Page 87 of Tales of a Monstrous Heart
‘A wishing stone,’ I breathed, unsure if he could even hear me as I ran my finger over the metal to check it was real. An ancient gem with the power to trap magic, just enough of it to come in useful for protection. From the glow, it was already imbued with a wish.
‘I took the liberty of testing to see if it was still viable.’ Emrys cleared his throat, fussing with the fold of his shirt sleeve.
‘Thank you.’ I hoped he knew just how much I meant those words. Not just for this gift, but for helping with Alma, for all of it. ‘I’m sorry for more than just getting caught.’
His broad shoulders gave the barest shrug as a soft smile came to his lips. Those strange eyes now crystalline. ‘We would have ended up here anyway.’
I found myself smiling back. ‘By less dramatic means, surely?’
‘Perhaps.’ He nodded, his focus remaining on my face. ‘You don’t have to stay over there.’
‘I’d rather not have the maids gossiping about why I’m missing from my bed,’ I challenged lightly, reaching back to rub my shoulder and finally admit to the exhaustion in my limbs as I made my retreat back to the portal. Looking forward to seeing what trouble Alma had gotten up to in that awful room.
‘Anyway, you should follow your own advice,’ I called over my shoulder, seeing how he watched my retreat. His arms folded, expression troubled once more.
‘Croinn,’ he muttered under his breath, focus shifting to the piles of papers on the table. Despite all the things I wished to say, I tightened my grip on the gift he’d given me, worried it might slip from my grasp.
‘Goodnight,’ I whispered as I left, but he didn’t reply.
Chapter Twenty-Five
There is an ancient witch in the west. A blood seeker, luring children into the night and binding their blood to her cause. To her rebellion which seeks to decimate our world. Killing innocents and purging Elysior back into war. Pray to the saint the stories are wrong, for her greed and desire for power will ruin us all.
– Recovered Council correspondence to the southern fields – 1835
The land beyond Fairfax Manor was nothing but a green smear through the filthy glass of my bedroom window. I glanced to the dusty clock in the corner, which clearly hadn’t worked in years, before pressing my palms against my tired eyes and wishing, for once, I could have a peaceful night’s sleep.
However, the horrid lumpy mattress and the draughty room was my own fault. I’d woken numerous times during the night fearful I’d somehow ended up back in the Institute’s cramped quarters.
Unable to bear the discomfort of the bed much longer, I’d got up, but the cramped confines of the room still felt stifling. I lingered at the uneven dressing table and considered the items I’d dumped there. All the papers and notes for the things I should be doing, and yet all I could think about was that horrid cavern forgotten in the woods.
The dark scrawl of runes on the inside, the bitter taste of fear in the air. The screech of that creature and all the cruel things it was made of.
The chaos of that darkness, how vicious it remained after centuries. How my palms still ached with the power of my magic, how feral my flames had been. Then my thoughts wandered, remembering the firmness of Emrys’s chest beneath my palm. The strong thrum of his heartbeat and the teasing bite of his magic. The strong erratic nature of him and just how dark his eyes went the closer I got.
Croinn.The subtle playfulness in his tone. Unwilling to let me go.
I let my fingers drag across my collarbone before catching on the chain around my neck. The weight of the gift he’d given me was a strong comfort as I pulled it from where it rested between my breasts and let the stone sit in my palm.
A wishing stone. Old magic. How beautiful it was, delicately made and kept safe all these years. How the stone glowed radiantly against my skin, reminding me of that troublesome dust sprite in those ruins. The little cretin that had started all this.
Maybe I needed to go back and thank the beast.
‘Good, you’re up,’ came Alma’s sharp greeting, making me jump and knock my knees painfully into the dressing table.
‘Alma,’ I hissed, flushing as I tucked the necklace back into my nightgown. ‘You could have warned me.’
She stood with clothes freshly pressed and folded over her arms, her eyebrow raised disapprovingly – knowing every scandalous thought in my head.
‘I wasn’t in the mood to summon a necromancer to rouse your corpse,’ she drawled, crossing the room to lay my clothes on the bed.
‘I don’t sleepthatdeeply.’
Something shot from the still-open wardrobe, tiny and white, its wings fluttered impatiently. It landed on Alma’s shoulder and pecked at her hair to get her attention.
‘Shoo,’ she slapped it in my direction. ‘That bastard thing clearly can’t operate the portal on its own.’
I held out my hand as the message in tiny bird form tumbled but caught itself, fluttering over to land in my cupped palms before unfurling.
