Page 47 of Tales of a Monstrous Heart
Loneliness was the worst curse of all, and the last thing I ever wanted to be was alone. Yet, here I remained.
‘I should come with you,’ I blurted out, making him stop and turn. ‘It’s no good writing a paper on the pox when there are beings at risk from something far worse.’
His face remained guarded, but there was a hidden softness to his features.
Make the bastards pay, Katherine,Master Hale’s words came back to me. The reminder that I had a choice in this too.
‘I’d … I want to help. That’s the point of a partnership after all.’ No matter how much it scared me, or how ill prepared I was. There was no point healing curses, only to let another destroy the lands fey needed. ‘I can’t very well expect my papers to help if I don’t see things for myself.’
‘Very well.’ He cleared his throat and held out his arm for me to follow as he headed through the back shelves towards the room with the portal door. I stuffed the papers in my bag and hurried to follow, watching the bookcases shift in response to his arrival, revealing the hidden portal chamber, the door already aglow and crystal in place.
‘How familiar are you with Paxton Fields?’ I asked.
‘Not very, but most fey settlements have the same structure.’ He fixed his jacket once more, crystalline eyes dipping to the sharp creases in my skirt and following the delicate stitching all the way up to the high collar of my jacket before meeting my eye.
‘That colour suits you,’ he observed, before turning sharply and stepping through the portal. Leaving me to blink in confusion, wondering if I’d heard him right, before I followed him.
Chapter Fifteen
Mortals were guided by the divine hand of their saint, who proclaimed these green wildlands Elysior after the purity of his will. Crowning himself with the thin sacred branches of a silver tree. Uncaring for the names that came before, only gazing to the horizon, for all the kings that would follow his word. Purity in the blood as the old gods bowed to the might of his mortal’s devotion.
– The Nameless Saint of Elysior, 1456
I found myself standing on a worn wooden floor, the bitter smell of healing herbs greeting us, as well as damp winter air. I should have remembered to bring a cloak, considering how harsh the winters could be in the outlying villages so far west.
The room was barren, old floorboards stained and scratched, the hearth unlit, leaving a dampness in the air.
A crash of breaking glass turned us towards the doorway of the plain and vacant room, a young healer – guessing from the white apron – frozen with shock in mid-stride at our sudden appearance. The jars he’d been carrying lay shattered at his feet and the herbs they’d held spilled.
His dark skin held a greenish hue, almost iridescent in the weak sunlight, like a fish’s scales or a patch of oil on water. His bright cornflower-blue eyes taking us in with disbelief.
‘Are you the assistant healer?’ Emrys spoke abruptly.
‘Yes,’ he half stuttered, glancing down at the mess at his boots, clearly unsure if he should clean it or answer the new imposing figure before him. ‘Who are you?’
‘I need to speak with the head healer,’ Emrys answered.
The healer straightened, glancing nervously down the hallway, but from the silence of this place he was alone.
‘That might be difficult … he’s dead, sir. We did send word a few weeks ago for assistance but heard nothing back. Then we sent another messenger a few days ago.’
So this was the healing house at Paxton Fields. From the derelict state of it, my heart ached for what kind of state the rest of the settlement was in.
‘It wasn’t Mr Thrombi, was it?’ I asked carefully around Emrys’s shoulder.
The boy frowned. ‘Yes, do you know him?’
‘He’s currently recovering under my care,’ Emrys replied, catching the boy’s focus once more. I resisted the urge to dig my elbow into his ribs. He needed to be less imposing. ‘He’s suffering dark sickness so I need to see the most recent records you hold.’
The healer’s eyes went wide.
‘Of course.’ He half stumbled over his own boot as he darted back into the hallway. Emrys moved to follow but I caught the sleeve of his jacket. His dark eyes met my own, and his brow furrowed with concern.
‘Stop being so intimidating. You’re unnerving him,’ I warned under my breath.
He merely blinked, confused by the command.
‘Be more … civil.’ I released his arm, stepping around him to follow the boy. ‘I’m sorry, we didn’t catch your name …’
