Page 130 of The Last One
Fucking Olivia.
Moths have been fluttering around that bitch for days now. As she stood in the bedroom while I recovered, moths bumped against the window. As she sat at the dying campfire, moths fluttered around her head.
Olivia has my pendant.
I storm through the forest, wishing that I had the ability to fly, because every step I take, my shoulders blaze with fire and my eyes burn so hard and so bright, my face hurts. I break into a run as I see Veril’s cottage ahead.
From a quick scan of the gardens, I see that Olivia isn’t sitting at their campfire. If it’s dinnertime, then she’s inside, fork to her face, enjoying a meal even though she knows I’m in the fucking woods searching for something that isn’t there.
I burst into Veril’s cottage.
Veril, startled, drops the vial he’s holding.
No one’s seated at the table with dinner. No one’s resting in the chairs.
“Where is she?” I growl.
Veril stares as though he’s facing a dragon.
I’m so hot that I may actually become one.
“If you’re looking for Olivia,” he says, his voice shaky, “she isn’t here. The last time I saw her—”
I whirl away from him and stomp out of the cottage. She’s not in the garden and forge area—just Jadon sharpening his blade.
He smiles. “Hey! You’re—”
I whirl away from him and stomp to the other side of the cottage.
I scan the campfire—mugs, handkerchiefs, crabapple cores, blankets. Lumpy blankets. I whip off the blankets and uncover three satchels Olivia carried from Maford. I reach for the smallest but instead choose the black leather satchel, the largest of the three.
Veril rounds the cottage with Jadon right behind.
“What’s happened?” Veril asks.
“What’s wrong?” Jadon asks.
I open the bag.
“Your sister is a fucking liar,” I growl.
I dump the bag’s contents onto the blankets. Poufs of tulle and swatches of silk are the first items to tumble out of the bag. Then: black jet stones. Purple amethyst. Blue and white lapis lazuli, sand jasper.
Veril gasps. “Those gems are mine.”
“I know.” I look over to the old man. “You didn’t give them to her, did you?” I lift an eyebrow at Jadon. “Of course he didn’t.” I continue emptying the bag. At last, my cloak, rolled into a neat ball, comes falling out. My fingers tingle from just touching it. I shake it out, and the bloodred fabric glimmers in the twilight.
“Kai,” Jadon says, “if you wanted your clothes back, you could have just asked.”
“Ihaveasked. Over and over again.” I throw my cape around my shoulders. Immediately, the blood in my veins thickens and my torso tightens. I keep shaking the satchel. More tulle and fabric, and the plant chart Veril gave me. My black leather gloves! My bloodred vest, my black leather breeches. One more shake.
No amulet.
I glare at Jadon. “Where’s my pendant?”
He holds up his hands. “Calm down.”
“Did you know?” I ask, pushing off my borrowed breeches, not caring who the fuck sees. “That your sister has my pendant.”
