Chaos (Lanie Bross) - Lanie Bross Page 0,11

addressed another Figment. “Hey. I need to find Rhys. Do you know where I can find him? The chemist?”

Rhys was known for sailing the Ocean of Shadows, mixing potions to help the Figments survive their exile.

The Figments ignored him.

But then one turned its blank, dark face in his direction. “Come,” it whispered, its voice gentle, soft. A girl’s voice.

She merged with the group, and Luc followed, desperately trying to distinguish his guide from the thousands of other Figments flowing down the beach, moving parallel to the cliffs. He was sweating freely now. He took off his jacket and tied it around his waist as he slogged across the shifting sands. His throat was parched, and he was acutely aware of time passing.

At least Jas was safe.

Just when he feared he’d made a mistake, he saw the Figments ahead of him slipping through a thin fissure in the side of the cliff face, sucked like dark beads of liquid into a vertical mouth. It was so narrow, Luc could barely make it through sideways. After a few feet, the tunnel widened, and Luc could walk normally again. The ground sloped steeply upward, and rough-hewn stairs were carved in the stone. A dim light shone from somewhere up ahead, illuminating just enough of the darkness that Luc could follow the Figments.

It was hot and damp. The stairs were so steep Luc walked practically doubled over, using the rock walls for support. He felt dizzy with heat and closeness. Surely it had been hours since they’d started walking. But he had to keep going. He had to find Rhys.

After what seemed like an eternity, the slope leveled off. In front of Luc was a makeshift door, a curtain made from some kind of hide; the Figments passed through it without so much as a rustle. Luc shoved aside the curtain and felt a rush of relief so strong he could have cried out.

He had made it. This was the room where Rhys had taken Corinthe to recover; this was where Rhys had told Luc about the Flower of Life.

It was even warmer in here. A fire crackled in the corner.

There was a dark shape lying in the bed.

Luc swallowed hard.

No.

The blind chemist lay tucked under the same quilt Corinthe had used. Mags, his pet raven, sat perched on the headboard, cawing softly.

“Ahhh, my boy. Welcome back. Welcome back.” Rhys’s glazed eyes were fixed on the ceiling. But of course, he had recognized Luc. Luc had stopped wondering how Rhys’s sight worked.

Luc couldn’t form words. It was obvious that Rhys was dying. His face had lost almost all its color, and his cheeks were as sunken as those of a skeleton. The skin of his hands was paper thin, as if he’d aged a thousand years since Luc had last seen him.

Luc took the archer from around his neck and pressed it into Rhys’s hand. It seemed the only thing he could do. “I’m sorry,” he said. His voice broke and he cleared his throat. “I stole it from you.”

Rhys shook his head, and returned the archer to Luc. “I won’t need it again.” A smile flickered across his face. “My time is done.”

“But …” Luc shook his head. It was impossible. Rhys had been fine—strong, happy—when Luc had left him. “Only a few days ago—”

Rhys cut him off. “Time moves differently in every world, my boy. Time moves differently for everyone.” Rhys gripped his blanket. “I went in quest of my one true love. I knew what I was risking. I am too weak, too old, too foolish. So I die an old fool. I’m sorry, Miranda.”

Rhys had his head turned away, so Luc didn’t know if he’d heard the man correctly. Before he could ask, Rhys’s sightless gaze was back on him. “What about you, my boy? Did you find your one true love?”

“Yes.” It hurt too much to think about, much less talk about. He hadn’t been able to share his grief. “But I lost her again. Corinthe died in Pyralis. She said it was how it had to be, but it can’t be.” He swallowed back the tightness in his throat. He could hardly breathe. “This can’t be the end.”

“I am sorry,” Rhys said softly.

Luc looked down, blinking back tears. He’d come hoping that Rhys would help him; he was the Radical who had once turned back time. There had to be a way. Luc hadn’t cried since Corinthe died. He wouldn’t start now. Anger replaced his sorrow. “Her death