Page 73 of For the Love of the Quest

Thomasin’s eyes darkened. Despite herself, Edith felt a flutter in her stomach. Thomasin raised a derisive brow. “You think I’m helping you? You are my only ticket off this island alive. If you don’t come back out of that tomb, there is no deal with your father for my freedom. I’m not helping you. I’m using you. This is how it was always meant to be.”

“Fine, then,” Edith said, ignoring the fact that Thomasin’s words had taken her heart and crushed it into a pulpy, bloody mess. She was also exceedingly grateful for the darkness, which hid the sheen of tears that blurred her vision. Blinking them away as best as she could, she renewed her hold on Thomasin’s hip and said, “Let’s go.”

The path to the entrance of the tomb would be forever etched in Edith’s mind. It was hardly a challenge to navigate back to it now, even at night. When they arrived at the cliff, Edith helped boost Thomasin into the tunnel. She pretended not to notice Thomasin wincing when her torso landed on the packed dirt. Edith thought that to comment on it would just embarrass her, make her feel coddled. Before, Thomasin had seemed to appreciate the way Edith cared for her. She didn’t think enough people had treated Thomasin gently, and Edith was eager to correct that. But she had broken that trust, and now Thomasin’s pride was up like a shield. Edith had to earn back the privilege of Thomasin’s vulnerability. Until then, she would ignore Thomasin’s muffled groans and sharp breaths.

The sharp crack of a twig snapping cut through the night. Edith paused, her hands on the lip of the tunnel. She scanned the shadows, looking for any sign of movement, but saw nothing. Only the leaves rustling gently in the wind. With a growing sense of foreboding, Edith realized that their laborious trek would have left an easy trail to follow. Edith could only hope that Worthing was still occupied with her father. With Thomasin in such bad shape,Worthing would easily overpower them. She held her breath, waiting for a figure to emerge from the trees. After another moment of heavy stillness, her pulse thundering, she looked away and lifted herself into the tunnel. As she shimmied her body into the darkness, she half expected a hand to snatch out, grab her feet, and yank her back out. Nothing halted her, though.

Edith’s theory about Thomasin was only proven more correct when they arrived at the staircase. Gone was any trace of Thomasin’s fear. One arm slung over Edith’s shoulder, she marched them across the landing and onto the first step. Edith made sure to keep an iron-tight hold on Thomasin. Unlike their last descent, neither of them spoke. The stale air and pitch-dark pressed in on them until finally that little glow flickered below them.

The landing was comfortably solid beneath Edith’s feet, and she went straight toward the nondescript sarcophagus. After running her hand across the length of it, she shrugged off her satchel and took out her grandmother’s urn. It would be strange to part from it once and for all. Her thumbnail picked at the wax seal, bits of it falling at her feet.

“I’ll give you some privacy,” Thomasin muttered. Edith watched her out of the corner of her eye as she ducked under the archway at the center of the mural and into the amethyst room.

All the wax gone, the lid came off with a gentle click. “I know it’s not Avalon,” Edith said to the storm-gray powder that was once her favorite person in the world. “But Merlin’s tomb is really something. I think you’ll like it here.” A tear slipped from her cheek and fell into the ashes, forming a dark, wet clump. Edith reached a hand into the urn and took a fistful.

A violent burst of pain exploded against her temple, flinging her head to the side. The ashes went flying, and the urn slipped through her fingers. It shattered against the ground.

An arm wrapped around her middle. She kicked against whoever held her, but her back was pinned against their front. Edith opened her mouth to scream for Thomasin, but the cold press of a blade against her throat silenced her.

Worthing spoke right next to her ear, but his voice was loud. “Come on out, Thomasin. It’s time we finish this.”

Chapter Thirty

Thomasin was slumped on the floor, leaning back against the pedestal at the center of the amethyst room. It was the only comfortable place. She was too exhausted to stand, and the crystal walls were too pointy to rest against. Making it down those stairs had been one of the hardest things she’d ever done. She had been more than happy to give Edith space because it meant she would also have a moment to catch her breath.

But then Worthing’s voice shattered the peace and quiet. Any trace of exhaustion fled from Thomasin’s body as ice shivered down her spine and adrenaline shot through her veins. Worthing was in the tomb with Edith. Thomasin jerked her feet underneath her. She felt as though she were trudging through mud, unable to move quickly enough. She had to get to Edith. And yet she was also terrified of what she might find. The strange urge to bury her head in the sand nipped at her too-slow heels.

If Worthing had hurt her, if he had already killed her, Thomasin would fall to pieces. All the terrible things she had seen in her life, and Thomasin knew that Edith dead at her feet would be the one thing that could finally break her.

An hour ago, Thomasin had told Edith she was just using her, that she didn’t care that Edith would have to sacrifice herself to a life that she hated. Thomasin had wanted to make it clear she didn’t care about Edith anymore. Of course, it was a lie. Thomasin was blood-burningly angry, but that didn’t stop her loving Edith.

In all honesty, Thomasin hadn’t known what she’d planned to do when they made it off the island. Would she let Edith follow through with the deal and return home with her father? Would she let Edith go? Or would she steal her away and forgive her?

Now, as Thomasin raced across the amethyst room, she might never get the chance to decide. All thanks to fucking Worthing.

He had one hand across Edith’s forehead, yanking her head back against his shoulder. His other hand held a dagger to her throat. Rage colored her vision bright red, but at the edges of that storm there was relief. Edith was still breathing.

“That’s close enough,” Worthing barked as Thomasin neared the archway to the tomb. She ignored him, but when a thin line of blood bloomed across Edith’s neck and a cry escaped her lips, Thomasin skidded to a stop just before the threshold. “One more step, and I’ll bleed her out right in front of you.”

“What’s your plan, Worthing?” Thomasin mustered up the bravado that had always kept her alive, but she couldn’t hide the desperation clawing at her. It seeped into every one of her words. “You’re gonna kill her here, and then what? Sell her dead body back to her father?”

Worthing didn’t seem to register her words. Instead, he narrowed his eyes at her, pure disgust curling his lips. “You’re like a cockroach. No matter what I do, I can never seem to be rid of you. But you know the best way to get a cockroach? A trap. And this looks like a mighty fine cage to me.”

“I gave you the syndicate. We could have just let each other go. We could’ve both won. I was going to let you win,” Thomasin growled.

“That’s not victory. I don’t win until you’re dead.”

Thomasin huffed a short, bitter laugh. “Look at you, following me across the country. If anyone’s a cockroach, it’s you.”

“Well, I do intend to survive,” Worthing acquiesced. “And to do that, I’m going to leave you down here, where you’ll never be able to ruin my life again. The beauty of this is that it’ll be easy. As long as I have this bitch beneath my knife, you’ll do whatever I say.” He tightened his fingers against Edith’s skin. “I told Marshall it would end this way. I told him that you would be too soft.”

“Congratulations,” Thomasin said, her entire body snapping with anger. “You’re right. But I’m glad I failed Marshall. He didn’t deserve my loyalty.”

Worthing shrugged, the casualness of the gesture so at odds with the rigid way he held his body. “And so you will die—disloyal, weak, and forgotten.”

“No,” Edith panted, her throat scraping the knife. “No, please. No.”

Worthing ignored her. “Tell me how you opened that passageway, or I’ll slit her throat right now.”