Page 40 of Tales of a Monstrous Heart
A different type of wound I hadn’t noticed the Council inflict. Deeper than I’d ever admit.
A flash of lightening bathed the study in harsh white light before plunging me back into the dimness with the dying fire, reminding me of the late hour.
Frustrated, I stood from my desk and moved to stoke the fire with my own magic.
I considered my hands in the warm light, the fading veins of lavender dissipating from my fingertips. Turning my ink-stained hands over to see the small, almost invisible scars, white in the firelight against my knuckles. Such brutality this world offered and yet I couldn’t give up, because I wouldn’t allow it all to be meaningless. I couldn’t.
I was supposed to be here to study, but I couldn’t stop focusing on dark things that weren’t mine to solve: fey murders, the rise in dark summoning’s and fiend attacks. Impossible things that turned me back to my desk only to run intosomething cold and hard, sending me rocking backwards as I looked up into a familiar annoyed face.
Emrys.
His eyes were as black as midnight. Hair tousled, coat hanging open and shirt partially unbuttoned, revealing the pale webbing of scarring over the toned skin of his chest, as his coat hung open. There was a strong smell of damp earth and night air coming off him.
My magic flared in response to his appearance and the hearth surged, illuminating him more clearly. Then I saw his hands and shirt were smeared with dark red.
‘Is that blood?’ I asked, mildly horrified.
‘I need your help.’
‘Where?’ I asked, instantly.
He took my arm and guided me back through the study, past his desk to the far other corner which was swamped in darkness. ‘Your paper on septime weed poisoning. Remind me of its conclusion.’ There was an urgency in the bluntness of the question and the unforgiving nature of his stride.
‘How do you—’ I began, almost stumbling over my feet. ‘You’ve read it?’
An impatient glance was my answer as we made it past another set of bookcases.
‘The plant grows after the death of most ground goblins or wood sprites. Their bones are toxic to the soil,’ I clarified, shaking off my disbelief. ‘When ingested by animals, they become afflicted, and the poison seeps into their milk or meat.’
‘Resulting in a wasting sickness,’ he simplified, still not looking back at me.
‘Close to a normal fever, but there is a strange spotting formation, especially around the neck and wrists. The victimruns a wet fever, secreting a sweet smell from their skin, and the heart begins an odd rhythm.’
I wondered where he was taking me, knowing the room had to end at some point, only to see the bookshelves were staggered to hide a narrow passage that led into another room. This one was just as messy as the first, only instead of an opulent fire and large desks, an old door was the focal point.
Covered in chipped dark paint and a collection of locking mechanisms, it wouldn’t have seemed inconspicuous to anyone else, but I recognised the incantations carved into the frame around it, the metal woven with spells as it connected to what appeared to be a collection of dials as well as an empty lantern that hung next to the doorknob. No, a crystal chamber, the design old and dangerous in its unpredictability.
‘Is that a Portium door?’ I whispered conspiratorially. Portium doors were forbidden due to their tendency to manifest anywhere, without the other side’s permission. No papers needed. No Council authorization.
‘An ancient model,’ he replied, moving to the dials at the side of the contraption, reaching into a threadbare pouch that hung next to it, pulling out an array of small crystals, coloured differently for different distances.
‘I thought they were destroyed?’ I leaned forward to run my fingers over the ancient runes at the frame, unable to restrain my childish wonder. Feeling the strength of the magic bite against my fingertips.
It now made sense why the study moved itself. If it was connected to a Portium, that was best to be kept hidden … such doors brought unwanted guests.
‘Are you going to tell on me, Kat?’ he challenged softly.
I pulled back to consider his expression. The patience in it as shadows cut across his features.
I shook my head. No, I wasn’t.
Satisfied with my answer, Emrys popped a small green crystal into the chamber at the side and turned the dial the rest of the way. The clatter of the incantation wheel was louder than the Institute’s approved model. The outline of the door glowed green as Emrys inserted a key from his pocket and pushed it open, revealing a corridor beyond, the pungent odour of healing herbs greeting us as he stepped through, and I was left to follow.
The floor was tiled and the walls stark white. Various doors lining the hallway, bright light from lanterns hanging above to guide the way.
‘What is this place?’
‘Thornfield House, a healing house in the western fields,’ he explained as we headed down the hallway.
