Page 13 of Deadly Maiden

I nod and let the horse drift backward. Some clever geographer or mathematician is the reason for this mission. As well as whoever observed the rising of the raven. Diamond is the wrong last name, for both of them, but I don’t bother to correct him.

If the raven flies to her, it must have some message to convey. How it will do so is beyond my understanding, but likely we are too late to prevent that message from being delivered.

However, that she has done nothing save be the end destination of the raven, that does worry me more than any fanciful message.

Twenty years ago, I could have told them she was the child of Aislinn and Sabre Gothschild.

Chapter 3

Wyntre

Dusk is almost here.

From the roof on top of a minor tower, we’ve come to this dark place beneath the lip of the town where the golems live.Livebeing an exaggeration. No one really thinks they are alive, even if they move. Only sparse light reaches here, reflected in from the side and off the ground.

The thirty-foot-long golem before us crawls evermore, front and rear paws padding onto earth, over and over, with a grind then a gigantic if soft thud. Its grizzled head is a lump of crackled, raw-born clay and rock. Its neck stunted. Its body colossal. Once, the first time I came down here, I mused about the what-ifs. What if they can think? What if they broke loose? Would we be friend or foe? If it were me, I’d crush us all for being so dismissive of its rights.

Golem rights. It seemed plausible back then.

Above, this cacophony is barely audible. The thickness of the rock overhead, that forms the foundations of the town, muffles the sounds. The cracks where this golem section adjoins thefrontward one are perfectly glued. Same as the one behind and to its side. It’s been over a decade since the town had to break up to steer around an avalanche that blocked the route.

I wish I could see that. We are a seventy-three strong golem-town. To witness all the pieces with their houses and shops moving independently of each other… It would be magnificent.

“Noisy!” I yell at Tiera, where she sits beside me on the bumpy, curled ledge, swinging her legs. The brownness of ground rolls by below, far enough away that a fall might be disastrous. The thrill of it, though.

“Whooooo!” As I scream, I raise my hands. My whoop is joined by hers then by Rhuy’s and Tomas’s, as they swing in then clamber up from the outside, using the iron handholds beneath the ledge. Tomas to Tiera’s left and Rhuy to my right; his thigh bumps against mine as he settles himself.

Those handholds are for the stoneborn to come down here, and for workmen when they need to check the structure or the golems. Although they use safety gear, tying ropes to the holds, using cradles, gloves, and harnesses.

We’ll be chastised if anyone catches us.

“Wyntre!” Rhuy’s bellow makes me clap a hand to my ear. “Your da says he has something important for you!”

“Oh.” Strange, how I’ve been trying not to think about that. The history he wants to divulge.

The birthday songs my friends sang helped to blot it out for a while. The cake was a magnificent three-tiered chocolate mess meant to copy the master’s tower, and the five of us ate more than half of it.

The rest is in in Sophie’s room. She’s leaving tomorrow, is up there packing for Albeny to work as a seamstress, so we gifted her the remains of the cake.

Seamstress, apprentice baker for Tomas, Tiera is still looking for work, and so is Rhuy, though he’s keen on police work as a gweller.

Me, am I to be a blacksmith? My dislike of the forge fire must be vanquished. I can do this. I know I can.

My fingers smell of chocolate. Some may have ended up wedged under my nails.

I’m twenty, and I always wanted to know aboutthem, except now I don’t. If what swirled about my fingers at the graveyard, that dark mist, is what compelled Father to reveal his secrets then my parents were, of all things, necromancers.

Conclusion: It’s why he has always warned me away from such magik. It is why I should not have dabbled in what I did. Anathema is a byproduct of necromancy, though I’m still not sure how I did it.

I smile and nod to Rhuy. “Thanks.”

“It’s getting too dark to be here anyway. Before you go,” he says, softer now and directly to my ear. His deeper tone pairs with the brush of his lips on my ear, my hair. He cups my jaw with his hand. “Happy Birthday again, Wyntre.”

I shake him off, lean away from his hand though he holds on, squashing skin painfully against my jaw.

“Not now. Let go. I have to do this.”

“It can wait a moment.” There’s determination in his voice and eyes. “One kiss.”

---