Page 23 of Boy of Chaotic Making

“I don’t blame you. It would be a good thing, mostly—you’ll never want for money. All those needs will be taken care of. But you won’t be able to choose your own wife. If you fall in love with another ...” Merritt shrugged.

I’m not in love with anyone.

A light chuckle escaped him. “Not yet, I suppose. And maybe not ever. It would work out better that way. But you’d be bound to her.” He ran a hand back through his messy hair and glanced at the newly revealed window. “You would take care of her when she’s sick. Listen to her when she’s sad. Comfort her when she needs it.”

I think the servants do that.

“Youwill do that,” Merritt pressed, a raspy edge leaking into his voice from communion. “You first. As if there were no money and no servants and no family to speak of.” He paused for a moment. Kneaded his hands together. Maybe he was thinking about Hulda. They talked about marriage and weddings a lot now. “You’ll attend her gatherings and her dinners, and because it’s the royal family, you’ll have a certain level of”—he swirled his hand in the air—“prestigeto uphold. I don’tknow if they’d require a lot of public appearances from you. And you’d become a father, and take on all the responsibilities of that.”

Owein mulled it over for a moment. He’d never really imagined himself as a father. Then again he’d never imagined himself as a dog, either.

Before a new question could form in his mind, the room began to quake. Not roughly, but gently, like a cat purring unevenly. The tremors were disjointed, uneven.

“Owein?”

Owein rose to his paws.Not me,he said.

A crack and a rumble followed, almost like a storm, and then everything was still.

Owein met Merritt’s gaze. Merritt flung the blankets off himself, hurried to the foot of the bed, and grabbed his trousers, nearly falling over as he struggled to pull them on while rushing for the door. One perk of being a dog was not needing clothing, so Owein made it there first.

The hallway smelled faintly of dust. Merritt spun, trying to orient himself. Owein raced ahead, following the heady scent of dust. Not wanting Merritt to lose his voice, he barked to communicate his location, and Merritt followed him down the hallway and around the corner, where the smell became nearly overwhelming. There was a short, wide set of stairs, and then dust clouded everything.

Merritt waved his hands, trying to clear the air. He coughed and pulled his shirt over his nose. Owein didn’t have the luxury. He sneezed twice and blinked, eyes watering.

“My goodness!” It was Lady Helen’s voice, and suddenly air swept through the hallway, pressing against Owein’s backside, clearing the dust. “What happened?”

A lady’s maid in a night-robe hurried behind her, protecting a candle from the gusts.

“These rooms,” Merritt said, then coughed, “they seem to have collapsed.”

“Good gracious!” Lady Helen met them, then cast her hands out, sending another gust down the corridor. She sounded a little out of breath—the side effect for elemental air spells—when she said, “Belinda, bring the light closer!”

The lady’s maid hurried forward, holding the candle high. The hallway was mostly clear, though up ahead some stone had broken off the left wall and spilled into the hallway. Since Belinda was the only one with a light, she led the group. They’d just reached the pile when more footsteps sounded behind them—one set belonged to a man Owein didn’t recognize, one to a haggard Prince Friedrich, and the last to a baffled Lady Cora.

Owein’s heart squeezed a little at the sight of her. Then he sneezed more dust from his nostrils.

“Goodness!” Cora’s hands pressed into either cheek.

“Whatever happened?” Prince Friedrich asked as he and the other man met up with Belinda. Both were carrying candles, which cast more light on the destruction. Merritt tried to open the door nearest the rock pile. It didn’t budge. He slammed his shoulder into it.

Owein barked, using an alteration spell to shrink the door, so when Merritt hit it a second time, it burst open. He stumbled back, gasping, waving his hand as more dust assaulted him.

Lady Helen hurried forward.

“Careful!” the male servant warned.

Several gusts of wind left Lady Helen panting. “It’s absolutely horrid.” She took Belinda’s candle and peered into the room without stepping into it. “Oh, Friedrich, half the ceiling has fallen!”

“How?” The prince moved forward, only for the male servant to stop him.

“I must ask you, Ladies Helen and Cora, to retreat,” he pleaded. “It’s not safe.”

More footsteps sounded down the hallway; probably more servants coming. Padding forward, Owein peered into the room. It was dark, hard to see, but he could make out clusters of mortared stone scattering the floor. Some larger chunks had fallen onto the bed, snapping its frame.

“Is anyone in there?” Cora cried.

Lady Helen, finally retreating, shook her head. “No. No, dear. No one. But ...” In the flickering candlelight, she looked pale as milk.

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