Page 157 of A Storm in Every Heart
“Dessa’s not stupid, she had to know he’d kill me anyway, eventually.”
Jett swallows thickly. “Yeah, she probably did know. I think she was holding out for her letter to get to Daemon, but obviously it never did.”
“It got to you,” I say roughly. “I’m only standing here because of you.”
Rather than smiling, his face falls slightly. “I don’t really know what Connell did to you; soon you might not be thanking me.”
“I agreed to it. It’s on me, and I don’t care what it was as long as I can get Odessa back from Magnus.”
“You love her, then?” he asks—though it’s more of a statement than a question. “What about your soul-bond?”
I open my mouth to tell him it’s her—it’s always been her, but then stop. That feels like the kind of thing I should say to Odessa before I say it to anyone else, and only once we’re safe. I won’t be able to breathe again until Magnus is dead and we’re miles away from Hydratta.
We reach the top of the tower and stop in front of the door. Dread washes over me when I see that there are no guards posted here either. If Dessa were truly inside, there should be soldiers stationed outside, even if most have abandoned their posts in the hallways, or sent elsewhere for some reason.
Jett strides up to the door, his boots thumping against the ground. With a swift, forceful kick, he sends the door swinging open.
We step inside and my eyes scan the room, frantic, mapping the overturned chair, the untouched platter of food, the window thrown wide.
She’s not here.
I expected it, and still the realization is like a cold fist closing around my gut. I run to the window, pressing my hands to the stone sill. The drop below is dizzying, sheer white walls plunging into jagged rocks. No rope, no marks, no sign anyone left this way.
“Fuck!” I roar, smacking the frame with my open palm. “Where is she?”
Jett circles the perimeter of the room, eyes narrowed. “Are you sure she was even here?”
I nod. Not only do I somehow just know she was here, I can smell her. Her scent lingers: ocean and wildflowers, a memory of her that clings to the air, mocking me.
Some small, sadistic part of me wonders if she left willingly. It would be a very Odessa thing to do to go through with the wedding if she thought it might save me. I can’t even fault her for it.
Jett leans out the window, scanning the grounds below “They must have taken her somewhere else.”
“We need to check the throne room. If they’ve already started the wedding, that’s where it would be.”
Jett nods and follows me back out the door. I take the stairs back down two at a time, heart thudding so loud it drowns out the world.
Then, before I’ve even reached the bottom, the echo of slow, deliberate footfalls on the stairs reverberates through the dimly lit corridor. Jett and I freeze, our breaths catching in our throats.
As Magnus comes into view, I’m not at all surprised. Over the last several days, I’ve become intimately familiar with those footsteps, but now, I’m excited to hear them.
Magnus stops short several stairs down from me. For a second, we lock eyes. His face contorts. His mouth opens slightly, yet nothing comes out. His face is locked in a slack-jawed grimace of disbelief, as though he can't quite process what he’s seeing. Can’t grasp that I’m here, and somehow made it out of the dungeon alive.
My lips tip up in a sneer. “Shit, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you speechless before. For once in your fucking life you don’t have anything to say.”
Magnus doesn’t answer me. His complexion turns ashen, and he cranes his head over his shoulder, shouting backwards down the stairs. “Guards!”
The stairwell echoes with the slap of boots and the metallic clatter of weapons. Jett grins and reaches for the short sword in his belt, but I’m not even planning to let them get close enough to cut.
With a flick of my hand, I draw the moisture from the air, the condensation beading on the cold walls, and shape it into a whip-thin ribbon of water that hovers, quivering, at my fingertips. I unleash it in a tidal wave that rises, growing wider and wider as it tears down the steps.
The soldiers’ screams echo off the walls and Magnus’s eyes go wider. He stands rooted in place, his face gone corpse-pale. Then, to my absolute satisfaction, his pale brown wings flicker into view behind him.
A laugh tears from my throat, loud and slightly hysterical. “You fucking coward.”
Magnus spins on his heel, panic etched on his face, and bolts toward the stairs. I laugh, and lunge after him. My fingers curl around the fabric of his jacket, halting his escape.
Instinct takes over. The blood rushes hot in my veins, drowning out every other sensation. I grab him by the lapels, hoist him off the ground, and slam him into the closest wall. The impact echoes like a thunderclap. Magnus’s head snaps backward, colliding with the stone. His jaw works open and closed, but nothing comes out except a thin, pathetic wheeze.
