Page 87 of Deadly Maiden

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, little Wyntre. I like cats too.”

Little? I eyeroll at that, and his silly, cat-liking comment, but say nothing. It’s comfy up against him.

Chapter 26

Wyntre

Day Four

We still have not bought extra warnite crystals, thanks to the enforcers posted near that shop. As an experiment, last night I managed to drain some gheist from the gun’s crystal, but I don’t know how to change it into etharum, and the etharum is getting really low in our pendants.

When we return to the library and wander out to the lake, as inconspicuously as possible, Kyvin is waiting for us, dripping wet and festooned with weeds. I want to do more reading and find myself explaining to this undead that we will be out again at midday but for now we are going back into the building.

Even that makes me feel bad, as if I’m abandoning a child.

He nods that minimal nod and watches us go, while pulling strands of water weeds from his shoulders.

The more I see of him, the more I notice. His hair still adheres to his scalp, apart from a few patches. It’s an inch long at most—short and a scummy white-gray with green hints. As if aman buried for twenty years would not look dirty-ish, even after soaking in a lake, twice. His clothes are barely holding together. There are tears, holes. They must be made of something unusually tough, or even magik reinforced? His eyes are white, but where the colored irises should be I can see an outline. His hands looked chewed-up. I guess he had to dig himself out from beneath the ground. His chest never moves, except when he speaks.

He is not alive, for sure. Was I really doubting this? Yes, yes, I was.

Why did my parents bother with all this? Just for the key? I doubt that. Besides, having compared it to the key from the box, the keys are a pair and identical, though made of different materials.

Were my parents unhappy over his plight, like I am? I’m guessing not. I’m a weirdly flawed necromancer, treating the undead as if they are alive and feeling emotions, and…whatever.

I convince Rorsyd to eat lunch in the same place, because we do need to check that killer drop under the goblin. As we near the spot, ducking beneath some low branches, I catch sight of something that chills me. Anathema is slinking about near Kyvin’s feet.

Thankfully, she vanishes before we reach the bench-seat. Though Rorsyd wears a frown and looks about, as if he saw something he cannot believe or didn’t quite understand.

To distract him, I pull an apple from the lunch we bought and coax my sexy fae shifter into playing catch next to the lake and out from under the trees. When one of us misses the catch, and each throw gets longer and wilder, we shriek and cackle and mock. I’ve never played a game with Rorsyd, nothing like this.

He runs in and tackles me to the ground, kisses me all over, then lets me up. I’m breathless, smeared with mud, but still giggling as he retreats.

“Throw again! Do it right, or else!” He’s grinning though.

The apple is almost shattered. “Wait!” I fetch another apple, and we begin again.

Our laughter is infectious, probably too loud, and few students studying for exams ask if we want to kick a ball around. They have a game they call zeetball.

The day turns out to be more fun than I could imagine, what with the zeetball game, and our undead guy lurking and clapping his hands silently. No one remarks on the creepy guy. I hope they missed seeing him.

Nothing is in the killer drop though.

The zeetball ends up plonking into the lake, and no one is willing to wade in. The students tell us the groundskeeper will retrieve it and leave it at the library’s lost and found.

Kyvin assures me he will stay out of sight overnight.

Day Five

Kyvin is still here. And there is something in the killer drop.

According to Andacc’s note, Rorsyd’s old rooms are clear. We plan to move there tonight after we pay the rent at the inn.

We go back inside to read. Here and there, I learn about things that happened in the past that I was not taught. I prop my elbow beside my current textbook,Volume 9 of the History of Artreos.

“Did you know that Jannik Stryke had a brother, Asher Stryke, who died earlier in the war?”

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