Page 91 of Boy of Chaotic Making

Hulda chewed on the inside of her cheek.If Owein stays. If he’s able to.What if the shock of nearly dying was too much, and the boy finally passed on to the other side?

Her resolve started to crumble.

Merritt’s hand came under her chin. “Blightree seemed hopeful. As hopeful as he can be. How are the others?”

She swallowed. Let out a breath. “I haven’t checked on them in a while.”

Merritt glanced toward the door. “Certainly noisy out there.”

“As should be expected.” She smoothed her skirt. “No one is dead, outside of ...” She couldn’t bring herself to say it. The memory of that boulder crushing Owein, the mewling sounds, the blood, she’d rather forget her own name than remember that. Swallowing, she steeledherself. “Cora’s all right. She’s apologized to everyone over and over and has made herself sick from sobbing.”

“I don’t think ...” Merritt paused, as though carefully choosing his words. “I don’t think it was entirely her.”

“This time, perhaps not. She seemed wildly out of control. But the other times, it was. The carriage house, the breakfast room ... I’m not sure what will become of her.”

He rolled his lips together. “I wonder if it will nullify the contract.”

Hulda drew her brows together. “What of it?”

“I signed it, Hulda.”

Her mouth formed a silent O.

“Blightree insisted I sign it before he’d pull Owein out of me. So I did. I didn’t want Owein’s soul to be lost on a technicality. It’s done.”

“I see.” She mulled over this. Would she have done any differently? Probably not.

He leaned forward, planting the elbow not in a sling on his thigh, and rubbed his face with his hand. “I just ... don’t know.”

“How can we?” She set her hand on his knee. “And to think ... Poor Mr. Blightree. To have the loss be in his own family. He must be devastated.”

“He is.”

She ran her thumb over his kneecap. “And Owein ... That line is a necromantic line.”

Straightening, Merritt ran his hand down his face. “It is. I asked Blightree about that, before I left. But ... his nephew ... hadn’t shown any skill, despite the bloodline. Not something we need to worry about at the moment, anyway.” He rested his chin on his knuckles, a faraway look settling into his blue eyes. “We just have to hope both body and spirit survive. The delay ...”

He trailed off, unfinished. If only to distract him, Hulda said, “In good news, the baron’s act of bravery seems to have done very well forhis marriage. Briar was fussing over him when I left, ensuring he was comfortable.”

A half smile pulled at his mouth. “That’s good.”

Hulda nodded, unsure what else to say. They both seemed at a loss for words. So they simply sat there in each other’s company, worrying in joined silence, waiting for any sort of word on their future.

Chapter 31

March 11, 1847, London, England

He opened his eyes to blurs. Blinked, and the blurs changed shape. Blinked again, and sawcolor.

The ceiling was yellow, with white wainscoting crossing it and delicate blue flowers painted along the panels. He stared at it for a long time, trying to understand it. Trying to remember the color of the flowers’ leaves. Oh, right. Green.

The room didn’t smell like much. Rooms always smelled like something, so the lack of scent was jarring. Woke him up a little bit. Something was ... different. Not wrong, just different. He was too big, too long. His skeleton wasn’t shaped as it should be. Had he used an alteration spell and forgotten about it?

Memory assailed, and he winced. His body had been crushed. He recalled ... pressure more than pain. Panic. Wind and weakness. He wiggled his toes. They were still there, but with no fur between them.

Though he was very tired, very heavy, he found the strength to lift his paws, then stared at them longer than he had at the color green, trying to comprehend them.

Hands. He had hands. Ten digits covered in pale skin. He wiggled his thumbs first, then forefingers, middle and ring fingers, pinkies.Turned them over and studied his nails. They were very clean. Turned back and traced the paths on his palms.

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