I raised one eyebrow. “She did.”
“I found it. I had to move some hunks of rock and wade through dust up to my knees.” She rolled her shoulders as if remembering the weight. I didn’t doubt they were significant chunks—her wraith blood also made her stronger than her slight frame appeared. “With the state of the place, I wasn’t hoping for much, but beneath it all, I found some books that…” She shook her head. “They were pristine. And chained up.”
Pulse speeding, I gave up fighting and sat forward. “And you brought them back. Show me.”
She grinned and popped a berry in her mouth before standing and rummaging through the bags. If these books were what I suspected, she was welcome to the bonus.
A couple of years ago Faolán and Rose had found themselves trapped in an ancient mansion hosted by a woman who only called herself Granny. If anyone else had given me the report of what happened there, I’d have called them mad, but Faolán wasn’t the type for flights of fancy. He was as solid as the stone beneath this palace and almost as talkative. For him to spout that story—it had to be true. And Rose backed up every word. She’d even offered to take arianmêl to prove it was true.
Dark things had happened in that house. Sacrifice and blood drinking. The kinds of things people accused the unseelie of doing. Through that forbidden magic, the place had gathered immense power over the span of centuries, and when it fell, thanks to Faolán and Rose, we ran the risk of that power falling into the wrong hands.
Hence the regular visits from my operatives and obscuring the location from all maps. Thank the Stars, the magic had dissipated harmlessly over time.
Where I’d hoped for artefacts, perhaps the house was going to give me secrets instead.
And weren’t secrets power?
With a thud, Orpha hefted a stack of books on my desk.
There was no shift in the air as often came with powerful magic—just as Kat had felt on the bridge—but I caught the scent of scorched earth and woodsmoke. Ash and blood. Dust and age.
Old magic.
Yet the books looked as though they’d been bound yesterday—fresh leather and crisp gold leaf. The top one was a deep forest green with gold lettering across the front. Orpha explained how she’d snapped her favourite crowbar breaking through the chains, while I fingered the debossed design.
My heart thudded heavily in my chest as my mind skipped to Kat’s book and the way she’d touched it so reverently. Then to the sight of her earlier as she’d taken in her bedroom. The curve of her lips and the point of her chin. The unconscious gesture as she’d touched the glossy finish on the purpleheart wood furniture I’d chosen for her. I wasn’t sure she realised she’d grazed her fingertips across its surface, as though the richness of its colour called to her and she just had to experience it.
But most of all, the sun hitting her hair, turning it aflame, so she looked like a phoenix rising from the dull ashes of the world.
I wasn’t meant to want her. I wasn’t meant to be this wrapped up in her, in the sight of her, the springtime scent of her, or the way she made me think of the crisp cleanness of fresh sheets or a new page.
But I was.
Good fucking gods, I was.
Whoever had made her marry that man, I wanted to disembowel them. Slowly.
Not that I was a better man. And not a more deserving one, either. Not after what I did in Lunden.
Yet I’d never have failed her as he had. I’d never have mistreated her in the dark as he had. Any destruction I turned upon her, I made into the little deaths that she made such sweet sounds for.
But I was a decade too late. Her husband was too fucking alive. And her country had marriage laws too barbaric to contemplate.
We’d taken a different path that had led here.
She’d spent ten years stuck in a crumbling estate. Ten years bound to a husband she hated. I didn’t want her to resent me in the same way.
Of course she resents you. You betrayed her. You used her.
The hurt had rolled off her before she’d let the poison in her system coat her tongue and unleash its sharpness on me. Just once. Just briefly. But it was enough.
She didn’t just resent me—she hated me.
Maybe it was for the best.
“Bastian?”
I blinked and found Orpha watching me, one eyebrow raised.
Completely fucking distracted. Stars above, what was wrong with me?
I cleared my throat. “The book.” Lifting it as if that was an explanation. Not a lie, since it had made me think of Kat. “What were you saying?”
“There’s another stack of books in here, but I don’t want to cover your desk. Where do you want me to leave them?”
I glanced at the next one on the pile, its blood-red leather hard to tear my eyes from. The Lore of the Land, it said in High Valens, one of our ancient languages.
It sounded like a useless collection of old tales rather than old secrets. I tossed the green book on top, glad to get it out of my hands. “Leave them with Brynan. He’ll find a home for them.” I dusted my palms together. “Was there anything else?” Please say no. I needed a moment alone.
“Nothing as exciting as the books.” She slipped a hazelnut in her mouth. “There was—”
“Put the rest in your written report.” My voice came out more clipped than I intended.
“Of course.” She stood, scooped the rest of the bowl’s contents into her hand, and hauled the bags over her shoulder. “I’ll send it later.”
I struggled to follow her progress out of the room, but knew she was nearly out by the door clicking open. “Orpha?”
From the corner of my eye, I saw her pause in the doorway.
“Thanks.” For the risks she’d taken and her hard work, but also for getting my none-too-subtle hint to leave.
I caught a flash of sharp teeth. “Just how grateful are you?”
“Brynan will see to your bonus—your generous bonus.” More money meant fewer questions. And she had brought back perhaps two dozen ancient books—chances are, they were texts we didn’t already have in the archives. Lysander would be pleased.
“That’s what I like to hear.” Another flash of teeth, then the door closed on her and the rest of the world.
6
Bastian
At last, I sank into the chair before the fireplace, bones weary like I’d been in a battle. My shadows spilled from me to the floor as though they were also tired. I scrubbed my face and drew deep breaths, feeling the air inch through my lungs and the way it brushed over my lips on the way out.
The coral pink flames flickered, and I let my shadows snake towards them. If I left them to their own devices, they were often drawn to fire, like their darkness craved the burning brightness. Perhaps I did, too. Perhaps that was why I was drawn to Katherine. Not just for her fiery hair, but to what I saw inside her that had been kept small and smothered for too long.
“Fuck.” I wasn’t meant to be thinking about her. On my next inhale, I gripped the arms of the chair and pushed the thoughts away.
The fire and my shadows. That was all that existed. Light and darkness. Completion. Everything in the universe contained within those two ideas and the midpoint between them where a thousand shades danced together.