Page 57 of Tales of a Deadly Devotion
He took her trying to bite him as he attempted to check her pulse as a positive sign she was herself. Exhaustion had claimed her shortly after.
I tried to keep myself busy while watching over her as she rested. Reading up on dark summonings to try to refresh my memory. To understand what relic Montagor could possessbut I found my focus kept slipping back to Alma curled up beneath the covers in the bed.
Her defencelessness unsettled me. Reminded me too much of the past. Of all the things I couldn’t change.
Craving normalcy and to be finally rid of the stench of smoke from my skin, I retreated to the bathroom and scrubbed my bloody and ash-smeared skin until it was pink. Pulling my nightgown on before swallowing down a stronger healing tonic. Tired of the ache of my recovery. Yet found myself pulling Emrys’s coat back on, the scent of it soothing the small fluttering panic in my chest as I took up watch again in the chair by Alma’s bed.
Worry weighted my thoughts with the darkness of her change. Exhausting me enough as I slipped in and out of sleep. Only to be roused when cool night air dragged over my skin, to find the bed empty, covers rumpled and no Alma.
I jolted upright, seeing her standing before the open window staring distantly out at the night.
‘Alma?’ I called softly but she didn’t even flinch. Just kept staring out into the darkness. Her thin nightdress stirred by the breeze. Her thick dark hair falling down her back, curls wilder with her sleep.
I so rarely saw her in undress. In any other form than her pristine dresses, covered neck to wrist. Now the firelight washed over her, showing the tiny scars, line after line. Some too deep, puckering the skin. What they’d taken.
My heart ached at the memory of how tender the wounds had been when we’d first met. Red and angry, some opening back up too easily.
‘Alma?’ I gently reached for her. Startling her. Those feline eyes wide, taking in every inch of the room as if for a moment she didn’t recognise me before she mouthed my name.
‘It’s all right,’ I tried to soothe her. Her trembling clawed fingers coming to rest over my own.
‘I just needed some air.’ She shook her head, chin dipping so those dark curls concealed her from my view for a moment, scales shifting over her bare arms, like a reassuring caress.
How close her creatures sat beneath the surface. The wildness of her magic so tame, how at ease she seemed with it. So different than usual.
She’d come back from the darkness of that beast. No tremors or sickness. Just a lingering tiredness. Something I’d never seen before. Never even dared to hope was possible.
‘I’ve never seen you change that easily.’ No, it was always a curse. Something she fought and repressed.
‘It’s an old trick.’ She shook her head. Words too short as she returned her attention back to the dark window. To the distorted reflection of us.
She’d always told me it was beyond her. That her magic was cursed. Only then did I see my mistake. I’d never asked when the curse began. She’d been thirteen when I’d met her, and I’d never thought of those thirteen years. Of all the secrets that she could keep. All she didn’t speak of and how a nameless girl had found her way to Daunton.
‘How old?’ I asked, unable to fight the spike of fear in my heart. Of all she hadn’t told me.
Then I remembered what lay beyond the window. What had captured her attention. Woods I wouldn’t forget as long as I lived. A maze of tight-pressed trees, undulating with ancient roots and moss. Daunton Wood.
I reached for the curtain, hating that we could see it, but Alma caught my wrist. Fingers still clawed and skin still rough from the change. Her damp dark hair clinging to her cheeks as if fell over her shoulders.
‘It’s just a wood, Kat. I’m fine.’ Her voice was hoarse from the sounds that had clawed up her throat. A stiffness to her spine as if faced with an opponent. Refusing to back down.
I ran my fingers through her thick hair. How the firelight brought out a warm sheen hidden in the darkness of it.
‘Let me take care of you.’ I slid my arm around her shoulders to steer her closer to the fire. Where William had left a plate of biscuits and some mint water. A little vase of bright blue povets – the healing flower.
‘What a worrisome idea,’ she huffed and I almost smiled as I eased her into the chair, turning to pour her some water but it was then I saw the small box’s remains in the fire. The one Master Hale had given her. The ones she’d kept more preciously than any gift.
Her chocolate box.
I crumpled before her, down to my knees. My hands came to rest on her knees. A sinner repenting.
‘I’m sorry, Alma. I didn’t mean for you to find out like that.’ Find out that it was a lie. That I’d led her on the wrong path.
He’d meant something to her and I’d shattered that hope so carelessly.
‘It was the truth,’ she shrugged. How much I still wished it wasn’t. That someone cared without a price. ‘I suppose if you want something enough, you can convince yourself of anything.’
‘I’m sure—’
