Page 66 of Tales of a Monstrous Heart
‘You drew these?’ He asked, turning around another open book. An old journal filled with the stories I’d written from memory. The Kysillian histories, describing How Kysillia had battled the Old Gods, the Alder Kings and the endless night. How she had won these lands. The Kings of her blood following in her teachings, the rising of the Verr and the sealing of the earth.
‘With the first pen and paper I managed to get hold of.’ I smiled at the rough and rushed nature to some of them. ‘I suppose I was afraid I’d forget.’
All the tales. From the First Queen, Kysillia, who was gifted chaos and flame from the heavens, all the way through to the Seven Kings of old, the kingdoms that stretched across Elysior and all the magic that had been here.
Stories lost after the Kysillian Kings fell centuries ago and the world tumbled into chaos with mortal power. When most captured Kysillians were chained in mines, including my father’s mother. Forced to work until their bodies gave up. That’s why they called us trolls, for how long we were forced to exist in the dark.
The illustrations accompanying the stories had gotten better over time, closer to the ones I remembered, no matter how the pages curled with age or the misspellings and mistakes.
I’d kept it because it was all I had. The memory of those stories. The voice of my father telling me them.
I’d told every single one to Alma, whispered in the dead of night at Daunton. Making her promise to tell them if she made it out instead of me. To make sure they escaped even if I didn’t.
I shook away the darkness of the thought. Focusing on the warmth of Emrys’s calloused hand against my own. It was then I noticed a smudge of grey at the cuff of his shirt, perhaps a nasty bruise forming.
‘You have—’ I began, leaning forward to better see the mark, but he suddenly remembered himself and let go.
‘I should go. We’ll look for those books in the morning.’ He cleared his throat, fingers raking through his hair.
‘We should be focusing on the tallet,’ I pointed out, despite how my other hand lingered on the pages of the book he’d given me. Eager to read every word.
‘After.’ There was a slight command to that word. Reminding me of the balance to this darkness. Indulging too long wasn’t good for either of us.
As if knowing he’d won that tiny battle, he slipped from the bench, checking his pocket watch as he crossed the kitchen.
‘Goodnight, Emrys,’ I called quietly after him. He paused on the stairs, looking back at me almost reluctantly.
‘Goodnight, Croinn.’ His voice was hoarse with his response before he left me there, tracing the shape of those dragons from ancient tales, none of the words going in when all I could think of was him.
Chapter Twenty-One
Morning came, but Emrys was gone. Which was evident as I stood in the middle of the study that had miraculously returned to its former cluttered self. William had explained that the room held a magic of its own, which was why the tallet didn’t get far with its attack, why the room had a window again and not a gaping hole. Not even a smear on the glass to evidence our battle.
I wasn’t greeted by William, but by a small paper bird waiting atop a stack of books on my desk, drenched in a stream of soft winter morning light and fluttering its wings in excitement at my arrival.
‘Do you have something for me?’ I smiled, holding out my palm as I reached my desk. The magical paper hopped up into my hand and unfurled instantly.
Croinn,
These were the ones I thought you’d find most useful.
I hope they are.
Emrys
Foolish emotion welled in my throat. It’d been late last night when he’d left the kitchen. Had he stayed up to find these forme? The note folded itself back up and I tucked it into my pocket before letting my fingers run over the weathered spines of the books piled on my desk, ancient tomes of transfiguration and the shifting of verr, still dusty from disuse.
Books I could only have dreamt of stumbling upon in the Institute, and Emrys leaving them for me was an act of kindness I was too unfamiliar with, unearthing strange emotions from a secret quiet place inside of me.
‘Thank you.’ The words seemed important despite the fact he wasn’t here to hear them.
I pulled the tome on transfiguration he’d given me last night from my bag, my numerous notes sticking out from the pages, and put it with the others.
Only I couldn’t sit and focus on books I’d longed to read. Not when I was burdened with everything that had come the day before. The words of that tallet still echoing in my mind.Kyvor Mor.Words it shouldn’t be able to speak.
If dark sickness was returning to the earth, there had to be a starting point. The village by Paxton Fields had fey who were desperate enough to leave, to abandon their sacred grounds, but it didn’t point to a darkness this powerful originating there. Which meant it had come from somewhere else. Somewhere close enough for a fiend to travel without feasting too often.
Emrys’s absence plagued me. Something about it felt wrong. The look on his face at those pages inThe Crow’s Foot, the darkness that shouldn’t be there.
