I stared up at him. “I can’t trust you.”
“You’re not the burden.” His thumb stroked my shoulder; I didn’t hate it. “How many times did you climb that wall as a girl?”
“That was different.”
“You did, didn’t you?”
“Yes. Hundreds of times.”
His head tilted. “How did I know that?”
“I don’t know. Maybe you snuck into my chamber and read my mother’s journal.”
“Or maybe this is just who you are.” His hand came to my cheek. “You climb walls in the night.”
“There were stairs involved.”
“Think of these as steps, then. Little ones. Good for small feet.”
I hated his softness, and I hated more that I didn’t move away. “Any other sterling advice?”
His smile disappeared. “Once you’ve started up, don’t look down.”
We walked until we reached the base of the wall. Dorian stepped up to the great stones and set his fingers to one at chest-height. At his touch a small triangle illuminated, iridescent as though under moonlight. But the moon wasn’t out tonight.
The wall wasmarked.The fae had marked it.
How stupid I’d been, thinking us safe. Meanwhile, the fae were coming in and out, swapping babies by night. HadIbeen carried up this wall? That might explain my obsession with it.
Dorian stepped back and gestured for me. The triangle of light slowly diminished until it winked out.
I came forward and set my fingers to the wall. Cold, unforgiving stone. But the symbol came to life under my touch… and revealed a deep groove.
I set one hand into my chalk pouch and grabbed a handful.White coated my palms as I rubbed them together. I placed a hand into the groove. My other skimmed upward, searching until I found a second not far above it. The spot illuminated as soon as I brushed it.
Here was the start. Far up there could be my end.
Don’t think of it.If I didn’t go, I never would. And the only way into my own home was up this wall.
I pulled myself up until my boot landed in the first groove. As soon as my hands touched the wall above, another triangle appeared. I gripped the hold and pulled myself up again.
I didn’t know if Dorian had started climbing; I couldn’t hear him beneath me. I just had to trust, while his advice rang in my ears?—
Don’t look down.
Every time I lifted myself, the wall reminded me of its purpose. Cold, rough, an unforgiving expanse. It scraped against my leathers. It pressed into my cheek. It gave nothing except three inches of hand- or footholds, and soon that felt like a gift.
My whole life depended on three inches.
The wind picked up, and I climbed. I climbed when my hands began to ache and my fingers grew stiff and numb. I climbed when my braid whipped into my face. I climbed when the clouds thinned and the moon came out.
Eventually, babbling floated on the wind. The babbling of firelight.
Faint voices came to me, and I ventured a look straight up. Until this moment I’d only sought out the next triangle of light, but now my face angled higher.
The top. The top wasn’t far off.
I reached for the next groove, leveraging myself up—and my foot slipped. I jerked downward, and my grip loosened.