Page 42 of Held

Wick grunted. His head was still throbbing from Marigold’s spell. It had been strange having someone rooting around in his head.

“Marigold,” he said. “You said she is a witch. Not a warlock.”

Briar leaned back, frowning. “I did. Why?”

“She doesn’t have a patron?”

“No,” Briar said with a curious smile. “She thought about becoming a warlock when we were teenagers, then decided it was too risky. Always at the whim of your patron, and what have you. Why?”

Wick shook his head. It still ached—an odd, scratchy feeling that reminded him of whenever he had to stick his fingers into his wounds and pull out debris.

But more importantly, it also feltfamiliar. Which made no sense if it was just Marigold, the mortal witch, probing into his head. It still did not make much sense if it was a god or demon she was pledged to, but at least Wick hadmetgods and demons before. He had never met Marigold. She could never have produced this cold, deep familiarity that still lingered long after the spell ended.

There was only one thing that could. But that, too, was impossible.

“Never mind,” he said, then paused. “Has anyone told you about the Titans?”

Briar propped herself up on her elbows, gazing up at him so sweetly he was tempted to forgo his explanation and kiss her senseless.

“No,” she said. “Who are they?”

Wick hesitated. Itwasimpossible. But in the moment before Marigold released him, it had been there, freezing and unmistakable, a strange voice half-remembered from dreams. And for once, that voice hadn’t been coming from inside his own head.

“They existed before the Skullstalkers,” Wick said. “Impossibly large giants made of rock. Some of my brothers claim theycreatedthe Skullstalkers.”

Briar’s eyes lit up joyfully. “Is this your creation myth? I didn’t know you had one.”

“It is no myth. It is real.”

“Of course,” Briar said, nodding sagely. “I’ve just never heard of them, is all.”

“They did not stray to the mortal realm,” Wick said, trying to remember all that Slate had told him. “Except in the final days. They were fighting amongst each other. That is how they died out, and this age began.”

He paused. Briar nudged his shoulder.

“Don’t stop,” she said. “You were obviously about to say something exciting. Will they rise again?”

“No,” Wick said slowly. “As I said, they are dead. But… some of us hear whispers. Icy songs in our heads. Most of my brothers say it is nonsense. But others claim they hear it.”

Briar’s teasing smile dimmed. “Oh? Do you hear your makers, Wick?”

Wick stayed silent. The voice had been clearer than any whispers he’d heard in dreams, then half-forgotten. His brother Slate had assured him it was nothing more than sleep. But hehad never heard those strange whispers, as deep in him as his blood. Maybe even deeper.

“Wick?” Briar repeated.

Wick squeezed his eyes shut, banishing all thoughts of Titans from his mind. He had an end to the blood frenzy in sight, a waterfall outside the window, and Briar next to him. All was well.

“I am enjoying the waterfall,” he said, turning to watch it pour. “I will have a window like this in my nest room.”

Briar’s uncertainty faded, replaced by a blazing grin. She pressed closer to him, dropping her chin into his chest.

“Will you now? What else will you have in this waterfall home?”

“Less things to knock over,” he replied. “And a spare room for when you come to visit.”

Briar’s head snapped up. She stared at him like she was searching for evidence of a joke. Then her eyes softened, and she dropped her chin back onto him again.

“Sure, big boy,” she said quietly. “I’d like that.”

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