Chapter 6
‘Fuck.’ I rub my smarting hip and stumble bleary-eyed from the washroom into my bedroom.
The number of times I have been personally victimised by the counter must have reached double digits by now.
I swear the thing moves to a different corner every time I bathe, lying in wait with its sharp corners and cold sides, hunting for the boniest parts of my flesh to collide with.
Goosebumps prickle over my arms as I wrap a towel around myself and creep in to the near safety of my room (there are no counters to attack me in here, but my chest of drawers has made its presence known on more than one occasion).
I toss a pair of stockings and a pleated pink skirt on the bed before rummaging through my wardrobe for . . . What is the appropriate attire for a quest? I rifle through my collection of hexmark-hiding blouses, wishing one of them would come across as more daring than the others.
My door bursts open.
Turns out I’m not daring at all, because I immediately shriek, leaping backwards as the door slams against lilac-painted walls, rattling the painting of a basket filled with kittens hanging nearby.
Astin stands in the frame. He’s panting heavily, hair strangely out of place, like whatever’s unsettled him has also negated his unnatural ability to appear permanently tidy.
‘Astin,’ I say, checking my towel is secure. ‘What are you doing?’
He’s never ventured inside my room before, and his sturdy form looks out of place among all the soft furnishings and pastel colours, like he’s a blade poised to cut through an iced cake. His boots track mud on the carpet as he steps further inside, ignoring my squawks of protest.
‘You’re a terrible liar, you know that?’ he says.
‘I have no idea what you mean,’ I lie, in case this one sticks. There’s an alarmingly familiar scrap of paper in his hand. ‘Can this wait? I’m naked, in case you haven’t noticed.’
‘You’re –’ He blinks. His attention turns to my exposed chest, lingering on the moisture collected there, before flicking lower to where my legs stick out from beneath the towel. He scrunches the paper so hard I’m afraid it might rip. ‘Would you care to explain why you’re awake this early?’
‘I’m often awake at this time. You wouldn’t know because you’re busy murdering people.’
He doesn’t take the bait.
‘You’ve never woken this early as long as I’ve known you.’ He prowls closer. I step back. He really isn’t grasping the whole Daisy is in a towel situation. ‘What was this doing in your pocket?’
The advert is brandished as violently as he wielded that poker yesterday.
‘How am I supposed to know? Do you remember every piece of paper you put in your pocket?’
What am I saying? The man probably has an itemised list of his pocket contents.
‘Daisy.’
‘Astin.’ Hexes, must he be so difficult? Can’t a girl go on a dangerous adventure without being interrogated about the stupidity of the idea?
‘Why wouldn’t you tell me what your plan to save the inn is?’
‘Because it doesn’t concern you.’ I readjust my towel where it’s slipping. I would like to get dressed now, for several reasons, starting with I’m cold and ending with this towel is about to drop to the floor.
Maybe I should let it. The sight of me naked might startle him into leaving.
‘It concerns me if your plan is to put your faith in something that’s clearly a hoax.’ He shakes his head. ‘Easy solutions don’t fall into your lap, Dais. Life doesn’t work that way.’
‘Well, if it’s a hoax I’ll come straight home, and you can tell me, I told you so.’
‘If you come home at all. The Emerald King could be a Souleater, and this is a ploy to lure unsuspecting humans into his lair.’
I roll my eyes. Of course his first assumption is that a Souleater is involved. I won’t deny there’s a knot in my stomach at the possibility he’s right. Saying they’ve found the infamous cure would be an easy way to entice their enemies into a trap; rabbits hopping straight into a wolf’s den.
But I have to take the risk.
‘Well, unless you have twenty thousand gold coins hidden away, the reward on offer is our best chance at saving this place.’
He doesn’t respond straight away, clearly trying to conjure some other excuse to deter me. My hair drips water down my back like cold sweat.
Finally, he nods. ‘Then I’ll go instead.’
What? Panic flares in my veins as he marches for the door as though that’s the conversation closed, like he gets to decide to take my place, and I’ll happily agree.
If this was only about the inn, maybe I’d be cowardly enough to let him.
But it’s not. I need the cure. If he goes, if he wins, he’ll hand it to the Emerald King and, yes, the inn would be saved, but I wouldn’t be. I have to be the one to reach it first.
‘Wait!’ I dart in front of him and press my back to the door, clicking the lock for good measure. This does little to deter him. He looms closer and closer, like an ever-increasing shadow, invading my space until I’m bathed in the scent of earth and pine and whatever else he’s dug up recently.
Or buried, as the case may be.
‘This isn’t a discussion. You’re not going.’ He tries to grab hold of the lock, but I bump his hand away with my hip.
‘Yes, I am. This is my problem to solve, not yours.’
He looks me up and down. ‘I could move you out the way, you know.’
Months studying the precise size of his biceps tell me he absolutely could, but that doesn’t stop me standing on tiptoe and saying, ‘Try it.’
My nose is inches from his. My lips too.
If only he knew the real danger lay in the creature stood before him, not whatever is waiting in Rerta.
He inhales sharply, but doesn’t follow through on his threat to move me.
His arms hang by his sides as emotions swirl through him, waves crashing over one another, sweet to spice to sharp and back again, never clear enough for me to grasp one completely.
‘I mean it, Astin,’ I tell him. ‘I don’t want you involved.’
‘You don’t get it.’ His fists clench. Whatever it is I don’t get, he doesn’t seem inclined to elaborate. We stare at one another in silence, both our chests heaving, his blue eyes like dark pools I could swim in if only the water wouldn’t scald me. ‘Please, let me do this.’
‘Why? What don’t I get?’
He huffs, crossing the room to sink on to my bed, because apparently he hasn’t invaded enough of my personal space today.
If I thought he looked out of place in my room, it’s nothing compared to the sight of him sat on pink bedding embroidered with flowers. Between the pillows lies my childhood teddy, and next to that – shit – is my underwear.
I edge closer to the bed. Maybe I can move both before he notices.
‘It started with my mother,’ he says.
I halt. What about his mother? Did she also have a bear? Did she also wear black underthings? Why is he talking about his mother right now? I’m frozen, hovering between carrying on with my underwear-removal mission and wanting to understand him.
‘What about her?’ I settle for something in between the two, and plop myself on the bed; a human shield between him and all the items I’d prefer he didn’t see.
He’s so unsettled by my new-found proximity – scooting to the far end as though my skin contains an infectious disease – it gives me time to stuff the underwear beneath a pillow.
He studies my rug for a long while, as though he’ll find the answer among the threads of wool. I nudge the bear behind me while I wait.
‘She got sick when I was eighteen. My father wasn’t around, so I stayed home to take care of her and Olivia.
I watched her get sicker and sicker, turning into a ghost before my eyes, and there wasn’t a damn thing I could do to stop it.
Four years later, the same thing happened to Olivia.
I promised I’d keep her safe, and instead I held her in my arms as she withered into nothing.
I was powerless to save her, and I hated it.
I hate . . . not being in control.’ His eyes blaze as he finally meets my stare.
‘But saving you from yourself, that isn’t out of my control.
I won’t let you go to those ruins. Not when we don’t know what’s waiting there. ’
My hand hovers near his knee, but refuses to make contact. ‘I don’t need you to save me, Astin. I am not dying, and I am not your sister.’
His gaze flicks to the bottom of my towel. ‘I’m well aware.’
‘So you agree I’ll be perfectly safe.’
‘You – that’s not what I said.’
‘Besides, if you go, I’m going to follow,’ I say, realising what his retort will be the moment the words leave my mouth.
‘And if you go, I’m going to follow.’
Our eyes meet. Stalemate. There’s only one solution, and it cannot be a good idea.
Going on a trip with someone who actively hates my kind is unlikely to end well.
Then again, I’ve hidden what I am from Astin for the last two years; being in closer proximity for an extended period of time doesn’t mean I can’t continue to hide it.
And I can’t pretend I wouldn’t like the company. The idea of having him at my side makes the concept of leaving the inn marginally less terrifying.
We haven’t voiced our mutual agreement out loud, but he sounds resigned when he says, ‘Nobody travels once the festival starts; we can lock up for the next few days. At least it means we won’t be around if anyone else from the treasury arrives.
Would your parents feed the animals? I know they hate visiting. ’
This is not entirely true. They might dislike the howl of wolves at night, along with the history of how and why this building became a part of the family in the first place, but it’s me they’re really avoiding.
I nod. ‘I’ll write a letter, if you could keep an eye out for any passing travellers we can ask to deliver it.’
‘Fine,’ Astin says in a tone that suggests it’s anything but.
He’s wrong though. Hope rears its pesky head, because all I can think is that this might be good, even.
If the cure is hidden somewhere requiring brute strength to access it, I’ll need him.
A smile threatens to bloom. With him, I might have an actual chance.
I’ll find a way to take a swig of the cure before handing it over to this king, or whatever he claims to be, we’ll get the money to save the inn, and I’ll return happy and healed and normal, while Astin will have fulfilled his need to save me, or whatever.
He eyes my towel again. ‘Get dressed. I’ll meet you downstairs. Don’t think about climbing out of the window.’
I’m offended he thinks I would abandon him in such an undignified manner. I’m also, if I’m honest, a little bit flattered he cares enough to offer to do this, that my safety and survival has become important to him over the last two years.
And I wonder if whatever it is driving him to protect me would be enough to override his desire to kill me, if he works out what I am before I get my hands on the cure.