Page 7

KYRIE

B ooks smell the same all the world round, I suppose. Still, I close my eyes and drink in the scent. There’s a faintly smoky smell to the room that surprises me, like someone forgot to open the flue before starting a fire in the hearth along the back wall.

Before long, Tarron’s pinned me down with an armload of books in one of the oversized chairs by the fire, demanding I read him story after story.

“This one’s about dragons,” he tells me.

“I thought you weren’t allowed in here,” I say with a laugh.

“I thought you’d want to let me in if you thought that,” the child says, and I stare down at him in surprise, even as he nestles against me.

“You are something else,” I tell him, shaking my head.

“I wasn’t wrong,” he insists, and on that, we agree.

The leatherbound book feels ancient, probably about as young as Hrakan, and the script’s hard to make out. Too many flourishes and embellishments, and it seems less a storybook than a primer on the types of dragons that used to roam Heska.

I turn the page, and Tarron makes a noise of delight. “This one’s my favorite.”

“The maneater?” I ask, tracing the words on the page.

“Yep.” Tarron’s eyes are wide as he stares at the dragon painted on the thick paper, golden wings poised to take off from the page.

“There you are. My goodness, I’ve been looking all over for you.” A young-looking woman leans against a bookshelf, grinning at us.

“Mama.” Tarron leaps from my lap, running into the woman’s arms.

“Sorry,” I say, closing the book and rising. “I thought Shae would have told you he was with me. I’m Kyrie.”

“Leonie,” the woman says, grinning at me. “And she did, but we weren’t sure where you two ended up. We’re glad to have you here. I’ll just be taking him home now.” She tousles Tarron’s hair. “ Somebody ran out without finishing his chores this morning.”

Tarron starts chirping at her, telling her all about me and Mushroom, and the two of them disappear out the library door, leaving me alone with the smoky smell and too many books.

Too many books, and too many thoughts.

And I didn’t even get the chance for Tarron to show me Hrakan’s treasury.

Too bad, considering I was really looking forward to stealing as much of it as I could.

The pain in my chest seems to ache even more now that I’m alone.

What did that man in the stable say? Ham?

That the mate bond was bothering me.

“Fuck.” I enunciate each consonant, letting the word roll off my tongue deliciously.

Of course the ‘mate bond’ is bothering me. I never wanted it, never asked for it, and here I am, not even myself anymore, aching for the male that took my life away from me with the slash of a knife.

My eyes squeeze shut, like I can blot out the anger raging inside of me. Like if I hold my eyes closed tightly, no more tears will spill out of them, like I can hide my tumultuous feelings even from myself.

“No,” I say out loud, my voice noisy in the silence of the library. My eyes fly open and I stand up so fast the book falls on the floor. “I am not going to be sad when I could be stealing shiny shit from that fucker.”

I pick the book up from where it fell, only because it’s Tarron’s favorite, and set it gently on the table next to the chair.

If I knew which one was Hrakan’s favorite, I’d toss it into the fucking fire.

A harsh laugh sounds, and it takes me a second to realize it’s mine.

“Right.” Cracking my knuckles, I stride from the library, determined to find wherever his stupid-ass treasure trove is and steal anything I want from it.

A little light breaking-and-entering always makes me feel better, after all.

* * *

Sweat and grime mingle on the backs of my hands and arms. I’ve been wandering around dust-covered hallways for what feels like hours now, with nary a glittering treasure in sight.

Just fucking cobwebs and dirt.

“Ugh,” I groan, cringing as I pull a particularly sticky web out of my hair. “Great. Just great.”

A low, grating noise echoes down the stone hallway.

I freeze, a chill going down my back.

“ So cynical ,” a deep voice says, somehow close enough to make out perfectly and far away enough that I have no idea where it’s coming from.

The hair rises on the back of my neck, and I shiver.

I swing my head around, crouching low, trying to find the source of the voice. There’s nothing behind me, nothing in front, and a quick look up shows nothing but spiderwebs in the rafters.

“Wonderful, now I’m hallucinating,” I mutter. I guess that’s enough exploration for one day. “Wake up in a new-to-me body, stabbed by the asshole I thought I—” I choke on the word loved , turning around and stomping so hard down the hallway that dust clouds around my feet.

“And now, to cap this shit show off, I’m hallucinating.” I finally say.

“ Not hallucinating ,” the voice says, impossibly deep, humor lilting the syllables. “ Just able to hear for the first time, golden tongue. ”

“It’s silver tongue to you, oh wise figment of my imagination.”

Because it’s smart to talk to your auditory hallucinations. Really makes them think twice about bothering you. Everyone knows that.

“Not only am I filthy, but I’m losing my fucking mind.”

“No. You’ve only just found it, Kyrie of the chalice of truth. And I’ve only just found you.”

I stop, my heart racing, cowardice warring with ennui. I don’t give a fuck about anything, and finding the treasure was just a diversion from the fact that I’m completely adrift, unmoored, and at a total loss for direction.

I slump against the cold stone wall and take a great shuddering breath, then slide to the dirty floor. My tunic catches on the rough surface, and pain skates across where the rock abrades my skin.

Maybe I’ll just lie down for a little bit.

Nothing matters, anyway.

I fold my knees to my chest, hugging my arms around them. Sleep sounds as good a way to pass the time as anything else.