Page 120 of Tales of a Monstrous Heart
‘They were,’ was all I could let out, anger darkening my voice.
‘My grandfather’s collection,’ the old lord mused softly. ‘He was fascinated by the wildness of the world. Too cruel and short of temper to read about it or study for the answers he wanted.’
A small glimmer of hope rested in those words. Of regret.
Lanthor. Forgive them. My mother’s words came back to me. Guiding me even now.
‘I should have let them go, but Robert used to care for them. They were why he wished to be a mage, why he wanted to study the folk in the north.’ His words broke apart with the depths of that grief. ‘He was bright, like you. Clever.’
Something unsettled me with those words. How easily he compared us, like we could ever be equal. A mortal lord and a Kysillian. Too much distance between us, a gaping wound that couldn’t be filled, and my mind instantly started thinking of Emrys.
‘I’m sorry you lost him.’ I was, because despite all this death and cruelty, I was too familiar with grief to sneer at it in others.
‘He’s come back to me.’ Fairfax smiled softly, as if it was just our secret. ‘Like in the tales of those bone collectors and their many spells.’
Necromancers and wraiths. Dark things that deserved to be forgotten, to be lost to dust and myth.
Maybe he was as mad as Emrys suspected.
‘There are some old books I thought you might enjoy, they were Robert’s,’ he continued, extending his hand to lead the way. It was then I could see his shirt was on inside out, his dinner jacket worn thin at the shoulders. A jam stain on the lapel. ‘They’re in the back library.’
As I watched the lord, the strangeness of his movements, battered by his grief and the weight of his words, I understood. There was a different way to trap creatures and pin them in place, and Lord Percy was doing a perfect job.
That stone against my breastbone flickered in small warning, but all it did was remind me of all that had come before. That pit and the body. Mr Catron had been here.
‘Lord Fairfax …’ I asked carefully, keeping my voice light. ‘Do you remember a gentleman by the name of Mr Peter Catron?’
His brow furrowed deeply, his thin fingers coming up to rub his temple, like the motion could bring the memory to the forefront of his mind.
‘I don’t want to trouble you with it,’ I pressed quietly, unsettled by his distress as I reached out to touch his arm. That stone around my neck burned sharply with warning.
‘No I …’ His gaze went distant for a moment before he turned those old eyes to my face. ‘I believe … a threll gentleman did come by the house.’
I moved closer, desperate to coax more from him.
‘Something to do with land disputes.’ He shook his head, his laugh soft. ‘I believe Richard spoke to him.’
‘Richard?’ I asked uneasily, that sinking feeling consuming my chest. His dead son.
‘Yes, they were talking about—’
‘Uncle,’ Lord Percy interrupted sharply, drawing us apart to see his dour expression. ‘The Mattersons wish to see you.’
Fairfax pulled back, a small laugh slipping through his thin lips with surprise. ‘When did they get here?’
‘Last week,’ Lord Percy answered coldly, not really paying attention as the old man glanced about the room before limping off, leaving me with his horrid nephew.
‘You made quite an impression during your time here.’ Lord Percy shifted his weight uncomfortably.
‘That was a curt interruption, Lord Percy.’ I smiled tightly, tone sharp with accusation. ‘I hope Lord Fairfax wasn’t about to say too much.’
‘Mr Matterson had some interesting theories on the ruins you trespassed into,’ he half sneered, clearly not able to restrain his temper. ‘Apparently the stone of them is supposed to weaken fey magic.’
My heart sank to the stained marble floor between us.
There was a feral glee in his bloodshot eyes. ‘Yet you managed to make quite a mess.’
My heart then began to pound wildly at the words, but I kept my features blank, forcing myself into the same defensive boredom that had saved me from the Council’s accusations.
