Page 47 of Court of Shadows
It was so strange to see him, really see him, and know that we shared a kinship, for I felt nothing at all for him, no daughterly warmth, no familial connection.
“Why did you leave us?” I demanded, searching his face. If he lied, I would push him through that bloody window, spider and all.
“I didn’t know what you would become, if you would be odd like me,” Croydon replied flatly. “Without me... Without me you had a better chance of living a normal life.”
“A poor life! A miserable life with a drunk of a father!” I prodded him in the chest and he touched the spot as if burned. “So youarea Changeling?”
Croydon Frost considered the question for a long moment, and his eyes went hollow, almost dead, as if he had momentarily slipped into a trance. Then swiftly, before I could react, his hand flashed out, capturing mine and lifting it. He studiedthe bite on my finger, shiny and red, and then let go.
“I want to give you an inheritance,” he whispered. There was life again behind his black eyes, swirling, burning life.
“That doesn’t answer my—”
“But you will have to choose, Louisa,” Croydon interrupted sharply. “You can have wealth or knowledge, and one is infinitely more valuable than the other. That is a promise you can depend upon.”
I shook my head, hoping he saw that same, determined fire behind my eyes now. “No,” I said resolutely. “I want both.”
“Both,” he repeated in a growling whisper. What I saw then in his gaze frightened me. He was not disgusted by my greed or intimidated by my stand; he instead reveled in it, a kind of mad intent simmering in his eyes, like a thrumming kettle about to scream. “Then you will have both, daughter, but not here. Not now. You will meet me in the pavilion tonight, midnight, you will come alone, and you will have all your questions answered, and more. Some answers, I suspect, you will wish to forget.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Year Two
Journal of Bennu, Who Runs
I could track the months of our journey on my face, in the fading of the circular scar around my mouth and in the dark beard that had begun to cover it and darken my entire jaw. When I saw my reflection in puddles now, I saw not a naive young boy but a man, seasoned and changed by a year of endless peril.
Khent, too, had grown a beard, though due to his strangenature, it grew far thicker and wilder than mine, mottled as if to match his beastly counterpart’s pelt. He weathered the winter with greater ease, seemingly hardened against the ice and wind that drove at us constantly as we crossed a narrow channel by boat and continued north along the coast of this strange island. Its people were hardy, friendly, though coarsely dressed by our standards. They had strange blue markings in paint and ink on their bodies, and buried their dead in fields of raised furrows. When trade became necessary, we communicated with them only through hand gestures. We ranged over these areas quickly, keeping to ourselves as much as possible, mindful not to step on the sacred barrows of the locals, following the Sky Snake when it appeared, resting in crude shelters of branch and stone when it eluded us.
“Do you think we are the first of our kingdom to the south to find this place?” I asked Khent one morning. Our journey’s end felt near, for how much farther, how many more odd lands could we cross?
It rained steadily. Khent’s hood had long ago become soaked and useless.
“I think it will not matter, because we will never see home again to tell the tale.”
Months ago that statement would have wounded me, but I saw the wisdom in such skepticism. We had barely survived to this point; a return trip might kill us both, if only from exhaustion.
“A long rest,” I said softly. “That is what we both need.”
“I could sleep forever,” Khent replied with a snort. “Mother’s mercy, I have forgotten what comfort feels like.”
“And I have forgotten what it feels like to be dry. We will be among friends soon,” I told him. “And then we can sleep to our hearts’ content.”
I had never seen such wet days. Even during the rainiest seasons of home, the storms came in short bursts, never these days upon days of dreary damp. It kept the pastures lush, and we hopped many low stone enclosures where huge brown sheep grazed and watched us go by. The villages were few and sparse, though some had larger rings of low stone houses and even markets, markets that endured through the persistent fog and rain.
The morning wore on, the terrain stagnating, rolling field after rolling field, and in the distance what looked like a fortress from afar. As we neared it, I saw that it was merely a collection of pillars artistically arranged, some balancing straight up and down, others placed on top, almost like roofing slats.
“A sacred place,” Khent whispered. We had both stopped to marvel at the circle of stones. “It looks like a bunch of, I don’t know, doors. Gates.”
“Maybe we should go another way,” I suggested. “If it’s sacred we could be trespassing.”
But he ignored me, hefting his pack and pointing above us. “There. You see? She wants us to go this way.”
“The Sky Snake is a girl now,” I teased, following with asigh. I had grown stronger over the months, but the pack still weighed heavily on my shoulder, and the bruises and scars there from the burden would never fade.
“She was sent by Mother to guide us, mm? It just seems right.”
The stones loomed larger, gray and dappled, gates for giants. I had stood in wonder at our own great sphinxes and pyramids, but this, too, was a marvel, simple, stoic, but awe-inspiring to behold. Khent pushed on, running his hand along one of the massive stones and ducking underneath into one of the gates.
