Page 55 of Tales of a Monstrous Heart
‘Okay,’ I whispered, some quiet agreement beginning between us.
Chapter Seventeen
I should have stopped him, shouldn’t have wanted his comfort, but I was too exhausted with the turbulence of my own emotions.
Alma was back, but for how long? This magic was beyond us both, and the answers didn’t dwell in any books.
I was quiet, occupied by my chaotic thoughts as I found myself sat before the fire in the study. Emrys asked permission to examine my arm, rolling up the ruined sleeve of my shirt. I did my best to ignore the gentle drag of his fingers as he checked for any further wounds.
He worked silently, with mortal instruments, no spells, or incantations, just a numbing ointment, healing balm, needle, thread and bandages.
There was a slight hesitation to each of his movements, indicating his reluctance to hurt me. His brow furrowed with concentration. Then perhaps my tiredness made me delirious in human form. I imagined smoothing out that frown with my fingertips.
‘I thought healing wasn’t your specialty?’ I asked, mesmerised by the grace and speed of his work.
‘War wounds are,’ he replied in the businesslike tone of a healer considering how much to charge for their services as he gently cleaned the wound.
The firelight played off the textured scarring of his skin. Every small movement of expression seemed to pull at the tight skin, but he remained unbothered. I was drawn to the sharpness of his features. The scars did little to distort his handsomeness.
Then again, I feared every intelligent word out of his mouth was more attractive to me than any face could be.
Then I wondered how such a quiet and studious man had been thrust into that life of bloodshed and war.
He wrapped the wound, then stood and moved to the sideboard, the cotton of his shirt almost sheer in the firelight as the muscles played across the expanse of his back with every small movement.
I shouldn’t have noticed. Perhaps it was the exhaustion conjuring such wanton thoughts.
‘You have an affinity for healing.’ He moved to the small drink stand tucked in next to the bookcase and picked up a decanter filled with amber liquid. He gripped two glasses in one hand, placing them on top of a large priceless book on the side table and pouring a generous measure into each before holding one out to me.
I took it, and settled back in my seat, watching him drink deeply from his own. I followed suit, needing it more than I was willing to admit. My attention was once again drawn to the scars on the one side of his face and how they twisted down the strong line of his throat.
‘A gift from my mother,’ I smiled sadly, instantly rewarded with the memory of her smile. The softness of it, the endless kindness in her eyes.
‘She was a healer?’
‘A natural one. Her family didn’t approve of … magic.’ I swallowed awkwardly around the words, the hint of a lie. ‘Of fey either.’
Despisedwould have been a better word. Enough to make her run and never look back. I could feel the intensity of Emrys’s eyes, trying to work out what I wasn’t saying, so I pressed on, offering what truths I could.
‘She taught me, until she became too sick.’ I swallowed another sip of drink. Letting it burn a path through me. Refusing to allow myself to say more. To take myself back to the night she went. The night a part of myself died too.
‘You must have been young.’ Emrys’s words were almost lost in the crackle of the fire.
‘I was eleven.’ I turned to see him, a hardness to the grey in his eyes. Emotions I couldn’t understand. ‘I thought that was the worst thing that would ever happen to me. Losing them. I suppose this world endeavoured to prove me wrong.’
A silence came between us, one filled with exhaustion and doubt. Then the revelations of the day came back to me. The papers he’d shown me, the incantations on them, and the depth of the sickness that had worked its way through the land.
‘The darkness infecting that wood is old,’ I said, frowning. ‘Old enough to scare beings who’ve been settled for centuries.’
‘So is the greed that summons it from beneath the earth,’ Emrys replied, sounding as exhausted as I felt, but there was a small smile on his lips as he tapped the scarred side of his cheek. ‘From personal experience, I fear this won’t end well.’
My attention was focused on those scars, the depth and brutality of them, leaving me to wonder how someone could survive such things.
‘You want to ask about it,’ he surmised, working out every curious thought in my head, sending heat flaring to my cheeks.
‘I shouldn’t.’
‘You won’t offend me.’ He rolled his own drink, the liquid turning gold as it caught the light.
