Page 30 of Tomb of Ancients
“Aha! You see that? I could have beaten the god-king any day I pleased! Any day! I hope he is watching from the Land of Two Fields!”
“It was a very fine toss,” I admitted wryly, loathe to puff him up any further, laughing at his chest-pounding display. Hequickly sat down, all but collapsing, resting his forehead on his knees as he drew in deep, noisy breaths.
“We made it,” I murmured. The rain had matted my hair to my face, and I pushed at it uselessly. “That was very lucky.”
“Andthat,” he whipped his head up, purple eyes dancing, two of his fingers mimicking legs climbing a wall, “was courageous.”
“Or foolhardy,” I chuckled. “Though I suppose one can rarely tell the difference.”
The door below us cracked open, and Mary leaned out, trying to find our faces. “How extraordinary! Did you see, Louisa? The spittle went all the way through! Down to the ground!”
Dalton jumped from his carriage and leaned back against it, running both hands through his gingery hair. “God, but we’re fortunate to be alive. This isn’t a good sign, Louisa. If the shepherd is desperate enough to pull the Tarasque from Nerluc, then I fear he is capable of anything.”
“More retaliation for Sparrow, I suppose.”
Khent leaned over the edge of the carriage and spat. “Ha. Roeh will just have to try harder. We are proving difficult to kill.”
“I wouldn’t encourage him,” Dalton shot back with a grimace. “Becausetry harderhe will.” He glanced toward the Tarasque and shuddered. The thing was breathing its last, groaning as it flattened against the earth and heaved, rolling, slain, onto its scaly side. “We should press on. I don’t relish the thought ofbeing on the roads at nightfall and—what the devil?”
Mother had, without our noticing, emerged silently from the carriage and begun marching toward the Tarasque. She pulled the black veil over her eyes, taking slow, somber steps until she had climbed the mound of stone and mud heaped against the creature’s face. I heard her humming something quiet and baleful, a song of mourning. Kneeling, she placed both dark purple hands on the furred snout.
“Louisa, we really should—”
“Shhh.” I cut Dalton off, raising my hand, watching as the immense creature, matted and bloodied and still, gradually began to break apart, shimmering into thousands of rose-colored butterflies. I thought I heard the Tarasque give a rumbling groan as it disappeared, as if it merely dozed, and had turned over in its peaceful rest.
The butterflies scattered upward, blending almost perfectly into the hints of pink at the edges of the horizon. The rain began to abate, leaving behind the fresh wetness of the long grasses and shrubs, wildflowers bobbing their rain-laden heads along the hedge. Mother returned to us with her chin held high.
“Every creature deserves mercy,” she murmured, passing between us. Before stepping into the carriage, she handed me something. A blunt, bloodied supper knife. Then she took her seat, rigid, as regal as a queen. Her eyes found mine, and hers were glistening with unspent tears. “Every creature. Even those that would hunt us.”
My heart grew weighty with dread as we crested the last hill before Coldthistle House. I remembered my first visit to the place so sharply, I could almost smell the bird droppings and the cook-fire soot still clinging to Mrs. Haylam’s clothes. And Lee. Lee had been there. I had thought of him frequently when summer began and I was new to London, but then city life consumed me, the months disappeared while preparing the house, and before I could even appreciate the warmer months, autumn arrived. The dizzying chaos of the past fortnight had driven him from my thoughts altogether. I wondered how I would find him, and if he would greet me warmly or as a forgotten friend. There would be no urge to blame him; I should have written. I should have kept him fondly in my thoughts more. I should have done a lot of things better.
Spoon had become knife. I tumbled that around in my head, uncomfortable with the symbolism, uneasy with the knowledge that the monster in my spirit could rage out of control at any moment and make me its unwilling tool of destruction.
I had expected to feel more conflicted about our return, but now—wet, tired, and troubled—I was eager for a hot meal and a roof over my head. What hospitality awaited us, however, remained a mystery.
Chapter Fifteen
1248, Constantinople
I had never thought to pity a demon, particularly not one as ancient and powerful as Focalor, yet the creature all but demanded my sympathy. He cowered against his cathedral of candles, brown wings half wrapped around his body as he heldhis wounded hands close to his middle.
“You can understand my impatience,” Henry told him—a bit harshly, I thought. “We have come a very long way, and you are not being altogether cooperative.”
The demon crouched, staring up at Henry and showing his teeth. “Look at me, Dark One. Look at what happened to me in the salt.”
“The salt?” Henry rolled his eyes and muttered something under his breath. “What is he talking about?”
“Be kind, Henry. He’s half-mad,” I said.
“No,” Ara said. “The salt. There’s a lake of salt, massive, to the east. Tuz Gölü.”
The demon hissed at that. “Go not near the salt. You will return not at all or in pieces.”
Henry loosened the pack on his back and pulled out thechestnut-colored pup inside, holding it out toward Focalor, who regarded it with shifting, narrowed eyes.
“Is she right? Did you learn more of the books at Tuz Gölü?”
Shrinking, the demon wrapped its wings completely around itself, hiding. “N-No. No, there is nothing there but desolation. Desolation and pain. There are no answers. There is nothing. It is all nothing. All meaningless.”
