Page 64 of Tales of a Monstrous Heart
‘Nothing a good rejuvenation tonic can’t fix.’ He smirked. ‘You must be famished, Alma. Let’s get you something from the kitchen. Some bone broth should do the trick.’
He held out his arm, and to my surprise Alma took it easily, steadier on her feet than I had expected as she rose.
‘I think we all might need something a bit stronger than broth, William,’ Emrys added, suddenly at my side, moving forward to help Alma. ‘Miss Darcy,’ he greeted with the politeness of a dinner guest.
‘Lord Blackthorn,’ she replied, and in true Alma fashion, despite being without her clothes, and with the indentations of those scales still on her cheek, she raised her chin in challenge, boldly meeting his eye.
‘We better get inside before the house locks us out.’ William sighed with a grimace as he surveyed the damage. ‘I’m sure it’s furious.’
‘I’ll have a word,’ Emrys muttered with genuine exhaustion. Offering his arm to help Alma, she took it despite the claws that remained on her own. William moved to support her other side as they made their way across the uneven terrain.
I bent to retrieve my father’s sword, smiling as I heard William already engaging Alma in a conversation about wrywings, and she didn’t appear to be in too much distress about it as Emrys led guided them through the debris.
Kyvor Mor, came whispered into my mind. Almost as if on the wind.
Unease ran down my spine, but as I turned there was nothing but grey dust tumbling through the long grass. The remains of the creature that had taken over Mr Thrombi quickly disappearing. The remains of something that shouldn’t exist. Something too dangerous for this world.
Just like me.
Chapter Twenty
Fools will tell you to court fear. They will tell you it makes you stronger, but all it does is rot you from your bones out. What do beings like us have to fear? We, the creatures who hold chaos in our hearts and destruction in their will.
– The Ballad of Kysillia – Unknown
Those ancient myths pierced through my thoughts as I sat in the warmth of the kitchen, hands curled around another cup of tea. At ease slightly now that Alma slept soundly upstairs, exhausted from being an ancient dark-fiend-eating beast. The biggest she’d been. Just how monstrous could her magic be and how many impossible, forbidden things could it do?
It was the reason they’d hunted her and why they would hunt her again.
I kept those worries buried at the back of my mind as my eyes drifted over the notes I’d spread across the table. Looking for anything to distract myself with but still that unease didn’t dissipate.
Then came the brush of Emrys’s magic over my skin, a moment before the dark form of him ducked into the kitchen, his eyes moving to me first as if I was the only thing he was looking for.
He’d changed. His shirt buttoned to the collar and cravat in place. Sleeves fastened at his wrists, but his waistcoat was open.
‘Are you going somewhere?’ I asked with a frown. Despite there being no windows down here, I knew it must have been late.
He shook his head with a small smile, moving to sit opposite me, our knees brushing beneath the table. ‘How is Miss Darcy?’
‘Recovering.’ I sighed, rubbing my brow. She’d managed to devour one chocolate against my advice before she fell asleep, clutching the box. ‘I’ve given her the transfiguration tonic. So let us hope it works for her.’
‘I’ve never seen a being change that easily,’ he said carefully, cautious of how I’d take his interest in those secrets.
‘You’ve seen one before?’
He shook his head, dark hair falling onto his worried brow. ‘Only lesser fey, and larger folk that could change shape in defence. Or Verr beings when they twist their summoning curse.’
Unease flooded through me as I took another sip of tea to try and get the lump out of my throat. Not knowing exactly what Alma was or the origin of her power.
‘My father told stories of beings in the Western Mountains that could take on the form of dragons and other winged beasts,’ Emrys continued softly, reaching to move some of the small notes I’d been reading. Notes I’d read far too many times about transfiguration. ‘I think even they had limits.’
Then he moved one hand, holding his palm to face the ceiling. Without command a book apparated, resting there, the old brown leather cover creased, buckles cracked and peeling. The pages curling with age.
Stunned, I could have sworn I saw phantom tendrils of black smoke weave between his fingers, but in a blink they were gone. Just shadows from the fire perhaps?
He held it out to me. The clasps were heavy but lifted easily enough and as I turned the page, the faded ink showed depictions of the Western Mountains and beings that took on the form of scaled beasts.
‘Did he have any more books like this?’ My voice was quiet with wonder as I turned over the pages, running my fingers down the illustrations as a man took monstrous form with wings.
