Page 48 of Promised to the Nightmare Realm
The stairs run in a spiral on the outer edge of the tower, and salty air brushes through my hair whenever I pass one of the small windows, but this isn’t my first time here. When my foot sinks into a plush navy blue carpet with silver edges, I know I’ve reached the captain’s quarters.
My heart stills when I see green light pouring through an open doorway, but upon peeking inside, I find the lushly decorated interior empty.
The rocking chair in front of the fire has a book left on the seat though, and vapor looms above a cup of tea, proving Gloombane can’t be far.
I’m about to clear my throat to make my presence known when the harsh tone of Gloombane’s voice makes me freeze.
“Another month wasted! I don’t know if there’s any progress whatsoever, because it feels like moving one grain of sand at a time.”
He can’t possibly be speaking to Nate like that, can he? Confused, I realize the sound is coming from another flight ofstairs starting on the other side of the cozy apartment. The carpet muffles my footsteps, and I listen for an answer as I move toward the conversation like a cat.
I don’t think I heard an answer, but Gloombane goes on, his voice moving my way.
“Oh, for moon’s sake, stop your whining. You’re so useless I should have thrown you back into the river after all!”
I’m not backing out now. I’m halfway down when I hear a sob and my mind fogs up with burning hot smoke, because it sounds like Nate, even if somehow… faint, drained of all the things that made him shine when we first met.
Each step takes me further down the narrow flight of stairs. There are no windows here—just bare walls and torches of swamplight to illuminate my way, but the farther I get from Captain Gloombane’s quarters the heavier the scent of the sea becomes. It’s as if I’m descending into a lost cavern that can only be accessed by water, and I half-expect to step on the remains of some poor sea creature on the way there.
“You should be thankful,” Gloombane spits out, his feet tapping against stone just a bit further. “Anyone else wouldn’t have given you this chance after a single glance at that puny shadow! With me, your life will eventually be worth something,” he adds and then the footsteps head my way as my head pounds with disbelief.
I step into a small room where the staircase ends, and I don’t need to assume from the number of steps I’ve taken to get here to know I’ve now reached the cellars. There are no windows here, nor any conveniences—just bare floors and a few pieces of metal furniture. My breath catches at the fresh red glimmering on a saw left on a wide table with obvious cutting marks.
The voices come from an open door across the room, and my feet move so swiftly I don’t notice Gloombane when he walks into my chest with a low snarl.
He opens his mouth, about to put me in my place for being in his way, but then his blue eyes widen in recognition. He pushes on my chest to create distance as I arch to look over his shoulder, into the room behind him. Even from here it smells of damp, seaweed, and blood.
“T-Tristan. What in the high seas—Out!”
Captain Gloombane is a proud man. Decisive. Authoritative. Yet for the first time I’m hearing a tremble at the very end of the sentence coming from his mouth.
“Out, now!” he repeats with more confidence, but when he moves to shut the door behind him, I grab it to keep it open.
“I demand to see Nate,” I say, my voice as dark as the shadow in my heart.
Something’s wrong.
I need to see Nate.
Gloombane slaps my cheek with the back of his hand. “You might be a prince, but I am still your superior officer. How dare you oppose m—”
I slam my forehead into his face.
Bone breaks. Blood splashes my skin, but Gloombane stumbles aside, and I charge through the space he vacated.
“Nate?” I yell out as I step into the dark room, frantically looking around for him. Water from an inner pool splashes against the cold stone wall in gentle waves.
I scan this dungeon, and there’s another prisoner here, but no sign of—
I look back at the emaciated, bruised body chained to the wall in such disbelief my mind can’t handle what it already knows is true. There’s just too much to take in, but then the person looks up at me with dazed black eyes, and I can’t deny it anymore.
It’s Nate.
His lovely curls have been shaved off so harshly he has scars on his head, his cheeks are sunken. He’s naked, and that onlyexposes how thin he is. Paler than the moon, shivering like a wet mouse, his ankle unnaturally twisted and swollen, he’s chained to the wall by a rusty collar that’s turned his neck dark.
He sits by a pile of rags, there’s an empty bowl next to the pallet, and one of his arms is locked inside a metal contraption that keeps an open wound bleeding straight into the water.
When his gaze finds mine, emotion chokes me so violently I can’t bring myself to utter a sound, but as I step toward him, he shakes his head and sobs. “No… not again,” he rasps and twists his head in an attempt to look away. I can count every rib on him, but the bruises staining every bit of skin within sight? There’s too many. “Why do you always give me hope just to rip it away? What did I do?”
