Total pages in book: 153
Estimated words: 140462 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 702(@200wpm)___ 562(@250wpm)___ 468(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 140462 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 702(@200wpm)___ 562(@250wpm)___ 468(@300wpm)
It’s all falling into place as I stroke him with trembling fingers. He was in the River of Souls. And he has been pulled out of it when he should have died.
“A-and… when was that, remind me?”
“About two months ago,” Hawk informs me before resting on top of me with a yawn.
“Did you see her eyes?”
“Sapphires like yours. Destiny, as you said.”
My heart sinks because I cannot fight the realization any longer.
My sister.
He drowned my sister.
Chapter 19
Hawk
Something’s wrong, and no amount of sweet and salty pretzels or juice can change that. I stuff more in my mouth and rub the smith’s towel over my still-damp neck as I watch Sylvan carry a wooden crate out of a little room containing all kinds of strange and fantastical things, but also perfectly normal items, like the vacuum cleaner tucked into the corner. He places it on the massive wooden bed and pops open the lid, revealing several old-timey vials of pale blue glass.
I want to say something, tell him how cute he is with damp bangs falling into his eyes, but to say that the atmosphere changed since he left me to take a shower is to say nothing.
Is he rethinking his choice to sleep with me? He sang my praises right after, so I don’t think it can be that.
His excuse for not wanting to cuddle more or eat together is that he’s busy attempting to find a way to dispose of the blacksmith’s body. While I’m impressed by the hands-on attitude, I do wish he could at least delegate some work to me, because I’m starting to feel useless. I don’t like to be idle when my boyfriend, or should I say, fiancé, is dragging around heavy crates.
He’s also distracting me by not wearing a shirt, but that’s another story.
At least I have some time to look around this in-between place that is supposed to lead us to the Nightmare Realm.
“So, what are we looking for?” I ask as he grunts, shakes the crate, and then returns to the storage room. Just like the other interiors in this strange home, the bedroom is like something I’d expect to see in a fairy-tale illustration. The headboard is a lattice of iron, and the floor—stone slabs covered with a faded rug featuring knights fighting a massive black reptile with sharp teeth and two heads. It too doesn’t have a window, but at least there’s a somewhat normal bathroom attached to it. After seeing the rest of the apartment, I was afraid we’d need to heat water by the fire and wash ourselves in a bucket, so seeing a tub with a faucet similar to what I’m used to was a relief.
“As a grimsmith, he not only operated in metals, but used alchemy to enhance them, or infuse them with charms. That’s how the smith at the Nocturne Court made the collar that bound me. The various potions, powders, sands and oils can be combined to create the concoction that will dispose of his body. Technically, there is no particular law against killing him, but we don’t want to be caught in the crosshairs of whatever business he was involved in, or attached to this if someone comes looking for him.”
Looks like Sylvan is much more talkative when it comes to practical matters. I already helped him move the body into a metal tub, but when I glance at it again, I do notice something odd.
“Oh. That brand he had, you know, with the pony, it’s faded.” It was black like a fresh tattoo, but now only a faded scar is left, as if the ink has evaporated from the corpse.
“A kelpie.”
“What?”
Sylvan pushes some hair off his forehead and looks up at me. He’s so serious I can hardly believe he’s the same guy who moaned and cried out under me just an hour ago, drooling all over the rug.
“A kelpie. It’s a monstrous steed which tempts unfortunates to pet it. Once your skin sticks to their coat, they force you back into the ocean where they drown and eat you. In the sea, its hind legs transform into a fish tail.”
“So like a merhorse?” I ask, grinning at him, and approach to offer my assistance when he climbs onto a stool to grab a large crate from the top of the pile in the back of the storage space. He still can’t reach it.
He frowns at me, and I worry we’ll be having the ‘ask-for-help’ conversation again, but he huffs, rubs his face, and gestures at the crate.
“Yes, I suppose like a ‘merhorse’. The point is that the brand would have alerted the Lord of the Nocturne Court if he crossed into the Nightmare Realm, but since he’s dead, the magic has faded as well. Fortunately, the brand I had was on my collar, so we should have time to get to the palace on our terms. I know of several secret entryways.”