Chapter 77 Horizon
"Nerissa."
Klaus’s voice was a low vibration behind me. I didn't turn. I knew what he looked like—covered in the blood of the Starving One, his chest a map of jagged claw marks, his eyes burning with a sapphire light that seemed to be the only thing keeping the darkness at bay.
"We have to move," he said. The gravelly edge of his voice told me his strength was flagging. The black veins were gone, but the toll of the night was etched into the lines around his mouth. "The secondary lift is frozen. We go down through the servants’ chute or we don't go at all."
I looked down at the Emperor. He was a heap of discarded midnight silk on the gold floor, his skeletal hands twitching in the dust of the glass I had pulverized. He wasn't dead, but he was hollow. The stolen magic of my people had been purged from his marrow by the resonance of the First King. He looked like what he truly was: a parasite that had run out of a host.
"Is he going to follow us?" I asked. My voice sounded different—sharper, more certain. The "Sapphire Witch" was gone, replaced by something older and more dangerous.
"He can't walk, Nerissa. He can barely breathe," Klaus said, walking to my side. He didn't touch me, but I could feel the heat radiating from him. "But Vespera’s father has a fleet. And the Council won't just let the Voice walk out the front gate."
"Then let's use the back one," I said.
We moved through the wreckage of the solarium. Klaus grabbed a heavy, fur-lined cloak from a fallen rack and threw it over my shoulders. It smelled of lavender and old power. I hated it, but the warmth was a necessity. My skin was still glowing, a faint turquoise hum that illuminated the dark service corridors as we began our descent.
The servants’ chute was a vertical tunnel of cold iron, slick with the grease of a thousand years of industry. We didn't slide; Klaus anchored us, his boots grinding against the metal as he lowered me down. Every jerk of the descent sent a jolt through my heart. I thought of the Bone Gardens. I thought of the sirens reaching up through the white dust.
We hit the bottom—a damp, lightless cellar that smelled of rotting vegetables and stale blood.
"Rook!" Klaus called out, his voice hushed but commanding.
A pile of empty grain sacks in the corner shifted. Rook’s green head popped out, his eyes dinner-plate large and wet with terror. He was shivering so hard the leather bag in his lap was rattling.
"M-m-master! Mistress!" He scrambled toward us, nearly tripping over his own boots. "The guards! They’re at the stables! They’re at the gates! They’re saying the Admiral is a dead man and the Witch is a ghost!"
"I've been both before, Rook," Klaus said, grabbing the goblin by the collar and hauling him up. "The boat. Is it still in the willow thicket?"
"Yes, master! But the tide... the tide is coming in. The water is heavy. It smells like the black oil again."
"The Gate is sealed," I said, stepping forward. I took the leather bag from Rook’s trembling hands. The weight of the scrolls—the missing pages, the maps of the North—felt like a shield. "The water will clear. It just needs time."
"We don't have time," Klaus said.
He led the way out of the cellar. We emerged into the Bone Gardens, but the mist had lifted. The sun was higher now, casting long, skeletal shadows across the white earth. The crushed calcium dust swirled around our feet, a dry, choking powder that tasted of ancient grief.
We ran.
My lungs didn't burn with the Blight anymore, but they burned with the effort. Every step felt like a betrayal of the dead beneath my feet. I saw the reaching hands again. I saw the ribcages. I felt the Song of the First King vibrating in my throat, a low, mournful hum that wanted to turn into a scream of apology.
I’m sorry, I thought. I’m sorry I couldn't save you all.
"There!" Rook pointed toward the grey willows.
The boat was there, hidden beneath the ashen leaves. But the harbor was no longer silent. From the cliffs above, I heard the roar of steam-engines. A massive, iron-hulled frigate was turning in the bay, its red bioluminescent lights searching the shoreline.
"They’re using the sonar," Klaus hissed. "They know we’re on the water."
"Then we won't be on the water," I said.
I walked to the edge of the shore. The waves were dark, stained with the residue of the night’s battle. I looked at Klaus. He was watching the frigate, his hand white-knuckled on the hilt of his sword. He looked like the Admiral who had spent centuries holding the line, and I could see the instinct to fight rising in him—the desire to turn and face the monster he had helped create.
"Klaus," I said. "Look at me."
He turned. The sapphire in his eyes was fractured, a mix of defiance and a deep, aching fatigue.
"The Anchor is broken," I whispered. "You don't have to hold the ship anymore. You just have to hold me."
He stared at me for a heartbeat, the mask of the soldier finally crumbling. He let out a long, shaky breath and stepped into the boat, reaching for the oars. Rook scrambled into the middle, clutching his knees.
I stepped into the prow. I didn't sit.