Page 119 of Deadly Maiden

A torrent of wind rushes in, making me squint, making my hair swirl.

“What the…” Rorsyd says, clearly stunned.

So am I.

Three stone steps lead downward to a large valley that spreads before us, a verdant space surrounded by the Scarrock Mountains. Their jagged peaks stab the sky, and the valley is green and lush, with patches of forest and a river running through it that disappears somewhere beneath the fortress to our right. A flock of sheep grazes in a field. The opposite mountain is fogged by distance and low-lying clouds or mist.

“Let’s eat out here.” My skin tightens at the cool air and with mild gusts fluttering at my ears, I step down onto springy grass. Rorsyd joins me.

Nothing growls or jumps at us. Somewhere, a bird calls and bugs make clicking noises—all the more noticeable after the silence of the inside of Slaedorth. I smell blossoms and crushed grass and freshness. If there are dangers, I cannot sense them.

“It’s safe here,” I add quietly, with the utmost certainty.

“This is real?” He sounds puzzled, amazed.

“Uh-huh. The other side of these mountains must be unclimbable.” I contemplate their wild beauty, the curl of clouds tickling their summits, the sheerness and majesty of their slopes.

Maybe necromancy rendered them too frightening? That would be more plausible.

I’m gaining the notion that Slaedorth has more history than even Rorsyd knew about. It seems too complex to be something constructed by two people. Especially when I turn to look upon the rear and see at least three stories of windows opening in the rear wall.

Kyvin catches up with us, drops the bags, then sits on the lawn that rolls downhill to the field. I’ve never seen the look that’s on his face before. I try to place it then realize he never has any definite expression. He is the epitome of unflappable.

Because he is an undead, of course.

Now though? He looks contemplative.

Has he been here before? We assumed so and now, I’d say it’s a definite yes. The raven and Kyvin came from here. The letter said there was a secret needed to open the Slaedorth gates, as well as the key, yet I have opened them. Perhaps my raising of the undead was the other ingredient.

Kyvin will find you. He holds the key to something secret of value that is only found at Slaedorth. If you use him, be careful. Read what you find.

And Kyvin’s key is a copy of the one in my parents’ box. So many keys. My parents were into backing up their plans.

The compass must be another key? But to what? I rub my temple. My head is aching. Today has been awful—too much for me. Maybe for anyone.

I need, desperately, to push away the deaths and the fighting, the violence, the burning. I can still smell smoke on my hair. I need to wind down before I fall over.

Carefully, I sit next to Kyvin and Rorsyd and stretch out my legs, lean back on my hands.

I inhale this unexpected serenity. Clouds drift by. Sheep bleat and tug at the grass, chewing happily. A dragonfly dips across some sprawled yellow daisies. This feels like the end of a very long journey.

Or the beginning of one.

Soon the sun is setting and casting long purple shadows.

“Before I forget, before I leave, my last worrying question, Wyntre.”

“Hmmm?”

“Will you be okay with him, by yourself?” He indicates Kyvin with a slight jerk of his head.

“Absolutely. If anything, I think he will somehow be the key I need to unlock something here at Slaedorth. And I don’t mean the spare key that was around his neck. Just an idea I have.”

“Okay. Good. Be very careful. Remember that. And if I’m not back quickly, as in I may have to walk if my shifting develops a flaw…are you going to be able to hunt a sheep for dinner? The food Andacc gave us will last a week at most.”

A what? I know we eat them but… “A sheep?” My voice squeaks.

“You’ve never hunted? Knew it.”

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