immature bloom ...

To the robust shadow of a man standing on my balcony, watching us leave.

Rhordyn.

He looks so out of place, his severity contradicting the pretty, delicate blooms of my wisteria vine twisting around the balustrade.

An icy trail of perusal carves across my face, to my wrist, before whipping down my leg as if tasting my blood from afar.

My breath becomes prisoner to lungs that have forgotten how to function ...

He won’t let you go, Orlaith. He will hunt you.

The echo of Baze’s parting words rattle me to the core, though a stronger, more dominant part of me rears up, almost welcoming the challenge.

He can try.

I square my shoulders and pretend Rhordyn’s arctic scrutiny isn’t flaying me from afar as the wind pushes me toward the arms of another man.