Chapter 4
Wolfe
“You mean to tell me that you eat a book and then you know its entire contents from the first sentence to the last?” Cillian asked as we walked along the winding dirt road, stark green hills surrounding us and a fierce wind blowing that made Niamh tighten her cloak.
Well, my cloak. I’d given it to her the first day of our travels—only because I hoped if she was warm, she’d walk faster.
She was painfully slow, and at this rate, we’d never get back to Fairwitch.
If she’d stop talking long enough to focus on walking, maybe she’d be faster.
Morton, the little pink bookwyrm, raised the upper half of its body from Niamh’s shoulder and spread out his wings. “Don’t worry, I would never ruin a book. I regurgitate the pages and the book is like new again.”
Cillian cocked his head. “That’s kind of gross but also very useful.”
Niamh smiled brightly. Over the last few days of traveling, she’d slowly opened up, no longer as wary or defensive as she had been that first day—well, not toward Cillian, anyway.
“It’s incredibly useful.” The wind blew her long red hair into her face, still coated in dust, and she attempted to tuck the wild strands behind her ears to no avail.
“And also, yes, it is gross to watch him vomit the pages back out. Though I have gotten used to it.” She flicked the bookwyrm affectionately.
“And it’s actually oddly satisfying seeing all the pieces of the pages come together again. ”
My hands fisted by my sides. She talked so damn much. Always prattling on and not remotely aware of her surroundings.
“Watch the hole, Cillian,” I called over my shoulder, and Cillian looked down right before he was about to step in a hole in the road.
If Niamh hadn’t been talking his ear off, maybe he’d be paying more attention. Now I was not only stuck with one person who had absolutely no awareness of their surroundings but two.
They continued chattering about books, not even worried that Cillian had almost broken his ankle. Niamh was sharing some story about Morton eating a book so big he looked as round as a cannonball.
I wondered what godwitch—or demi godwitch—was responsible for his magic. Maybe one of the demi godwitches of learning. There were several of them that I’d read about in school, all the demigods born from their powerful parents’ trysts with mortals.
I’d never heard of a bookwyrm before, but then again, there were all sorts of magical creatures, objects, and plants that were being discovered every day, lands and kingdoms warring over the most magical of them. Morton’s ability was interesting but likely not powerful enough to cause a war.
It was the most powerful of objects, ones like that tower, that people would go to war for.
I wondered how Niamh had found the tower, how no one else had infiltrated it in the three years she’d been there, but she hadn’t seemed keen to give us many details about her past, which made me suspicious.
The brotherhood had spies everywhere that they used to infiltrate kingdoms like ours.
Niamh didn’t strike me as the brotherhood type, with her sunny disposition and inability to fight, but it could be a ruse.
I hoped the prince knew what he was doing, inviting her to our home.
Trusting her with the secrets of Fairwitch Isle, secrets that had kept our home safe from conquerors like the brotherhood for centuries.
Cillian said something that made Niamh giggle, and I shook my head. Those two were a perfect match so far, sunshine and sunshine, laughing and telling stories and chattering nonstop. Trying to ignore them and keep us safe was giving me a damn headache.
“What is that tattoo?” Niamh pointed to Cillian’s collarbone, the edge of his golden tattoo peeking out.
Cillian cleared his throat. “Nothing. Just a tattoo of a key.”
My gaze dipped to my own matching tattoo on my chest, hidden beneath my shirt. He was going to have to tell her the truth about all of this eventually. Before she found out herself.
“You’re unusually grumpy today,” Cillian said, catching up to me and leaving Niamh and Morton behind us as they oohed and aahed over a rock that someone had carved into the earth godwitch.
Their body resembled a tree trunk, its hair made of leaves and berries.
Morton slithered up their arms, which were like tree branches.
It was an impressive carving, and I wondered if someone had done it as an offering, hoping by carving the godwitch’s likeness, they’d be granted safety on their travels from any mischievous earth magic.
“I bet this is an offering,” Morton said from the godwitch’s shoulder, echoing my thoughts.
“Probably.” Niamh clapped. “Oh, let’s pick some flowers nearby and leave them as offering to the earth godwitch.”
“Good idea!” Morton said.
I sent a side glance to Cillian.
“Oh, come on.” His voice lowered to a whisper. “Everything is going great so far. You know, I actually don’t think I’d mind marrying her. She’s a little older than me.” He leaned over. “Thirty-five, but you know, I like that about her. A mature woman.”
I snorted, surprised by her age. I’d have guessed Niamh was closer to late twenties than mid-thirties. “She’s only five years older than you,” I said. “Not that old.”
He elbowed me. “And five years younger than you. Look at that. Right in between us.”
I raised a brow. Cillian was not the marrying type. He loved to flirt and have one-night stands and break hearts wherever he went, but I didn’t pay much attention to all of that. I didn’t have time to pay attention to Cillian’s love life when I was busy keeping him alive.
I realized Cillian was still speaking. “Now she just needs to fall in love with my winning personality. Then we’ll marry and, boom, problem solved. No more attacks on our home, no more threats of losing it to the brotherhood.”
“Boom?” I echoed, gaze swiveling to each side of the road, assessing for any danger that might be lurking behind the big boulders and rocks dotting the hillsides. “And why haven’t you told her about the key?” I asked. “About the risks of this little plan of yours?”
“One thing at a time.” Cillian glanced behind him, but Niamh and Morton were now giggling as an enchanted flower reached out to tickle them.
So much magic in this world, and the majority of it was absolutely useless.
“She just lost her home,” Cillian continued.
“And I don’t want to stress her any further right now.
Let’s let her get comfortable, excited to arrive to Fairwitch Isle, and then we can slowly reveal information. ”
“That feels like lying,” I said, not entirely sure why I cared whether Cillian told Niamh the truth. I didn’t care. He could do whatever he wanted as long as it didn’t affect his neck staying attached to his body.
“You know, she’s starting to think you’re mute,” Cillian said.
“What?” My gaze flicked to movement in the tall grass to our left, my hand automatically going to the hilt of my sword.
“That’s how little you’ve spoken over the last few days. She thinks you might not know how to speak.”
“Good.” Maybe then she wouldn’t attempt to talk to me. She was the type that would talk so much she’d distract me from my job. Cillian had already almost lost his life at that tower, and I wouldn’t let anything happen to him again.
“It wouldn’t hurt you,” Cillian said, “or our cause, to make a little friendly conversation.”
“No.” That wasn’t my job. My job was protecting the prince and keeping him safe, and anything outside of that was a distraction.
“Niamh,” Cillian called over his shoulder, “Wolfe has a great story for you about a magical candle whose flame wouldn’t go out.”
“What?” My head snapped in his direction. Cillian was once again not taking things seriously enough. I needed to guard him, to keep him safe, and I couldn’t do that if I was forced to talk to Niamh.
He dragged her forward despite my protests and shoved her right into me.
Morton yelped and leaped from her shoulder, and Cillian caught the little bookwyrm. He had wings, so I wasn’t sure why he didn’t use them. “I have a book I’d like you to eat if you don’t mind.”
Niamh stared up at me with wide green eyes, flecked with yellow and brown, her palms flattened against my chest. “You can let go now,” she said, breathless.
I looked down, realizing I’d grabbed hold of her waist on instinct, then cleared my throat and released her. She tugged at the skirt of her blue dress, then adjusted the laces that wove up her torso and to her heaving bosom.
“Do I have something?” She touched her creamy pale skin right at the top of her cleavage, and I quickly averted my gaze.
“No.” I looked straight ahead, to where Cillian was pulling a book out of his cloak for Morton to eat.
A gust of wind blew past us, lifting her red hair from her shoulders, and she grabbed the end of the tattered black cloak I’d given her and wrapped it tight around her body.
“Cillian said you have a story about a candle? I love stories, though I am a little surprised because I was starting to think you didn’t know how to speak other than a few words. ”
I swallowed, looking up to the sunny sky and cursing Cillian.
“I have a job,” I said quietly. “To be a protector. Everything else is a distraction.”
She gaped at me. “Surely you don’t believe that. You’re telling me because you’re a guard, you can’t talk?”
I rubbed my temples, realizing just how ridiculous it sounded when she put it like that, but she had no idea how important Cillian was to Fairwitch.
Losing our high prince could weaken our magic, weaken the entire kingdom and make it more susceptible to attack.
But it wasn’t just that. I thought of my other brother we’d lost, how maybe it hadn’t weakened Fairwitch’s magic or opened us up to attack, but it had destroyed my family.
That alone was reason enough to stay vigilant.
She smirked and crossed her arms. “Whatever you say, sunshine.”