Page 34 of The Sorcerer's Thief
Our easy chatter dies away. We walk the next few minutes with only the sound of our footfalls on the earthen path for company.
Well, that and Slinger’s heavy breathing.
“Jules.” Cricket knocks the back of my hand with the back of his. “What happened to you? Will you tell me? Please?”
My lungs clench. “Must you know all my secrets?”
“I don’t know any of them. You haven’t told me a single one.”
He has a point. “You first. Then I’ll think about it, but I make no promises.”
“There’s nothing interesting about me.”
“I beg to differ. I find you interesting enough.” Not sure I should have admitted as much, but it’s done now. “Tell me about your family.”
“They’re gone.”
“All of them?” I’m prying, but no more than Cricket is. My nature demands I pick an old wound bloody. Curiosity settlesfor nothing less. “Gone as in somewhere else, or gone as in deceased? What happened?”
“Never mind,” he says. “Point proven. I won’t ask for your secrets anymore.”
“You will.”
I prefer it when our arguments are over lighter fare. This serious talk has brought down the mood. “Do you know of the Guild of the Dark Waters?” Just uttering their name rattles my nerves and dredges up an old, simmering rage.
“I’ve heard it whispered. Thought it was fake. Something you say to scare children into behaving.”
“They’re real.” It’s more of an answer than I’ve given to anyone and the first time I’ve spoken of them aloud. “And they are what happened to me.”
Another silence ensues.
Cricket stops, bringing Slinger to a halt with him. I slow my pace to a crawl but continue forward. Silence I can manage. Stillness too. But not both at once.
“Your fingers, you mean?”
“And my wings.” Easier to admit with my back to Cricket and my face toward the sky. The sky I shall never soar through again. Clouds cover the sun, leaving us in shadows.
“Your wings?” He speaks the words so softly I barely hear them.
“Hadn’t you wondered?”
“I should have, but no. I don’t have wings. I just figured you didn’t either. But you did once.”
“Once.”
“Were they black like your hair?”
“Yes.”And like the Gatekeeper’s…
“I can picture them,” says Cricket quietly. “No wonder you don’t talk about it.”
I turn to face him. His expression has gone soft. Concerned. Full of pity. “Did your parents have wings?” It’s a roundabout way of asking about his heritage. Cricket looks human, but he has magic. Meaning there’s probably fae in his line somewhere.
“No.”
“You’re mortal, then?”
“I imagine so.” He lets go of Slinger’s reins, and she wanders off to snack on whatever’s growing at the edge of the road. “But I’m part fae.”
