Page 26 of Deadly Maiden (Dragons and Darkthings #1)

Wyntre

Day Four

We still have not bought extra warnite crystals, thanks to the enforcers posted near that shop. As an experiment, last night I managed to drain some gheist from the gun’s crystal, but I don’t know how to change it into etharum, and the etharum is getting really low in our pendants.

When we return to the library and wander out to the lake, as inconspicuously as possible, Kyvin is waiting for us, dripping wet and festooned with weeds. I want to do more reading and find myself explaining to this undead that we will be out again at midday but for now we are going back into the building.

Even that makes me feel bad, as if I’m abandoning a child.

He nods that minimal nod and watches us go, while pulling strands of water weeds from his shoulders.

The more I see of him, the more I notice. His hair still adheres to his scalp, apart from a few patches. It’s an inch long at most—short and a scummy white-gray with green hints. As if a man buried for twenty years would not look dirty-ish, even after soaking in a lake, twice. His clothes are barely holding together. There are tears, holes. They must be made of something unusually tough, or even magik reinforced? His eyes are white, but where the colored irises should be I can see an outline. His hands looked chewed-up. I guess he had to dig himself out from beneath the ground. His chest never moves, except when he speaks.

He is not alive, for sure. Was I really doubting this? Yes, yes, I was.

Why did my parents bother with all this? Just for the key? I doubt that. Besides, having compared it to the key from the box, the keys are a pair and identical, though made of different materials.

Were my parents unhappy over his plight, like I am? I’m guessing not. I’m a weirdly flawed necromancer, treating the undead as if they are alive and feeling emotions, and…whatever.

I convince Rorsyd to eat lunch in the same place, because we do need to check that killer drop under the goblin. As we near the spot, ducking beneath some low branches, I catch sight of something that chills me. Anathema is slinking about near Kyvin’s feet.

Thankfully, she vanishes before we reach the bench-seat. Though Rorsyd wears a frown and looks about, as if he saw something he cannot believe or didn’t quite understand.

To distract him, I pull an apple from the lunch we bought and coax my sexy fae shifter into playing catch next to the lake and out from under the trees. When one of us misses the catch, and each throw gets longer and wilder, we shriek and cackle and mock. I’ve never played a game with Rorsyd, nothing like this.

He runs in and tackles me to the ground, kisses me all over, then lets me up. I’m breathless, smeared with mud, but still giggling as he retreats.

“Throw again! Do it right, or else!” He’s grinning though.

The apple is almost shattered. “Wait!” I fetch another apple, and we begin again.

Our laughter is infectious, probably too loud, and few students studying for exams ask if we want to kick a ball around. They have a game they call zeetball.

The day turns out to be more fun than I could imagine, what with the zeetball game, and our undead guy lurking and clapping his hands silently. No one remarks on the creepy guy. I hope they missed seeing him.

Nothing is in the killer drop though.

The zeetball ends up plonking into the lake, and no one is willing to wade in. The students tell us the groundskeeper will retrieve it and leave it at the library’s lost and found.

Kyvin assures me he will stay out of sight overnight.

Day Five

Kyvin is still here. And there is something in the killer drop.

According to Andacc’s note, Rorsyd’s old rooms are clear. We plan to move there tonight after we pay the rent at the inn.

We go back inside to read. Here and there, I learn about things that happened in the past that I was not taught. I prop my elbow beside my current textbook, Volume 9 of the History of Artreos .

“Did you know that Jannik Stryke had a brother, Asher Stryke, who died earlier in the war?”

“I did.” He’s sitting cross-legged on the floor pulling out the books from the lowest shelf.

“Or that we used to have a major trade route over the Hogbacks but it was closed after an earthquake?”

“Yep.” He sounds as if he’s not really listening and didn’t move his head at all when he said that.

“What about that dragonshifters have tiny penises?”

“I don’t know about that, but I did hear that girls who tell lies get spanked hard.”

I bite off a laugh and wander off to a new section in the shelves.

I find a new book that’s more of a diary than a true nonfiction history book.

As soon as I reach the entry about the battle, I find this passage:

From my vantage point on a mobile tower I see the death of one of the two dragonshifters the king has recruited to our side. Orish dies a terrible death, eaten up by some new black menace, a new weapon sent by the necromancers in Jannik Stryke’s army. The second dragonshifter, whose name none knew, almost immediately seeks his revenge for his fallen comrade. He fire breathes over the necromancers and kills them. A cheer went up from the army after this. It turned the tide, struck fear into the enemy’s black hearts. We had them running afterward.

Lucky for me as my wounds made me vulnerable. If they had overrun us, I would have been one of the first to die.

I felt a relief that the name was not known, and I look up again at Rorsyd, past my desk, and find him prowling the shelves in the section on coins. My fae is so predictable.

But the next page…the very next page announces itself as if with trumpets and horns. As I turned the leaf of paper, the black ink shouts—so flimsy yet so significant—I see his name on the revealed page as if it has sought me out and fastened my eyes to the letters.

After some questioning, the name of the hero dragonshifter became known to me. An old soldier on his deathbed whispered it. Rorsyd Targram.

I cease to breathe for a second. There it is. Now I know.

I study him where he stalks, strong, determined to unearth new facts about gold, and I find nothing has changed in my heart. I still love him.

If anything, this is a relief.

I shut the book, take it to where I found it, and slot it into the cavity. Removed books are like pulled teeth.

Now, to find something on necromancy. Before I can discover anything like this in the Magik section, which is a bit along from the History part, Rorsyd comes to me from behind and clasps me in his arms, rocking me, smelling my hair, like he does.

“Lunch time. Wyntre, you need to eat something.”

Our favorite eatery is closed. The sign on the door placed by the Langordin Lawgivers. All it says is: Currently Closed by order of the Mayor .

I aim to speak to Kyvin and tell him about the inn…what do I tell him?

Where can he hide at the new rooms? I am about to ask Rorsyd this when I notice the white ball from yesterday rolling up beside Kyvin’s foot. He kicks it into the shrubbery, somewhat poorly, and something kicks it back to him.

It’s Anathema, again. He runs in and worms about Kyvin’s ankles then dashes into the undergrowth.

I think Rorsyd definitely saw him.

Mentally, I yell at Anathema and tell him to stay hidden. He seems to obey.

“Was that some sort of cat?” he asks.

“ Uhhh . Possibly? What’s on your sandwich?”

“Umm. Salad and cow.”

I elbow him. “Beef. It’s beef, not cow.”

“Depends on how personal you want your food to be. This is cow. I can lift a cow into the air, but some bulls are much too heavy.”

Though I eyeroll at that, his face closes in, and he shutters down with that stare that goes far into the distance. What is he thinking?

Flying. Of course it’s that. He cannot shift. Maybe I should do something about it. If I can. What I did the day of the massacre of the enforcers seemed to work, but he didn’t stay fixed. I’m untrained, and I’ve never asked him if I should. Never told him what I did. Is that so terrible?

I take a ferocious bite from my sandwich. I have other problems. The book revealing his name and now Anathema scampering about before us. Are our secrets colluding to come together like some novel doom-spell?

Kyvin meanders over with the white ball tucked under his arm.

“Where can he hide near your rooms?”

“Well, I’m not allowing him in them. I have two rooms and an undead in the corner will spoil the atmosphere. My cellar is underground but must be reached through the inn, the Tusked Woorak. The alleyway maybe? Except delivery people use it daily. Honestly, there is nowhere like this. He would be best to remain here, or to return to Slaedorth?”

“There’s a thought. He made it here. He must have walked at night, I guess.”

“Perhaps.”

“Did you walk here at night, Kyvin? From Slaedorth Fortress?” I make a walking motion on my hand with two fingers.

He stares at my hand for a long time then slowly nods.

“Okay. There is nowhere for you to hide where I sleep at night. You can return to Slaedorth or stay here.” I make an all-encompassing sweeping gesture at the grounds, the trees, the lake.

He does his mouth exercise, his chest moves. “I. Stay. Here.”

“Okay. Fine.”

“We hope,” Rorsyd says, under his breath.

“I wish I knew why my parents wanted him to stick to me.”

“ Hmmm. Indeed. I cannot believe where I am now. In love with a necromancer girl and playing daddy to an undead.”

A little wary, I look to him and see he’s not annoyed. He wraps his arm about my shoulders.

“You don’t mind?”

He laughs. “No to the falling in love. Him?” He rubs his chin on the top of my head. “I’d fly to the moon for you.” There’s a long pause, where I’m imagining him thinking about flying, again, before he continues. “Of course, if he ever turns evil…”

“I know. He won’t.” I study Kyvin where he stands unmoving but with his eyes shifting to follow the flight of a sparrow or the buzzing bees. “There is something deeply nice about whoever he is. Or was. I can see it.”

Or can I? Maybe I’m imagining this. Necromancy book, here I come.

“Let’s move to my rooms now, before it’s dark.”

“Okay.”

Tomorrow then, for the book. It can wait.

On the road descending from Fromeaux Library I remember the etharum.

Rorsyd is whistling, strolling downhill like he’s having happy thoughts and not graveyard thoughts.

“The pendants need recharging. I forgot, but the levels are really low. We desperately need more warnite crystals and to find some ghosts.”

“Tonight? I want to get moved in, treat you to a fancy dinner?—”

“Yes. Tonight. I’ve researched Langordin and have a few graveyards to choose between.”

He sighs, stares at the sky.

“I could go alone? I know you detest?—”

“No.” He stops and swings his beloved rucksack off his shoulder, drops it to the cobblestones, unbuckles it, and checks inside. I hear the clink of coin. “That Mage’s Essentials sells charged crystals. I’ll buy a couple.” He eyes me, purses his mouth. “No. Make it four.”

“Four?” I’m so astonished at his willingness to spend. I sputter out, “That many?”

“I hate ghosts.”

That will tide us over for another week.

Day Six

I wake in Rorsyd’s bed and take ages to reorient myself. These are his rooms, the ceiling is different—slatted timber. We’re above that tavern, the Tusked Woorak. And we both drank too much last night due to Rorsyd showing off his precious cellar of wines and spirits. I’m probably ninety-nine percent whiskey and Bordresk right now. When I pat the sheets, I discover an absence of warm male body beside me. Of course he’s not with me. The bed is too small.

I groan at my headache and turn over. The room wavers then settles, and I find him.

Rorsyd is sleeping on a blanket in the middle of the floor. To my horror, Anathema is curled up at his feet looking supremely comfortable. I hiss and widen my eyes, send a mental shout. He stretches and yawns, totters to his feet, pretends to groom himself, the little bastard, then slinks to the shadows of the open closet and disappears in there.

Is that a safe place? No answer.

Considering what he’s made of, Anathema can hide in the crack behind the door. I should stop fussing. I sit up and cling to the edge of the bed. This may be the first time I’ve woken before Rorsyd. Then again, he did drink far more than me. Two bottles of that two-hundred-year-old red stuff went down his throat? And one of the whiskeys.

He used a goblet, so it was not uncouth, just excessive…for a normal-sized fae.

No wonder he’s still asleep.

The sun has sneaked past the curtains and is glaring at me with nasty shafts of light, so it must be time to get up. I wander over and nudge him with my foot. “Psst. Wake-up time.”

He rolls over and blinks up at me. “Oh. Okay. Library, right?”

I nod then go to find my daytime clothes. I must go shopping soon. These green-gray leggings look faded, and my shirt has a mark or two. My jacket is fine though.

This room. I turn in a circle.

I saw it last night but was thoroughly drunk for much of it. Shelf upon shelf of books greet me, and a few vintage bottles—more reds, more whites—and collectable toys? A mobile on the ceiling shows several enameled and bejeweled dragons chasing each other. I keep moving into the living room where the clocks are—three of them, because this is Rorsyd who collects anything . And there is the time. Breakfast hour was long ago.

“Where is the bath?” I ask loudly.

“Oh.” Rorsyd props himself up against the door frame with both hands. His pants are on, so that’s a start. “It’s a shared public bathroom, down the hallway. Let’s go together.”

We arrive at the library later than usual, and I have to assure Kyvin that nothing has gone wrong before we return to the building.

The necromancy book I found yesterday is quite wrong and hopeless. I flick through it and find nothing of any use. It’s all history and hearsay. I close it, run my hand over the dimpled leather. The all-black cover and gold-embossed NECROMANCY FOR THE AGES looks wonderfully enticing and suits necromancy. Such a pity.

“How big is the magik section?” I ask Rorsyd as I push out my chair.

Head in hand, he’s studying a book on, of all things, flying insects. He drops his palm to it with a smack and looks up. “Oh. Miles and miles of books. Let me show you.”

It is miles. A lot. Numerous book-carts in length. I remember my old, invented measurement from when I traveled with Bethy and Fiorn. Rorsyd stands where I began walking and he’s the size of a fairy. The bookshelves on magik extend into this right wing all this distance from the fake necro book I just reshelved. None of the books I passed seem dedicated to necromancy. From the shelf labels, they’re either purely one of the other branches of magik, like fire, ice, wind, or blood, or they cover a bit of everything. Disappointing.

I pick several that show the most promise and head back to my original table.