Page 67 of Skalterra By Nightmare
“Of course. If the future of my barony rests on the survival of this child, then Titus and I will join you to help ensure she, and my province, stay alive.” She strode down her dais, and the legion of Nightmares silently split to let her through. She stopped in front of Ferrin and Fana. “Your Nightmare is fascinating. I look forward to learning more about her. Titus, take them to the docks.”
She stalked past, stepping over Tiernan’s splayed legs, and exited through the large doors we’d entered from. Ferrin turned to tend to Tiernan and helped him into a sitting position.
“I told you, didn’t I?” Orla sang. “I said you should see the things Just-Wren can do.”
“Yes, it was quite something, wasn’t it?” Galahad’s soft rasp was labored and weak. “How long have you been hiding those tricks?”
I faltered as I walked down the dais towards them.
“You’re the Nightmare expert. You didn’t know I could do that?” I looked at the passive Nightmares that stood at the ready around us, then at Galahad where he lay in Orla’s lap. “What’s wrong? Are you hurt?”
“You took too much,” Galahad wheezed.
“Too much what?” My talons retracted back into fingernails, but Ferrin kept his sword raised.
“Skal, dammit!” Galahad spat. “You did the same thing the other night in the woods, didn’t you? I thought it was the running that was exhausting me, but it was you, bleeding me dry.”
I thought back to the magick I’d felt dripping into my chest and how I’d pulled on it. I hadn’t realized it had been the magick that flowed between Galahad and me. I hadn’t realized I would hurt him.
I put my hands up in surrender.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”
Galahad and Ferrin shared a look, and when the latter nodded, Galahad turned back towards me while Ferrin watched Titus where he lurked near the throne.
“We can talk about it later,” Galahad growled. “For now, it’s best you go home. The Baron folded too easy, and I don’t like the way she was looking at you.”
“Wait, but—”
“Goodnight, Wren. We’ll see you on the river.”
And the Baron’s throne room slipped away.
17. Anxiety and Stress Disorders
Either I was bad at research, or the internet had an upsetting lack of easy-to-follow resources on using flails in battle. I leaned against the wooden railing of the shop’s back deck, enjoying the heat of the summer sun mixed with the cool marina breeze as I spent my lunch break scrolling through videos.
So far, Live-Action Role Players seemed to be the leading experts on how to use a flail, though the ones they swung around in their medieval-styled battles had a lot more cushioning than the one I was trying to get used to in Skalterra.
“Wren Warrender.” Galahad’s voice, weak and raspy, prodded at the back of my head, and I nearly dropped my phone into the water below in surprise.
“I can’t sleep right now,” I snapped. “I have work.”
“Don’t get your leathers twisted,” Galahad growled. “I’m here to tell you we won’t need you for a few nights.”
“What?” I straightened up and looked around. I hated talking to someone I couldn’t see. Where was I supposed to glare? “I just saved all our lives! What do you mean you don’t need me?”
“You nearly killed me last night.”
“You need me.” I jammed my phone in my pocket, and then pulled it back out, still unsure where to look.
“Oh, yes. You made it clear you’re a valuable weapon, but the Baron is just as interested in that as we are. We don’t need her studying you for personal gain, or trying to figure out your name and pulling you under her control.”
“That’s stupid.”
“It’s not—”
“Let me talk to Ferrin. He’ll listen.”
