“Go for it.”
Out of the corner of her eye, she watched as he crossed the room, and the bed depressed when he sat on it. She felt soft fingers over her skin, skimming out the landscape of her back. “This might hurt a bit.”
“That’s fine.” If Dagon was going to gnaw through her flesh later, she wasn’t going to worry about a needle.
An exquisite pain pierced near her shoulder blades. She gasped as the needle plunged in and out of her flesh, searing a fine line across her shoulder. She exhaled, letting the pain wash through her. She deserved it, anyway, for what she’d done to Rohan.
“You’re in luck,” he said as he worked. “Since I have the godlike powers, this won’t take as long as a human tattoo.”
She flinched as the needle pierced the skin near her spine. “Not exactly modest, are you?”
“It’s not the most important quality when you can drown an entire city using just your words.”
“Right.”
After a long pause, he asked, “Are you scared? For tonight?”
So scared it hardly seems real. “I’m trying not to think about it.”
Someone pushed open the door, and Fiona nearly jumped up to cover herself before remembering that Lir held a needle poised over her back.
“Didn’t mean to interrupt.” Marlowe’s voice. “I brought you the paper you asked for.”
Crap. She hoped the “Danny Shea’s wife” story had disappeared from the headlines, at least until after she met Dagon. She heard a slap as the newspaper hit the floor, and the door clicked shut.
Unperturbed, Lir kept his fingers on her back, piercing her skin with tiny dots. He must be filling in the black now, and she winced as the pain intensified. “What happened when they searched Ives’ room? Did Valac and Marlowe find the trophies? The toe and the wristband?”
“They found nothing in his room or yours.”
“He must’ve hidden them somewhere else.”
“Tell me exactly what happened this morning.”
“I found Ives standing over Ostap’s body. He admitted he once killed his brother, and he said he likes watching people drown.”
“You’re certain it was him.” Lir spoke softly.
Is he actually asking my opinion? That was a first. “Well, it wasn’t me. And I don’t imagine any of you did it. I’m just hoping Dagon slaughters the crap out of him.” She swallowed hard. She sounded like a lunatic. “I mean. I just hope for justice. How does Dagon choose—who lives and who dies?”
There was a long intake of breath. “No one knows.”
Pain pierced her spine, and she was desperate to move, but she held herself still. “Does he kill evil people? Or does he choose evil people to become the Guardians?”
“Are you asking if I’m evil?”
“I guess that’s implied.”
“I don’t think it’s that simple. I don’t think Dagon sees good or evil the way humans do. We don’t know how he chooses.” He lifted the needle, leaning back to survey his work. “Beautiful. But it’s gonna sting like hell when you plunge into salt water. Let me heal you.” His fingertips lightly touched her back, and something that felt like a cool balm spread on her skin, leaching out the pain.
“Thanks,” she breathed. She heard him stand and glanced at him to make sure he was facing the other way before pulling her shirt back on. She rose from the bed. “I don’t suppose you have a mirror?”
He shook his head. “Not into fixing my hair.”
She’d just have to trust his artistic ability. Anyway, she had bigger problems to worry about right now.
She crossed to the door, but Lir’s voice halted her in her tracks. “Fiona.” She turned to find him eyeing her thoughtfully. “I didn’t think you’d make it this far.”
What kind of pep talk was that? “Well. I did.” She swallowed hard, forcing images of Dagon out of her mind. She’d been hoping for a confidence boost, but the tattoo hadn’t quite done its magic, and she still didn’t feel ready to face the sea god.
Back in her own cabin, she sat on the edge of her bed, her spine stiff. Really, the only thing she had going for her in this whole ordeal was that she had nothing left to lose. Except my life.
She lay back on her bed, trying to will her muscles to relax. She just needed to remember the image of the sea’s beauty, the way Lir had showed her. Closing her eyes, she tried to picture the vibrant coral and seaweed, the waters teeming with life. But each time she thought of the ocean, an image of inky blood set in, poisoning the water. Her legs were trembling. It was either death by fire, or death in the water.
At the sound of her door creaking, Fiona’s eyes snapped open. Grim-faced, Lir stood in her room, holding a newspaper.
He knows.
He glared at her. “Did you know before you came here?”
“Know what?” she whispered.
“That your father killed my father.”