Page 40 of Bound to the Fae Assassin

The woods all around were dark, even though it was late morning. Leaves still covered the trees that overhung the school like a canopy, making it hard for even a single ray of sunlight to penetrate the gloom below. As a result, much of the structure was lost to the shadows.

What she could see was monstrous, and in the years since any students walked the grounds, nature had surged back in a big way. The roof shakes were smothered under a blanket of moss. Smaller trees grew from the patinated copper gutters and out of the ivy-covered chimney.

The porches and porticos that came off the brick structure at all angles had probably been quirky even when they were built. Now they leaned and lurched away from the brickwork as if trying to escape, paint unfurling to reveal weathered wooden skeletons.

“It was once as beautiful as a painting,” Farrow said, taking it in sadly.

She remembered seeing it as a girl and comparing the place to her family’s small cottage while dreaming about how beautiful the academy was.

“It is still like a painting,” Blackthorn allowed. “A different kind, that’s all. Do you feel the vestiges of magic?”

She nodded. She could feel it flickering on her skin, like the warm flames of a bonfire.

“It feels like… home,” she murmured without thinking, then sucked in a surprised breath.

“Good,” he said in a businesslike way. “That’s how it should feel. Come.”

“Is it safe?” she asked, looking at the rippling boards of the front porch, so waterlogged that she imagined they would be soft as sponge.

“Parts of it,” he said. “We’ll explore inside another day. For now, we’ll focus on the garden.”

“That sounds good,” she said, relieved.

He smiled down at her, excitement flickering in his eyes.

Her thoughts went back to the barn loft. The things he’d done…

Her cheeks burned and she looked away, desperate to find some other topic of conversation.

“Don’t worry, love,” he told her. “We’ll find time for more of last night’s adventures, too.”

She jogged ahead of him, not wanting to have the conversation, even as her traitorous body softened and warmed for him.

Waist-high patches of grass grew anywhere the sun managed to break through, but the shaded area was nothing but mossy rocks. It looked slippery, but she preferred it to running through grass so deep she didn’t know what might be nesting in it. She nearly lost her footing once and decided that moving a little faster would actually make it easier not to twist an ankle.

But when she came around the corner of the north wing at top speed, the sight that greeted her was so horrifying that she stopped fast and fell to her bottom, sliding across the stone patio.

A muted moan left her mouth as she looked up at the poor souls in front of her. A jumble of charred, disfigured arms reached for her, the pained faces of their owners locked in silent cries.

“Farrow,” Blackthorn cried from behind.

She blinked, and the world put itself back together again.

“I-I’m okay,” she said, trying to scramble up on the wet moss. “I thought for a moment that they were real.”

Blackthorn bent and lifted her gently. He wasn’t laughing at her.

“It’s dark,” he said softly, setting her on her feet.

They stepped back and looked at the three figures in front of them. In the dim light, their tortured faces had seemed real.

“Statues,” she said. “Wooden statues.”

“Targets,” he told her. “We use them in Swordbrake too, for teaching youngsters.”

The one on the left was male, sword in hand, his posture lurching forward, a jagged smile on his evil-looking face. On the right, a huge, orc-like figure held a club aloft.

The target in the center was small and seemed to be female, with pointed ears that made her out to be Fae. One of her arms had been eaten by termites. The other was held aloft, although whether she was meant to be summoning something, or offering an embrace was impossible to know.

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