Chapter 57 Found Way
The black fluid in my lungs surged. It felt like I was drowning in a fountain of ink. I felt the Anchor bond scream.
Klaus let out a soft, wet sound behind the throne. I saw his shoulders hunch. I saw the black fluid leak from the corner of his eye, a single, dark tear that ran down his pale cheek. He was taking the weight. He was acting as the filter even now, even when he was already full.
I pushed harder. I wanted the Emperor to feel it. I wanted the entire room to drown in the truth of what we were.
A high, piercing note tore out of me, unintended and violent.
The glass in the chandeliers shattered. Crystal rained down on the High Council like diamonds. The candles blew out in a single, freezing gust of wind.
I cut the sound.
I fell to my knees, my forehead hitting the cold obsidian of the dais. I pressed my hands to my mouth, but it was too late.
The black fluid erupted from me.
It splattered onto the white marble, a thick, shimmering pool of rot. It stained my charcoal silk. It stained my hands. I hacked, a wet, agonizing sound that felt like my ribs were being pulled apart by iron hooks.
"Nerissa!"
Klaus was there. He didn't care about the Emperor. He didn't care about the Lycans. He vaulted over the council table and caught me before I could collapse into the pool of my own sickness.
He pulled me into his chest. His heart was a frantic, erratic thrum against my ear.
"Breathe," he hissed, his voice a jagged rasp. "Damn it, Nerissa, breathe!"
He pulled his handkerchief—the one that was already black—and wiped my mouth, but the flow wouldn't stop. The Blight was purging itself, and it was taking my life with it.
The Emperor stood up. He walked down the steps of the dais, his robes hissing like a thousand snakes. He looked at the black oil on the floor. He looked at the two of us, huddled together in the dark.
"A spectacular display," the Emperor whispered. "The Voice is becoming... potent."
"She is dying, Your Eminence!" Klaus roared, his voice cracking with a raw, naked fury. He held me tighter, his fingers digging into my velvet sleeves. "The Anchor cannot hold the Rift and the Voice at once. You are killing your own deterrent!"
The Emperor leaned down, his blind eyes swirling with a pale, milky light. He reached out a skeletal finger and touched the black fluid on the floor.
"She is not dying, Peregrine," the Emperor murmured. "She is evolving. The Siren is becoming the Scourge. And you... you are simply the vessel that keeps her from overflowing."
He stood up, looking at the stunned Lycans who were slowly coming to their senses.
"Take her to the infirmary," the Emperor commanded. "And Admiral... do not let her miss the next session. The Empire requires its song."
He turned and walked out of the Cathedral, the High Council following him like shadows.
Klaus carried me through the dark corridors. He didn't use the main halls. He moved through the service tunnels, the ones only he and Rook knew.
He didn't take me to the infirmary. He took me back to the tower.
He kicked the door open and laid me on the bed. He didn't call for Sulla. He went to the basin himself, his hands shaking as he poured water. He took a clean cloth and began to wash the black fluid from my face, his touch so gentle it made me want to scream.
"I found it," he whispered.
I looked up at him through the haze of my fever. "What?"
"The Deep Vault," he said, his sapphire eyes flashing with a desperate, frantic light. "I went back after the Emperor broke me. I killed the guards, Nerissa. I burned the locks."
He reached into his coat and pulled out a heavy, leather-bound scroll. It was old—so old the leather was cracking, smelling of ancient salt and dry earth.
"The missing page," he said.
He unrolled it on the bed. I saw the diagram of the Bound Heart again, but this time, the bottom half was there.
There were symbols I didn't recognize. A map of the stars. A drawing of a silver needle.
"The Salt-Kiss is the bridge," Klaus whispered, his finger tracing the archaic script. "But the Salt-Kiss is not the cure. It is the invitation."
He looked at me, and I saw the terror in his eyes.
"It says the only way to purge the Blight is to return it to the Deep," he said. "To the source. But the source is protected by the First King’s seal. A seal that can only be broken by two hearts beating as one."
"The Summit," I rasped, clutching his hand. "Klaus, the deployment zones... they’re going to the Abyssal Gates."
"I know," he said. "The Emperor isn't just harvesting oil. He’s looking for the Gate. He wants to control the source of the Blight itself. If he finds it, he doesn't need an Anchor anymore. He can poison the entire world and only the Citadel will have the air."
He leaned in, his forehead resting against mine.
"We have to get there first," he whispered. "We have to use the Obsidian Star. If we can reach the Gate before the fleet, we can use the resonance to seal it. We can stop the rot."
"And the Anchor?" I asked. "What happens to the bond?"
Klaus was quiet. He looked at the black lines on my arms, then at his own ruined chest.
"The scroll says the bond breaks when the source is sealed," he said. "But it doesn't say what happens to the vessels."
I looked at him—the man who had been my jailer, my enemy, and my only lifeline.
"I don't care about the vessels," I said.
I reached up and touched his face, my fingers trailing over the black veins.
"I just want to see the blue water again."
Klaus closed his eyes. He leaned into my hand, a single, clear tear—the first I’d ever seen him shed—running down his cheek.
"I’ll find a way," he vowed. "I’ll find a way to take us home."