Chapter 14
I ’ve never been so frustrated with a picture book in my life.
Sighing, I close the front cover and stare out across Vateshram Forest. Te Bruk o’ Avalanste was not written in the common tongue, so I spent all morning trying to decipher its contents from the drawings littering some of the two thousand gossamer pages.
My instincts are telling me this is much more than just a collection of pretty sketches, and I need answers.
Now.
Thankfully, my hangover has almost run its natural course, and though I doubt I’ll look at food the same for a while, I’m stable enough to face another being without the risk of spewing verbal venom.
I wedge the book inside my bag, then change into something more appropriate for the cool breeze blowing off the ocean. Hair trailing behind me in unkempt disarray, I make quick work of Stony Stem and the hall that leads me to the western wing, one destination in mind.
Fresh ocean air salts my skin as I land ankle-deep in the sand and sprint toward the jagged rocks. I’m just dangling my legs in the water when Kai emerges by my feet—hair slicked down, jewel-toned eyes giving away his signature smirk before his mouth even crests the waterline.
“Two visits in one week? Treasure, you flatter me.”
I shrug. “What can I say? You’re my favorite fish.”
He frowns, sharp gaze flicking over my features. With a splash of his powerful tail, he’s half out of the water, looming over me and wearing concerned eyes. “What’s wrong? You don’t look well.”
This day hates me.
Avoiding his stare, I pick up a shard of rock and toss it in the water.
“Orlaith ...”
“You know that sugar kelp I asked you for a year ago?” I risk a peek at him.
“Yes. You said its chalky texture was perfect for a special project you were working on. That you intended to grind it down and use it for paint.”
I lied.
I did grind it down ... but I certainly didn’t use it on a rock.
His eyes narrow, then go so wide I swear they almost pop right out of his head. “Do not—” he shakes his head for long enough that I realize the chance of convincing him to collect more is probably next to none. “Do not tell me you used the sugar kelp to make Exothryl, Orlaith. Do not.”
His disappointment is just as punishing as Rhordyn’s lashing anger.
I consider lying ... then think better of it. Perhaps if I’m honest, slap on some pleading eyes and tell him his scales gleam like ocean gems, he’ll take pity on my hungover ass and gift me another stem or two.
“What would you say if I told you I did, in fact, make Exothryl with it?”
Kai makes this low, caustic sound that seems to expel from the delicate gills tucked behind his ears, then his fingers are in my mouth, forcing it wide while he has a poke around.
Not the best sign.
“Gid I kell you how glowious your kail wooks koday?” I garble around two digits that taste like the ocean.
He seems to ignore my spontaneous flattery, manhandling my head and pulling my lids, inspecting my eyes.
He even sniffs my hair before making another sound that has me wishing I had a shell to scuttle into.
“You’ve got it bad.” He pushes away from the rock, leaving a wake of disdain, his eyes a pair of fishing hooks gouged in my skin. “How long? Six months? A year? ”
He’s definitely not getting me any more.
“Let’s not get tangled in the detai—”
“Did you know overdosing on those things can lead to heart failure? They pop, Orlaith. Like bubbles. Poof , dead.”
My blood ices.
The handwritten recipe I discovered in the back of an old herbs and medicines book didn’t go into detail about the side effects.
Simply said that exo was good for ‘boosting one’s morale post klashten ’ .
.. whatever the hell that means. Everything after ‘boosting morale’ felt like unnecessary scripture.
There was certainly no fine print about hearts popping.
Now I regret taking three at once. No wonder I felt like I was about to sprout wings and flutter off like a sprite.
“Rhordyn found my stash and took it all,” I mutter, kicking at the water perhaps a little too ferociously. “So my heart’s safe.”
At least in a physical sense.
Kai drops low into the water, gaze seeming to assault the castle. “Well, that’s something ,” he says, and there’s a bitter shadow to his tone I’m not familiar with.
I consider asking about it, but he jerks his chin toward my bag. “Got anything interesting to show me today?”
His voice is still cold, but I latch onto the change in conversation like it’s a streak of sun breaking through the clouds on a gloomy day.
“Actually, yes ...” I reach behind, peel back the lip of my bag, and reveal Te Bruk o’ Avalanste— the pressed pages bookmarked in places by leaves, feathers, and various other bits now poking out the top. “I found a book.”
Sort of.
Kai spears forward into my personal space, planting strong arms either side of me as he lifts enough to inspect the book still nesting in my knapsack.
My breath catches.
He’s so close I can feel his beat thrashing against me, wild and unleashed. Like the air around him has its own violent pulse.
“A pristine, intact, original copy of the Book of Making!” he blurts. “ Is it? Is it intact? ”
“Ahh ... I think so. I didn’t find any damaged pages while I was flicking through.”
He makes a trilling sound that pebbles my skin, and I clear my throat, setting the book on my lap as Kai lowers into the water.
“The Book of Making ...” I trace the engraved text with the tip of my finger. “So that’s what this means?”
“Yes!” He grabs my hand and plants a kiss on my knuckles. “It’s a very rare find, Orlaith. Quite remarkable. The last time I saw an original was years ago, and it was half eaten by moth larvae. I never expected to see another so well-preserved.”
In Kai language, that’s: you pissed me off, I’m disappointed in you, but I’m impressed by your treasure hunting skills.
“It’s written in ancient Valish, unlike the recent translated versions.”
Huh .
“Well ... I found it in a barricaded storage room. I’ve never seen anything like it before.”
His brow puckers. “Not even one of the modern editions?”
“Not that I can remember, no.” I split the book at a spot I’d earmarked with a dried mulberry leaf. “But this is beautifully illustrated, so I was able to make out bits and pieces. Sort of. Where’s this?” I ask, pointing to the pristine sketch I just revealed.
I wish I could draw like that. My own freehand, emotion-driven style has nothing on the finer details that make this illustration so incredibly lifelike.
I feel like I could step right onto that volcano and touch the stone spires reaching from its crown. Clouds flirt with the tapered tips of the sharp, toothy fence that guards over the crater lake nesting in the center of it all.
“Mount Ether. Home of the prophet Maars. Frightful creature, but he transcribes the future through riddles he carves into stone,” Kai says, pointing to the twelve surrounding spires.
Something climbs up the length of my spine and leaves me battling a shiver.
“There’s a band of hardcore worshipers called the Shulák . They hang off his every chiseled word like a suckling babe.”
I frown, peering up, but his eyes are still cast on the text he can apparently decipher. “Like a ... a faith? ”
“Yes. Many believe he speaks for the Gods.”
Canting my head to the side, I tuck a lock of hair behind my ear. “Gods?”
His eyes narrow, a line forming between the white strokes of his shapely brows. “Yes. Surely your tutor taught you religious studies?”
“Ahh, no. I wasn’t aware that was a thing. I figured Gods only exist in the fantasy worlds I read about ...”
Kai looks toward the castle, expression grim. “You’re far too sheltered up there,” he growls, and there’s an unbridled storm in his frosty words. One I try to temper by placing my hand on his cheek to divert his attention back to me.
He lifts a brow.
“I’m not that sheltered, Kai.”
A lie. Of course I’m sheltered, but I built the walls of my own prison.
I flip the page, seeking distraction, and my mouth twists in a cloying smile.
“So, wait ...” I tap the illustration of a tall, slender female with hair that sways to her knees. She’s tossing a piece of kelp into the volcano’s basin of water that appears to be spitting out a version of ... well ... Kai . “Does that mean Ocean Drakes were made from—”
“Seaweed,” he interrupts, voice monotone. “Yes.”
I peek at him, catching his lackluster stare, chewing my bottom lip to stop myself from spitting laughter ... though a little manages to bubble out.
“You’re terrible,” he flips to another leaf in the book. “And you were made from stones, so you’re not much better off.”
“I think that’s perfectly appropriate, actually.”
He tips his head and laughs, the sound a splash of joy I wish I could swim in. His beat has calmed to that of a lapping wave by the time his chest stops shaking. “You’re right.”
Smiling shyly, I divert my attention to the book, running my fingers over the drawing of an Ocean Drake rising from the water—the frills that adorn the length of his long, powerful tail slicked flat against his scales. Beside it is another image of the same drake walking on two muscular legs.
The smile slips off my face as I lick my lips and peer up through my lashes. “Is this true? Can your kind walk on land?”
There’s a bubble of hope in my heart that pops the moment Kai shakes his head, eases my hand away, and flicks to a different part of the book. “Not all. The originals could. And some of their direct descendants.”
My shoulders droop. “Oh ...”
“What do you garner from this page?”
I look to the woman plucking a fallen leaf from the ground, her hair seeming to blend with the clouds. In the adjacent picture, she’s blowing it into the volcanic basin. From there, a swarm of sprites are emerging.
“Um, that sprites were made from falling leaves by the Goddess of”—hell, I don’t know—” air? ”