Page 45 of Fate Unchained

Lilah stood with the three vulk along the riverbank, a stone’s throw away from the warehouse. They huddled behind an abandoned house, its wooden slats falling off and a section of the roof caved in. This stretch of the Wide River had Boris’s warehouse with the gambling den on the first floor, the tannery, and a few houses which used to be the homes of some fishermen, but after the tannery ramped up production, the stench drove people to move.

“How many usually gather in the gambling den?” Kyril asked.

Lilah shrugged one shoulder. “Thirty? Fifty? It depends.” She’d gone inside a few times to find her father, and it wasn’t much to look at. A shabby open space with card tables, a few games and a bar along the back. “People come from up and down the river to gamble, but I doubt anyone would do that today after the storm.” She glanced at the river. Rime coated the edges of the swiftly moving black water like hard shards.

Zann pointed. “There’s a door up there.” Hastily crafted stairs, more like wood and pallets haphazardly nailed together, teetered up to a large upper deck holding a small crane that could be swung out to haul up boxes from boats on the river below. There were no safety railings, and the landing and stairs remained coated in snow, but there was a battered door up there.

“It’s most likely locked.”

Kyril turned to her and raised a brow. “So?”

She rolled her eyes. Of course. The big, bad vulk would simply barrel in.

“Let’s go.”

“We’re not making a plan?” she asked. “We just barge in? What about having me go in to tell him I have the vulk?”

Kyril growled. “I’m not putting you near Boris. Actually, this is the part where you head on home to your father.”

“What if a rune shows up again?” She shook her head. “No, I need to go, too.” She shivered. The last spawn with a rune could have killed her.

Zann shrugged. “There’s three vulk. No human would dare attack. Bring her in case we need her.”

Her brows shot up. Zann was taking her side? She tried to catch his eye, but he focused on the warehouse. Kyril growled again. “Stay close to me.”

All three vulk—Kyril was still in vulk form, too—lowered to the ground, extended their claws, and stalked forward. Lilah followed, her steps crunching on the snow, whereas the vulk were completely silent.

Waist-high snowdrifts piled on the stairs, and Kyril picked her up and plowed through them as they ascended. Underfoot, the makeshift stairs creaked and groaned, and Lilah clung to Kyril.

When they reached the landing, the footing was more secure. Since the wind had whipped much of the snow off the upper deck, Kyril set her down. Zann walked to the door and tried it. Locked. His expression brightened momentarily, the serious ferocity softening so he seemed almost happy, and he wedged his shoulder into the door. With one shove, it opened with a slight crack.

Of course Zann enjoyed breaking and entering.

They entered a wide hall lined with closed doors. Two wall lanterns threw weak light into the space. The floor was old, mismatched hemlock wood, some dark, some light, gouged and scuffed from crates and boxes. Smoke from the hall below lay like a thick fog, and despite the open door, it didn’t seem to want to leave but lay there, adding to the murk. A painting hung between two doors, and Lilah peered at it. From the smoke, or from time, the image was blotted with soot and cracked so badly it was difficult to tell what it was supposed to be, but she thought it may be an earlier picture of Eroica, one when it was mostly a camp beside a river.

She tiptoed, but the vulk strode down the hall as if they, and not Boris, owned the place. Bits of laughter and conversation floated up from below, and her heart pounded. What would happen if someone came upstairs right now?

Kyril slowed. “This place smells of spawn.” He knelt on the floor and inhaled, then turned to the door near him. He reached up and turned the handle. The door swung inward.

The room was dark, and Lilah couldn’t make out anything more than the dark shapes of furniture. All three vulk entered and fanned out. She groped around the wall until she found a lantern. Turning the knob on the side, the gas turned on, and the room lit up.

It was an office, although what she’d thought to be couches or chairs were crates and boxes stacked along the walls. The only true furniture was a fireplace and a desk, and that was it.

The vulk were speaking in their language to each other, pointing out a few boxes and circling closer to the desk, but Lilah walked toward the fire. Scraps of charred paper lay near the hearth. Whoever sat in this office had tried to burn something, but not all of it had been destroyed.

She bent and retrieved the parchment. One was the upper third of a letter, including half of the ornate seal of the writer. Lilah gasped. Some of the seal was missing, but she recognized the head of the rearing lion. The king’s seal. Only a few words remained Boris, here is the information on the girl … The script was flowery and flowing.

“What is it?” Kyril stood at her shoulder.

“This may be Boris’s office.” Lilah pointed at the desk. “We should look for the grimoire.”

Finn leaped forward and threw open the drawers. He rifled through them, tossing items to the floor.

Kyril remained beside her, and she placed her finger on Boris’s name etched on the scrap of paper. Then gestured toward the seal. “Someone wrote to him and used the king’s seal.”

“Which king?” Kyril asked.

“The king in Coromesto.” She examined the other scrap. This one was smaller and only had two lines … there may be a link to Nihova. Tell me when it’s done. ~M.

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