9. Ilaris
Ilaris
The giant was gone.
Something had taken hold of him, his expression slid, eyes darkened, fingers trembled, and then he was running as though something terrible were chasing at his heels. I’d glanced behind, but there was nothing, just us and the quiet lapping of the waves against sand.
It was a relief to breathe in normalcy after that shadowed underground and that terrible door.
I still shuddered, and deliberately forced myself not to peek over my shoulder.
Instead, I walked to the hut, shut the door, and locked it.
I was half-tempted to cover the windows and push the table in front of the door.
But I was overreacting. The things in the ground weren’t going to escape. They hadn’t after all these years. Why would they now?
I took another deep breath and put down Jasper, who trotted around the hut, sniffing at corners. His presence was soothing, and for a moment it was as if the last few hours hadn’t happened at all. Slowly, I unpacked my bag, took off the armor and stoked the fire.
I’d make a cup of tea, a small meal, and then study the runes I’d sketched. I just had to make it through tonight. Tomorrow morning, Harlan would return to guide me to the ruins, but I’d convince him to take me back to the mainland. From there I’d have to figure out a solution.
I had enough information to make up a story about the giants, to come as close to the truth as I dared without encouraging curious explorers to find what lay underneath the earth.
For a moment my mind strayed to Scholar Benjamin.
Surely this was his cabin. Where had his notes gone?
I’d ask Harlan on my quest to investigate the truth.
I couldn’t imagine it would take me long to put together my story. What would I do for six months?
Darkness fell as I ate, spread out my notes, and started journaling, committing every memory to paper.
Jasper curled up by the fire while I lost myself in the familiar scratching of my pen against parchment and the quiet lick of the flame against wood.
The sound of the waves in the distance was soothing and, moment by moment, my discomfort dropped away.
This was what I loved: the sensation of discovery, writing out what I’d found, letting my mind wander through labyrinths of knowledge. Except, as I flipped a page, my mind meandered in a direction I did not expect. There, in front of me, lay my sketch of him.
Prince Killian. The last giant.
I ran my fingers over it, studying the curve of his back, his large hands and. . .it was only a sketch, but my breath still caught. That slow sensation dragged across my chest, and I rubbed my heart, recalling the blood oath.
Had he lied to me about it? I didn’t feel pain or need, but he was gone. What would hold me to it now, or had he released me?
Outside, the rhythm of the waves shifted. Something wove through the familiar crash and pull. A melody, faint and threaded with sorrow. I lifted my head, pen hovering above parchment like a conductor’s baton frozen mid-symphony.
Music. The same music I’d heard this morning, when, half-awake, I assumed it was Harlan’s flute.
The notes drifted on the night air, wordless and haunting, rising and falling with the tide, stirring something deep in my core.
It was beautiful, even though it spoke of heartache and ruin, yearning and loss.
My skin prickled, drawn toward the melody.
A large shadow moved past my window, caught in the flickering light from the fire. For a moment I imagined dripping fangs and claws. A reminder of all those inhuman eyes, watching behind the door. The Unmaking, patient in their prison.
I leaped to my feet, eyeing my armor as though it would keep me safe from things that had waited centuries for freedom.
The music swelled, closer now, no longer just from the waves but circling the hut like a predator testing for weakness.
A tap came at the door.
Not so much a tap as fingernails, claws, scratching against wood. Then came a thud that rattled the frame. I jumped, slamming my hands over my mouth to trap the scream building there. Jasper woke and calmly got to his feet. His ears went up as he noticed the door and trotted toward it.
“No, Jasper,” I whispered, not sure how frightened he was of the Unmaking. He was too young, too small to get into a fight. I needed him to stay away from whatever lurked outside, wearing the night like a cloak.
I waited, but there was only an uncomfortable silence.
Even the music stopped as though cut off mid-note.
Yet I stayed in the middle of the room, fists clenched, wondering what to do.
I hated this forsaken island. It was creepy, haunted, and I was alone without anyone to call for help, for comfort, for safety.
What kind of cruel joke was this? Did the House of Scholars know what they were doing to me?
Were they aware I’d be this isolated, this vulnerable?
Panic rose in waves, but Jasper sat down in front of the door and put a paw on it, guarding it. It was enough.
I just had to get through tonight, then I’d flee with Harlan, never to return.
Slowly my breath came back to my body, and my racing pulse died down.
I crept back to the table and sat down, rubbing a hand over my bruised ribs.
The uncomfortable soreness had lessened now that I was focused on my studies.
I flipped open a book by another scholar, one about the runes and what was left behind.
Giants. I took notes as I read, writing down all my questions.
I needed confirmation, truth. Was the tale of giants turned into a fable to keep humans from knowing what really happened?
Was the truth buried under rubble, waiting for someone greedy for knowledge to uncover it?
The music started again, barely audible. A whisper of sound that might have been the wind, if it could carry longing and ancient hunger.
The tightness came to my chest again.
A tap came at the door.
I screamed.
Jasper whined.
Then a deep voice rolled through, warm as the summer sun. “It’s me.”
Killian. As though he assumed he’d be the only one standing outside the door at this hour.
Still I paused, my hand lingering on the knob, thoughts galloping. It could be a trick. The music could be a lure, something wearing his voice like a mask, mimicking warmth. Wasn’t that how the tales of magic went? They were full of tricks and lies.
“Ilaris.”
His low voice echoed through every fiber of my being. He said my name like a secret, a promise. Goosebumps pebbled across my skin, and my body went rigid, as though he’d cast a spell upon me. My fingers fumbled with the lock before I flung the door open, nearly falling into him.
His arm rested on the door frame, his bulk taking up all the space as he leaned over me.
In the doorway of the tiny hut, I became acutely aware of his impressive height, how I had to tilt my head back to see him clearly.
He was still shirtless, skin gleaming like burnished bronze, but those molten gold eyes were softer, darker, and deeper as he peered down at me.
Lips slightly parted, wisps of hair falling across his shoulders like strands of night itself.
It was almost impossible to overcome the lure, the pull toward him. I tried to draw a shaky breath, but I couldn’t. I stayed frozen, aware that I’d moved just a little closer.
“I thought you were gone,” I whispered, grasping at anything to help break the spell.
His gaze searched mine, and I saw something there. Vulnerability? Fear?
“No. I needed to reorient myself.” Something unreadable flickered across his features. “Now, I am here.”
I stepped aside, letting him in, trying to ignore the way my hands trembled as I locked the door behind him. My tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth, refusing to release my question about the shadow, the music, the claws, the thud against the door. Had he run into the creature on his way here?
He moved to the fire, arms folded, pivoting slowly as he took in the room.
Jasper immediately abandoned his post by the door to curl up beside the fire again, as though his duty as protector had shifted once Killian arrived.
I hesitated, still standing, still shaken by whatever had been outside before he arrived.
But Killian was all action. He started opening cupboards, pulling out food. “Have you eaten?”
“Why?”
“It’s been a while since I’ve had a meal. I see you have enough provisions here for our journey. Good. You are prepared.”
My mouth went dry as he piled items on the table, pausing when he saw my notes. No, the sketch of him. A stillness came over him as his fingertips grazed it.
I hurried over, snatching up my books to pack them away. “The food isn’t for a journey—it’s for my time here, studying the ruins.”
“Do you still refuse to accept fate? We leave in the morning.”
Dreams of leaving him shattered, and of escaping back to normalcy. But that’s why I’d come, hadn’t I? I folded my papers back into my bag and settled on the bed, watching him work.
“There was something out there, before you came,” I ventured.
“I know,” he said, chopping vegetables and adding them to a pan.
I watched him. Did all giants know how to cook, how to feed themselves?
In the city the wealthy relied on servants, and the art of cooking, of preparing food was lost. It was the one thing people did daily, and the one thing they had forgotten.
If any of the affluent people from the city were out here, they’d probably starve to death before they could fend for themselves. But I hadn’t grown up that way.
“Talk,” Killian said, the soft thud of the knife against wood bringing me back.
He’d thrown a towel over one shoulder and moved with efficient speed and power. Was he good at everything? I reached for my journal again, fingers itching to draw. This new sketch of him was just for me.
“About what?” I asked.
“Anything. You. Where did you grow up? Where is your family? Why do you want to be a scholar?”