Thread of Darkness

Ch. 36: you have a lovely scream

"Wake up." Someone patted her cheek. "Hurry."

Anna blinked. Glass-green eyes swam into view, followed by dark, messy hair. A young man was crouching in front of her, working at her manacles. She could see four crumpled figures behind him, smell the metallic tang of blood. Her heartbeat picked up.

"Ryne?" she croaked.

His smile was lopsided. "Hi."

Relief flooded her, so sudden and dizzying that she wanted to cry. Ryne. He was here. She gripped his wrist.

"Tristan?"

"Already with the horses," Ryne said.

"The Scythe," she whispered. "Eris said that you—"

"I knew it was her." Ryne's green eyes were fever bright. "Of course I knew it was her. Now, come on." He pulled off her manacles. "We have to hurry."

Anna rose to her feet, and they drunkenly stumbled down the stairs together, an odd, four-legged creature. Every part of her ached, but she focused on the cool night air drifting into the tower. On the sliver of stars beyond. She was so close now; so close to freedom.

I will not yield.

Ryne paused, fiddling with the lock. "Can you ride?"

She assessed her injuries. Bruised legs. Lacerations to the face. Possibly a broken rib, although it was difficult to say. "If I have to."

"We can't go back to the castle," Ryne said. "Eris will find us there." He helped her over an uneven step. "Would Sophie give us aid?"

Anna frowned, pausing by the door. She didn't exactly relish the idea of leading Eris's men straight to Sophie, Henry, June and the other Nightweavers. Surely there had to be another option. "We should ride for Libertas. Grayson will give us aid."

Ryne shook his head. "Orin will sell us out. It's not worth the risk."

"Then we'll sail for Lox."

"Too dangerous." Ryne stepped closer. "Where's Sophie, Annalise?"

"She's—"

Anna broke off, a shiver of unease running down her spine. That's not what you call me.

"Where do we go?" Ryne repeated.

Tears sprung to her eyes. He felt so real: his hands, his warmth, the glass-green of his eyes... it was him. It was Ryne. And yet, Anna knew that it wasn't: Ryne would have come with a plan. He always had a plan.

Something in her broke.

Anna lifted her face, breathing in the silky night air. A breeze ruffled her hair, and she tried to memorize the feeling, tried to hold on to it like a child with a balloon. She wanted to remember this when she was back in the Tower. She might never feel it again.

"Annalise?" Ryne prompted.

She swallowed. "Goodbye, Delafort."

The world crumpled away. And then it was just Eris crouching in front of her, his mouth twisted. Dark bruises marked his eyes, and there was a nervous energy to him, as though he'd drunk several cups of coffee. Golden strands fell from his hands, littering the floor.

"How did you know?" he demanded.

Anna looked away. Eris grabbed her chin, forcing her to look at him.

"How did you know?"

She spat blood. Eris grimaced, producing a handkerchief. Silver speckled his pale skin like early morning stars. "It was perfect," he murmured. "The perfect dream. I was the best Dayweaver in my year." He tilted his head. "It's your Nightweaver blood, isn't it? That's what's stopping me."