The Rise of Deragon (The Deragon Duology #2)

21

Pandora

T angy seawater spews from my mouth when the earth rips me back to reality, and it feels like days before I finally stop heaving. Wiping my mouth with my drenched sleeve, I prepare to give my all into berating Madman, insisting he stay the hell away from me, no matter if he just saved me from the brink of death.

But when I crane my neck to meet his eyes, empathy that I’ve only ever seen in Lady Andromeda’s gaze greets me instead.

“Andie?” I shiver, spastically clutching at my soaked clothes. “What are you . . . how did you find this place?”

“I’d ask you the same thing,” she says firmly.

Aware that it may blow any kind of cover story I could improvise, I throw an assessing glance over my shoulder—towards the route Madman and I sail each night to reach his private alcove—but no sign of his boat remains.

He fled the scene.

“I should be dead,” I whisper, even though it’s not the answer that Andie’s looking for.

“But you’re not. You’re alive, and you’re going to come clean about what you’re doing so close to a certain someone’s hidden property.”

I scan Andie’s face for any signs of guesswork, any chance she’s merely reaching for the truth rather than calling it out with unwavering clarity. Andie raises a brow, and my lips thin into a line to keep my teeth from chattering. “You know, then.”

“We all have our secrets, and it’s my business as Lady of the House to know them. All of them,” she adds pointedly. “But don’t worry. I’ll keep this one to myself. And to prove to you that my word is trustworthy, I’ll let you in on a little secret of my own.”

A chill races down my spine, my blood cooling beneath skin that nearly lost its color from my time underwater. I’ve never heard her speak to me like this—like she might just be more diabolical than Kit or even Madman. That she holds more uncovered mystery than them. In my dazed recognition of the fact, Andie provides me the assistance needed to stand, unbothered by the damp press of my clothes against hers when I nearly lose my balance.

“Your mother escaped Broadcove Castle, stole a ship in Honeycomb Harbor, and sailed for the continent.”

My surprise is insuppressible. “Venus and Jericho are actually making the trade for me?”

Andie’s glower only intensifies. “You think I don’t know that either? That Duchess Geneva is your real mother, not Venus.”

Bloody Saints. That means—

“Who told you that?” I ask, my voice thick with dread.

“The same person you came down here to see.”

My eyes bulge and my heart stalls. I don’t care to know the gory details of how Andie crossed paths with Madman of all people—not yet anyway—and ask instead, “And why not rat me, or the both of us, out to Kit? Why keep this valuable information from your son, especially for the likes of me ? His enemy.”

“Perhaps it might serve you well to start characterizing yourself not as Kit’s enemy, but as something of great value to him,” she says, the sentiment ominous. “The sooner the better.”

It’s not an outright answer, but it sure is something.

It’s a warning.

“Come on,” Andie instructs, not allowing my mind to start stirring with frantic questions. She leads me back into the darkness, to the concealed stairs beneath my bed. “Let’s get you cleaned up and into bed.”

+

I lie when Andie asks if I’m comfortable in bed, and I shudder from the sheer weight of the last two hours once she retreats to her rooms for the night.

I will myself not to cry, not to cower. I had nearly drowned , for Saints’ sakes, and yet, this moment overwhelms me more. The absence of the sun. The curtains drawn shut. The inability to see my own hand in front of my face—all while trying to viciously dissect Andie’s omen about proving my value to Kit.

I’d always loathed myself for being afraid of the dark, for having to explain to Broadcove staff and family members why I insisted on keeping the mantle lamps burning in my rooms. It just always felt so childish, so humiliating.

The only person who hadn’t chastised me about it was Madman.

That’s what our secret rendezvous started as, after all—Madman’s gentle offer to guard me from whatever lurked in the darkness so that I could sleep. Why he kept scattered candlelight spread throughout his cave.

But after what I had said on his boat and seeing me jump into the inky waters without resurfacing . . . would he blow them all out? Would he subject himself to the darkness he’d grown accustomed to in the tunnels?

Does he feel any remorse?

I flip on one of the lamps at my bedside, grateful for the golden glow it disperses through the room. Kicking my feet out of the sheets, I set out for my armoire, to the back corner where I stashed my Pandora’s Box. The wood glistens in the lamplight, warm in my touch.

I should open it.

After all, what’s a little more hurt? If I beat death, surely I can face what’s in this box.

Like a child trying to make sense of their holiday gifts, I shake the box, curious to find out if anything rustles or clatters within. The sound is muffled, indistinguishable, as if nothing resides in it at all. Is the box some test of self-control? Perhaps I’m no better than the original Pandora, chomping at the bit to know what horrors or splendors lie within. Infinitely curious, and so close to unlatching its lid . . .

My fingers halt on the mechanism.

Everyone , Madman told me. Everyone bears a devastating secret that will reach the limelight if I open the box. Kit, Andie, Venus, Jericho, Mother . . .

Dear Saints, how could I be so blind?

Of course Madman let me withdraw from him, insisted that I don’t truly know him. Because there’s something about him in there, something he believes is so corrupt, I would scorn him forever. Refute any of the affections he has for me—that I have for him.

I’m going to open the box. I’m going to prove Madman wrong. I’m going to show him that I can handle—

The distant sound of an engine thrums beyond the House, my heartbeat going quiet so my ears can scope out the scene.

A car door shuts, but the engine . . . the engine keeps rumbling.

Suddenly, Andie’s ominous words echo in my mind like a menacing, phantom wind.

Perhaps it might serve you well to start characterizing yourself not as Kit’s enemy, but as something of great value to him. The sooner the better.

I’ve been so consumed by the number of days I’ve spent pointlessly pining after Madman that I haven’t kept track of what day it was now. Her warning wasn’t just about how I can sway Kit to tolerate me. It was to warn me—warn me that time was no longer on my side.

My tribunal.

It’s tomorrow .

I make a mad dash across the hall, knowing my Pandora’s Box is no longer safe in my room—especially not if I’m to pretend to be asleep when Kit gets here. In a surge of panic, I throw open the door to the well-preserved room that belonged to Andie’s now-deceased daughter, mindful of all the toys, trinkets, and pillows that are better left untouched. In the span of five seconds, I scan through the pink-purple shrine, hoping for a clever hiding spot.

The minute the inside door to the backyard unlatches, I notice a gap in the back of the dusty bookcase and tuck the box into its barely visible pocket and sprint for my rooms on feather-light feet. I turn off the lamp right before footsteps sound in the main entryway, working their way to my side of the House.

Sure enough, Kit Andromeda strides in moments later, a no-nonsense expression plastered across his face and a drink in hand. He doesn’t bother to be quiet about it, either, but I pretend to jostle awake anyways, as if breaking past the last layer of an unhappy dream.

“Kit?” I say hoarsely. “What’s wrong? Are you all right?”

He stops in his tracks, studying the concern in my face. Not for me, but for him .

He dismisses it like a waved hand through thin mist. “Pack a bag, princess. We’re leaving.”