Page 85 of Deadly Maiden

“Then say it. What is bothering you? Andacc seems to be settled.”

“He does seem so. It isthat.” This is when I point out the undead waiting for us, about twenty yards away. His head is weed-covered, his clothes dripping.

“Oh fuck. Is that what I think it is?” Rorsyd’s eyes may pop from their sockets.

“I think he’s come from the lake.”

“Of course he has. The undead don’t need to breathe.” Somehow, Rorsyd sounds both stunned and annoyed.

“Don’t react badly.” Then I add the obvious. “This must be Kyvin, which means my parents sent him.”

“Are you certain it’s him?”

“They said his name is tattooed on him. Shall I look?” I rise, and he snags my wrist.

“No!”

“He won’t hurt me. I am sure of this.” Despite never meeting anything like him before. If we exclude the raven. That turned out well? “He’s like the raven, meant for me.”

His hold on my wrist is hurting me but I wait.

“Okay. Okay. If you’re sure.” He lets go. “Be careful.”

I approach this undead quietly, as if I might spook him.

His white eyes swivel, tracking me. “He looks in supremely good condition,” I throw back to Rorsyd, who’s followed me until only a few yards back.

“Well then, we can sell him for a nice profit.” Irony drips from his words.

“Scoff-scoff.I am undone by your attempt at comedy.” But I have arrived before Kyvin. “Is…is it you?” I frown, wonder if I’m stupid to ask this. “Kyvin?”

His mouth works, and a moment later he offers a very rough and gurgling, “Yes.”

“Oh. Good. Nice to know you, Kyvin.” I smile, briefly. This undead can think and speak? Is that even fucking normal? I do not know. I have absolutely no one I can ask these questions.

Books? Maybe. I will try the library, another day.

I will look underU. I smirk at my own joke.

His shirt is askew and stuck to his pallid skin. I squint and lean in. He smells of water and crushed vegetation.

“Don’t,” Rorsyd squeaks from behind me, but I flutter my hand at him.

Peeking out at the edge of the wet shirt, written in black below his collar bone is indeed a name—Kyvin. Below that though is another word, scribed in a fancier font. I spell it out and realize that word isAshe. We have a surname.

“The hard part is… How do we get him home without someone screaming at him?”

“Home?” Rorsyd croaks. He’s beside me and looks stunned, as if he thinks I’ve gone mad. “Why would we? We only have the inn.”

“Oh, yes.” I’m chewing the inside of my cheek. “Dang.”

“He’s supposed to have a key for you. To Slaedorth.”

“There is a gold chain on his neck. May I?” I ask Kyvin as I inch forward my hand. He allows me to lift the chain outward, then pull on it so it slips about his neck until a clasp comes into view.

Dirt and corrosion will surely have destroyed the mechanism.

It works at first try, and I thank my parents for this since removing it by pulling it over his head would mean getting really close to his undead body.

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