Chapter 7 #2
I wished I had more time to marvel, but time was the one thing I didn’t have.
We’d been here too long already. Graysen might end the visit at any moment, and I’d lose my chance to find the mites.
My entire body instantly tensed. I needed to search, but the Horned God could peer around Graysen at any second and spot me.
Graysen himself could glance over his shoulder and catch me out.
But then…
Graysen retreated a step at a time, his tall frame easing into the doorway. Widening his stance, he continued talking, unintentionally blocking the view into the shop. With him filling the threshold, I couldn’t see Florin, and I prayed Florin couldn’t see me either.
I darted past the metal rack of brutal morning stars, scanning the nearest cabinet. High up, I caught a tantalizing glimpse of an empty jar. A burst of delicate hope warmed my clammy skin, and I shot a quick glance over my shoulder. Graysen had left his position, moving deeper into the office.
Oh no, no, no…
I could be spotted any second.
But it was now or never.
I grasped the cabinet and climbed, bracing on a lower shelf before clambering up another. Wood creaked under my weight, and I rose onto my toes, stretching for the jar—
My foot slipped.
The world lurched backward.
A shriek of fright almost tore from my throat as my hands scrambled to grab hold of something, anything. A shelf. The outside framework.
My fingers snagged on a ledge.
Heart pounding, I hauled myself upright, my sweaty hands clamping tighter as I steadied my unbalanced weight. I blew out a pent-up breath and reached again, squinting as I eased the jar down carefully.
It wasn’t empty at all. A clear liquid lapped softly at the glass.
My stomach dropped with a sickening thud.
This was never going to work. I was never going to find the mites. This probably wasn’t even the place the author had visited to write about all those wonders detailed in the book Dustin had given me.
The price tag had flipped over, and my gaze flitted over the words inscribed within the elegant black border as I wallowed in self-defeat…then froze.
Tears of the Brokenhearted.
This was the place the author had written about. Which meant the mites had to be nearby, unless they’d been moved or sold.
Please, Skalki. Please.
And there, further along the same ledge, was another jar that looked distinctly empty.
Pinching the shelf’s edge, I shuffled sideways and stretched up. The moment my fingertips brushed the glass, a barbed sting of magic cracked down my hand, and my senses sang wrong, wrong, wrong.
Bringing it closer, I peered inside. Black mites crawled all over a scrap of gray material. Tiny, tiny little creatures. Dark power shimmered like light glancing off rainfall as Zrenyth’s magic was inhaled in delicate bites as the mites chewed through the leathery fabric.
Found them!
Up here, there was no easy way to transfer the mites to my collar, so I climbed down fast, cradling the jar to my chest. My bare feet hit soft wool as I dropped from the last shelf.
Huddling with my back turned toward the office, I worked quickly.
Freedom was within reach, but with the adrenaline cranking through my body, my fingers felt fat and clumsy.
Time raced ahead as I struggled to pull the stopper free and tip the tiny creatures gently into my cupped hand.
A ticklish sensation prickled my palm as they moved about.
How many did I need? I wasn’t sure, and I certainly wasn’t going to take any chances—I was going to steal them all.
I only hoped that when Florin checked on the mites, I’d have escaped the Crowthers and be long gone.
With my free hand, I swept my hair aside and tugged down the scarf hiding the collar.
Carefully, I pressed my curved palm on the knot, centered at the back of my neck.
Anxiety quickened my breath, wishing for the mites to move faster.
The voices in the office sharpened with urgency.
I risked a glance. Graysen’s back was still to me, and he gestured at his throat.
Please, hurry, hurry, I begged silently.
Slowly, Zrenyth’s magic drew the mites from my palm, and I felt them leave in a tickly path, gravitating to the knot. I rearranged the scarf, flicked my hair into place, and slid the stopper into the jar, turning to climb the cabinet and return it—
Too late.
I heard him before I saw him.
A bellow of outrage shattered through the lair.
I jolted in fright and almost dropped the jar.
There came another burst of anger.
A roar of “NOW!”
A crashing noise.
A storm of heavy footfalls and snarling breaths.
Holy shit!
A sharp clink of glass rang in my ears as I frantically shoved the jar onto the shelf, nudging it between the others. My skirt billowed like a bell as I whipped around, almost screaming in terror as Florin charged toward me.
I stumbled back. My spine slammed into a table’s pointy edge, and a bite of fiery pain sliced through flesh and bone. Behind me, stone and wooden bowls clattered from the forceful impact.
Florin’s wide nostrils flared as he tipped his head down, smoke rolling off him like wind surging through a campfire. Intense power stirred the Stormbird feather overhead. The silken vane wavered as if answering his fury, trembling with the dark energy rippling through the air.
I was short compared to Graysen, but next to the Horned God I was nothing. A giant running down a tiny mouse. His long shadow reached where I stood quaking, my knees threatening to buckle.
My father’s deep voice filled my mind.
Who are you, Nelle?
Strength and entitlement flowed through my veins like gold pouring into coffers. I came from a long line of imperious rulers, and I needed to remember that.
Squaring my shoulders and lifting my chin, I squeezed my fingers together as if gripping my adamere bracelet and stood firm against the Horned God’s terrifying wrath. I was a Wychthorn princess. If he was about to bite my head off, literally, then so be it. I refused to cower.
Suddenly, a broad back swathed in soft black swept in front of me. Graysen held up his hands in a pacifying gesture. “I’m sure it’s simply a misunderstanding,” he gritted out hastily, but Florin ignored him and stamped to a stop only to bend his massive frame downward to peer at me.
His breath washed across my temple, stirring my hair. “You dare to steal from me, Wychthorn Princess?”
Graysen twisted around to face me. My heart hammered in my chest as I tucked my hands behind my back.
His gaze brimmed with dread while I widened my eyes, blinking innocently.
His brows slashed downward, mouth flattening as whatever hope he’d clung to crumbled.
Tipping his head towards the ceiling, he pinched the bridge of his nose with a pained sigh. “Fuck. Please tell me you didn’t.”
I clicked my tongue and made a half-hearted humming sound, scrambling for a way out of this mess.
“What do you have in your hand?” Florin snarled.
Hellsgate!
I brought out my right hand, palm empty. Florin huffed, blood-red eyes narrowing. “And the other,” he ordered, quiet menace threading every word.
Graysen’s voice whispered through my mind—his warning from days ago, just before his brothers entered the Great Hall like wolves. Show them what they want to see.
I carefully slid my concealed hand along the stone table behind me, blindly searching. Bristly prickles stabbed my fingertips as I wrapped them around something small.
Bringing my hand forward, I slowly uncurled my fingers. A sea-urchin-like object rested on my palm, its glittering quills made of sapphires, rubies, and citrine. I had no idea what it was or what it did.
Graysen bowed his head and loosened a world-weary groan. “Did you have to go out of your way to get into trouble?”
I shrugged, scrunching my nose. “I didn’t say I wouldn’t, I said I’d try not to.”
A furious growl rumbled from Florin’s chest. Candlelight wavered, guttered, and flared. The ropes of intestines hanging from the ceiling swung as wild offshoots of magic blustered through the lair like bracing wind. Beneath my bare feet, the ground trembled.
The Horned God snatched the gemlike urchin from my palm. Pain slashed across my flesh from the rake of his talons. “Do you know what I do to thieves?” he hissed. Not waiting for an answer, he pointed straight up at the tapestry of lizard skin. “The last thief I caught, I flayed… alive.”
I gulped.
Graysen quickly interjected. “I’m sure Nelle was just—”
“Get the thief out of my home!” Florin roared, cutting him off.
Graysen spun us around swiftly, pushing me ahead of him, his touch urgent but gentle. “Time to leave, Wychthorn. We’ve outstayed our welcome.”
As we hurried toward the entrance, I scooped up my discarded shoes and shoved them on.
Florin stormed behind us, his hooves pounding a furious rhythm on the stone floor layered with rugs.
Graysen opened the door, and the silver bell rang—tink, tink, tink.
But before we slipped outside, Florin’s voice stopped us.
Though his tone remained sharp, it was calmer. “Who opened the doorway upstairs?”
Graysen and I turned, exchanging a bewildered look.
“I knocked…” I began, ready to explain that we’d both unlocked the magical door…
except that wasn’t true. Earlier, I’d sensed nothing but a faint echo of what had been obvious to Graysen.
And inside the utility closet, when I’d knocked…
nothing. I’d not felt a hum of dark energy awaiting a trigger.
“But it wasn’t me,” I said slowly. “It opened for him when he knocked.” I nodded toward Graysen.
The doorway had flared into being the moment his knuckles hit the brick wall.
Florin grunted. It seemed to me that the Horned God wasn’t at all surprised. He continued to stare at me, but it was Graysen he was speaking to when he murmured, “She’s not what she appears to be.”
“What’s that?” I asked, genuinely curious.
His voice was low and thoughtful. “A mere girl.”
His gaze dipped to the scarf tied around my throat, and my breath hitched.
Did he know what was hidden behind the silk fabric?
Did he sense the mites wiggling into the crevices of the knot, feasting on our god’s magic woven into the collar’s strands?
I swallowed, my tongue thick and heavy in a mouth suddenly barren of moisture.
The Horned God’s eyes slid from me to Graysen, lashes shadowing his blood-red irises. “What are you up to, Sticky Fingers?” His voice darkened into a snarl. “What are you doing in her company? A daughter from the Great House.”
Graysen didn’t answer. He clamped his hands around my arms and swiveled us toward the door, nudging me through ahead of him. One day, I hoped I might return and speak with the Horned God properly and spend a lazy afternoon rifling through his splendid lair and its wondrous, macabre rarities.
A sudden burst of warmth pressed against my side.
Graysen crowded close and slung an arm over my shoulders, as if he knew exactly what I needed in that moment.
Gratitude surged through me as he guided me into the darkness of the stairwell landing.
I glanced up at him, at the harsh lines carved into his tense features, exaggerated by the muted gloom and filmy lavender light.
Noticing my stare, his gaze flicked to mine, one corner of his mouth tipping up while the other pulled down.
A peculiar expression. Pretty much how I felt too. Off-kilter.
I stole a final, harried glimpse of the Purveyor of Rarities.
He towered above us, blocking out most of the light.
Florin stamped his cloven hooves apart, glaring at me with those strange horizontal pupils, anger and bewilderment twisting down the length of his wide nose.
Thick ghostly smoke roiled off his body, and his feathered tunic ruffled like wind-teased leaves, the deep colors shifting like oil on water in whorls of black emerald and sea-green.
And then he was gone. The door shut behind us with a foreboding thud.
I frowned as I curled closer beside Graysen, relishing his warmth and the safety he provided. How curious that his mother had once been friends with the Horned God. All this time, Tabitha Crowther had lived a secret life apart from her family. A life no one knew about, not even her husband.
What else had she been hiding?