Page 5 of Deadly Maiden (Dragons and Darkthings #1)

Wyntre

Two days later, midnight

I am exhausted.

I shouldn’t have returned to Bollingham, but some things are a compulsion, an obligation, even. I will hate myself forever if I don’t do this.

I need to know what— No, not what has happened. I need to know if he is alive.

It’s worth the risk, I tell myself, as I creep along the alley, listening for anyone stirring, watching for me, or laying a trap.

The enforcers might be here.

It’s midnight, and most people should be asleep.

This is further toward the bow than I wish to be, a ten-minute sneak, I figure—to bypass the town square then climb in by our window. It was challenging, and scary, to run before the town, cross to the east, and then scale that impossible side. The gap between rock and town is small but coming in from the obvious westerly direction seemed a worse option.

I made it. I’m not a squished girl smeared into a slurry of bone, red leggings, and gore, between town and mountain. I grimace at that, banish my imagination to the dungeon depths of my mind.

Choices. Always there are choices.

“Hoy!” someone says softly, shocking me into freezing.

Have I been seen?

“Wyntre!” he whispers. “Come with me.”

I swallow and turn my head.

It’s Bern, one of the Master of Bollingham’s trusted guards. He is often posted at the ramps when we stop at static towns to trade. His official uniform of red tabard and black britches with the insignia of the rock and rose reassures me. He wouldn’t betray the town if you gifted him a dragon’s hoard.

Least, I think he wouldn’t? After two days alone, slinking along, watching for others watching for me, I am seeing an ambush in every flicker of movement. Late yesterday I had to abandon the horse. The land was lacking places to hide on horseback.

He beckons to me, silently, then mouths a word that I think is come .

When he heads toward the house and tower of Master Thander Munk, I decide I should follow. We take the rear steps up to the back door, with the bronze knocker shaped like a fish. The master does love his seaside accessories. At some time during the past, the top of the tower was remodeled like a lighthouse. We take a left and go down the hallway to his reception room, where he usually conducts business. I’ve been here on school excursions, and once with Father to get a permit approved.

The door is open. Thander Munk, stoneborn master of Bollingham, has risen from his wide chair, his hand offered. The seeming slowness and clumsiness of his body hides his strengths —humility, wisdom, and from rumor, the ability to adapt. Bollingham has survived many disasters and wars.

Like their golems, they are stone creations. Unlike them, they are sentient and call themselves the stoneborn, but no one knows their origins or how they came to be.

I shake his hand. The hardness of his blue soft-stone flesh is tempered by the gentleness of a man who knows his strength. As he smiles, the fissures of his face shift, forming mini chasms in the rock.

I smile up at him, knowing that for a while I am safe. His seven feet of weighty presence makes the floor creak, and sadly reminds me of what I will be missing. No one messes with golem towns and their masters. Or not for long.

“Welcome back, Wyntre. Please. Be seated. We have much to tell you. Instructions to give. There is also some food coming, if you are hungry?”

Food? I’ve barely eaten for two days. I nod then take in the rest of his words.

“Oh. Instructions?” I sit, though, in the green, well-padded armchair set out before his desk, mindful of my petty age and inexperience. “Is Father okay?” I’m not courageous enough to ask if he lives.

Lumbering, Thander returns to his own seat positioned beside his desk. We are surrounded on three sides by walls of many-hued books. Most are not fiction. Histories, journals, and various record-keeping tomes comprise the majority of the shelved books. The school excursion rules allowed us to select a few to read. One of mine was a pictorial history of battles. I expected glorious tales of valor, it was quite detailed, horrifying, and gory.

Though I almost shut it, instead I found myself engrossed in the whys, wherefores, and results of the wars of our past.

“Your father is doing well and healing, but I had him transported to the next golem town, Darsum, at an intersection point, yesterday.”

I shut my mouth, waiting for more details.

His lips curve. “The wound was not grievous. However, it was dangerous to keep him here. Darsum is larger, better equipped in many ways. We told King Madlin’s enforcers they do not have permission to set foot in our towns in search of either of you. Wyntre, I thought you would return.”

I nod, wrinkle my forehead in worry. “I had to know.”

“Of course. If the enforcers return without permission, there will be war. I will not have war over this. You cannot stay, though your father is less of a quarry and will be kept safe.”

“I see.” I heave a sigh, which turns out shaky. I expected nothing more, but still…

“You may take gear from our stocks, weapons, and even a mount from the stable.” He opens a book on his desk and fingers through the pages, dragging them across, tapping sections. “Yes, yes. And your father left you a letter, and a small box. Bern will give you the box on the way out.”

“Thank you.” I hug myself. Is it shock making me tremble? The reality of having to find my own way in the world after this? Perhaps. When I came in here, I relaxed too much.

He leans forward to hand me a large, well-stuffed envelope. I try to act normal, and he probably knows I am not, for concern is evident in the stone furrows above his eyes.

“You will always have temporary haven in our golem towns, dear. Providing you are discreet. But you will need to leave here within the hour to avoid detection.”

I study the envelope that is sealed with a circle of melted black wax with a crow stamped upon it. Is this Father’s or my parents’ seal? I don’t recall him using one.

Carefully, I snap the seal, somewhat afraid of what this might contain. I remove a thick sheaf of papers. Five layers, five pages. The top page is in his handwriting, and has been scrawled hurriedly, judging by my memory of how he writes.

The rest…I inhale, still shaky…these are brown with age, and from my parents. I cannot read those now. Perhaps I should, but I need space and privacy.

“Can I read what my father says?”

“Of course.”

Wyntre,

I am going to be okay, the doctor says. I haven’t much time to decide what to say to you but here goes.

I love you and will try to help you if I can. If you can contact me once things settle. Please?

Just stay out of danger. I wish I knew how you can do that. The key in the box is to Slaedorth Fortress. I am not sure what the raven was supposed to do but it may simply be a back-up in case no one collected the letters and key in your parents’ tent. They were always planning ahead, trying to see how to make sure you could be saved and given what was yours, if things went wrong. They knew the war might end them.

End them. The paper crinkles in my tightening grip.

I did not read your parents’ letter. I hope it was not necessary.

I recall there was a secret way to get the fortress to open its gates but without that secret and the key, it may be impenetrable. Ask the raven?

Since you now know your heritage. I advise you to learn the skills of that heritage. You will be accused of using it by your enemies anyway. Prepare yourself for that.

He means learn necromancy. But how?

I know little of it. I suggest two possibilities. One is the home of the bloodwielders. Some of their magik comes close to yours. Or so I heard. Two. Try a woman called Saphora. She isn’t a necromancer but has knowledge of it, I gather? She lives in Vancourter but I have no exact address. I trust her.

Good luck and may the Gods and your snarky attitude keep you well and happy. You have a wonderful life ahead of you.

Landos, your loving father.

A wonderful happy life. If only I was sure of this.

There are tears in my eyes, and I wipe them away before I look up. I fold the letter and slide it into the envelope.

“There is one more thing before you go to the storeroom and stables, Wyntre,” Thander intones. “Please consider this with all your intellect and bravery. Do not automatically reject this idea.”

Bravery? I tilt my head, puzzled. “Yes?”

“Allow him to enter!”

The door at my back creaks as it opens, and I hear a heavy tread.

Thander nods at whoever this is. The depth of my armchair means I have to lean out to see the new person. I crane my neck and glimpse boots, ride my way up this monstrous fae. Halfway up, I know who this is. My heart drops. Him?

That flamboyant hair and crooked smile on a wide-jawed face, with that broad nose and wickedly heated eyes—the flames are gone, but something hints of them. He makes my fingers itch for a dagger or similar.

Then I remember him naked, sprawled like a statue fallen to earth. I may be blushing.

“Wyntre, I know you have met him before.”

“What is he doing here?” I don’t even try to keep the sarcasm and bitchiness from my tone. Caring for him while he was unconscious does not equal wanting him here, eyeing me like I’m some prize he won.

“I’m going to help you.”

“You wanted to arrest me and take me to…” I splutter, wave my hand, frustrated. “Tensorga?”

“That was a ruse.”

I turn back to the Master Thander. If I simply say what happened he will believe me. “I don’t want to go anywhere with him. He is not trustworthy. He stated exactly what I just said.”

“Hmmm. Go on. Is there more?”

I need more? I’m scowling but I wrack my brain. What did he do? “He’s an Aos Sin enforcer! He burst into our house and stood by while they attacked me and Father! Then he chased me down. Surely that is enough?”

“He told me he defended you at the house?”

I purse my lips.

“And that at the place where they caught up to you, he says he did terrible things to save you. Did he not kill the others?”

I resist eyerolling. “He’s been telling fairytales then. That slaughter was accidental.”

“But it was by him?”

I shrug. “Yes, but I really am afraid of why he wants to be with me, alone.” I shoot Thander a pleading look. “He towers over me like a freaky monster.”

“He does, but so do I. You need someone with you on this journey who can fight. He showed me the evidence, the bloody uniforms of those enforcers. If you’re scared, I can see why, but you need someone with you to defend you and advise you.”

“I just refuse. Tell him to leave.”

“I will just wait for you and guard you anyway.” Rorsyd says that smugly.

Oh gods.

“Wyntre.” Thander sits forward. “I don’t want to force this on you. Rorsyd, you understand that if she is afraid of you this may be a problem?”

He grunts, begrudgingly agrees with Thander.

“And so I will tell her about your past.”

“Huh?”

That huh says Thander has wrongfooted the dragonshifter. This, I like.

“What past?” I ask.

“He has been visiting the town and watching you for the past twenty years, ever since you arrived.”

“Oh.” Oh fuck. “Why?” I’m shocked, panicking, and wondering, all at once.

“He’s merely watched you, which supports his assertion that he will guard you.”

I grimace and stare at my hands where I’ve clasped my knees, trying think this through. “I’m unsure that is enough proof of good intention?—”

“I think it is,” Rorsyd interjects. I glare at him. He raises one eyebrow. “I am a fae of my word, Thander. I will guard her, help her. I vow this. Unless she does something evil. I don’t abide with evil.”

“Evil?” I squeak. I hold up a finger, thinking. “I would never?—”

“Well, I agree with this. Evil is bad,” Thander says, his mouth pursed, “but as a means of guarantee there is this. If you break that vow, your hoard will be forfeit, and yes, I know where it is. As you watched Wyntre, I have watched you, for many years also.”

Rorsyd stiffens, his gaze fixes on Thander as if seeing him in a crash of lightning.

A dragonshifter would never give up his hoard. I hide my smile when Thander looks to me.

“I would not put you in the hands of this dragonshifter if I did not feel he is right for you, Wyntre. Understand? I feel he is what you will need to succeed on what will undoubtedly be a very long and difficult journey that will test your resolve and your morals in every way. Do you agree?” He nods at me as he says the last part, and he keeps on nodding.

Do I? There is something about that hard, penetrating, yet kindly stare, and the deliberate rhythm as he said all those words as if they were a prophecy, that makes me nod back at him.

“Good then. We have a deal.” He slaps his hands together.

What have I done?

Does Thander have the faintest idea about fae sexuality?

I, a twenty-year-old female, have agreed to go into the wilderness with an immortal dragonshifter male. And every time I see him, I remember him naked and want to slap myself.

If he has any inappropriate thoughts about me, they can get in line, behind mine.

Then the food arrives—roast meats, bread, fruit, and cheese—and I’m shown to another room. I chew and swallow what is before me. Who knows when I will eat well again?

Eating in peace, with nothing violent threatening my safety, might become a rare thing.

Whenever I sit still with nothing else to think about, my future wanders in and cloaks everything with gray. I swallow another lump of tasteless cheese.

Then I stuff the leftover apples and some wrapped, hard cheese into one of my rucksacks