Page 43 of Tales of a Monstrous Heart
‘An anthrux shouldn’t be that powerful.’ I frowned, looking down at the stains the slime had left on my fingers. ‘I don’t think there has been a recorded bite for over a century. They were impossibly rare even before the wars.’ It was old magic, filled with hate from beneath the earth. One that surely couldn’t have festered for this long.
Worryingly, Emrys had returned to his stoic ways.
‘Where did you find him?’ I pressed, suspicious I wasn’t in possession of all the facts, as well as fearful he wouldn’t answer. But as we came to a stop at the portal, a heavy sigh left his lips.
‘He was coming to find me,’ he answered reluctantly.
‘You know him?’ I frowned.
He shook his head, tipping it to see me. His eyes had returned to a stormy unsure grey. ‘I found him outside Paxton Fields. The villagers trying to help said he’d asked for me before he went unconscious.’
He pulled a piece of paper from his pocket, thin and crinkled. A torn page that had seen better days. ‘He had this with him.’
I took it gently, feeling the paper was still slightly damp, a horrid musty smell coming off it.
It was a page from a saints, holy book, one a worshipper might use for their prayers. A strange object for a fey to be in possession of, I thought, until I saw the scrawled words around the margin of the page, rushed and barely eligible.
It was in Rivian, a shorthand fey used from when they were in servitude, one my mother had taught me.
‘Do you speak Rivian?’ I asked, curious as to why Mr Thrombi would write a message in Rivian if he was coming to see Emrys.
‘No.’ He frowned, watching me closely. ‘What does it say?’
‘How do you know I can read it?’ Nobody knew that. Not even Alma. I only used it when I was writing notes I didn’t want the Council to read, usually in the margins of my papers. Faint and small.
‘I’m certain there’s little you can’t do, Croinn.’ He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes, and I wondered if he could have noticed such a small thing about me.
I moved closer to the pulsating bright light of the portal, feeling the warmth of it brush over my skin, tipping the page to see the words more clearly. One word. Over and over again until he could write it no more. Tangled with those horrid saints, prayers.
‘Reimor.’ I turned the page over but no matter how many angles I looked at it from, the message remained the same.
‘Is that a place?’ Emrys asked, his hand braced on the wall next to me, leaning forward to see, so close I could feel the reassuring chill of his magic. The cool pressure of it rushed over my skin like a strong winter’s draught sending a pleasant shiver down my spine.
‘No, it’s the death of Kings. The Kysillian Kings of old.’ I shook my head to focus on the paper again.
Reimor.A command that had sealed the darkness beneath the earth. Such a word made no sense now. A myth. Nothing but a child’s bedtime tale.
‘That was centuries ago, and there are hardly any records it even happened.’ I wondered if I could have read it wrong, but Emrys’s gaze had turned distant as he considered the expanse of dark hallway behind us.
‘Maybe the bite drove him mad.’ He sighed with little conviction, pushing back from the wall and holding out his hand for the page.
‘Maybe,’ I admitted, annoyed I didn’t have any more information to give. ‘Do you have a copy of the saints’ teachings? Or a holy book?’
A dry humourless laugh slipped from his lips, startling me. ‘Unfortunately, I gave up on prayer saving my soul long ago, Kat.’
The effortlessness of my name from his lips sent a strange flutter through my chest.
He pocketed the note and turned his attention back to the portal.
‘That endless rot wasn’t part of your archive, was it?’ I tried to keep my voice steady, remembering how the darkness had curled within the glass.
‘It appears things might be worse than I first thought.’ He shook his head as if dismissing darker thoughts. ‘You were brought here to finish your paper in peace, not hunt dark magic. I shouldn’t have disturbed you.’ He gave a short, formal bow. ‘Goodnight, Miss Woodrow.’
A clear dismissal. Placing a strange distance between us with the formality of my name.
‘Kat,’ I corrected, not allowing him to play that game.
He paused in his retreat as his lips moved to say something else before he thought better of it, then headed back through the portal, leaving me to wonder how I’d explain the blood on my sleeves to Alma.
