Page 95 of Mostly Shattered

I reach for my neck to feel the amulet. The setting around the stone feels different, reminding me of the troll. The lack of dead animals and rocks tells me this isn’t Morvok’s place—not that I thought for a second it would be.

A small fear threads through me. What if the amulet changed time again?

The air is still and cool. Light filters in from behind dark, heavy curtains, casting long shadows across the bedroom. The ceiling is high, and the walls are lined with dark wood, giving the room depth. It reminds me of an old European castle. Everything appears antiquated yet is flawlessly preserved.

I must be in Costin’s home. It feels like what I imagined his room would be in many ways. The weight of time is everywhere, reflected in the sculptures and objects around the room.

I brace my weight on my elbows to sit up, wincing as a dull pain shoots through my side. Theamulet keeps me from dying, but not from injury. I push the thick blanket off my body. My muscles protest, a reminder of everything I’ve been through, but the pain is manageable.

It all feels like a fever dream.

The bed is massive, and even then, it barely fills the large room. Intricately carved dark wood posts rise toward the ceiling. The sheets are a deep crimson, as pulled directly out of the vampire seduction kit. They blend with the medieval feel of the room.

Cool linen fabric tangles my legs and tickles my neck. The feminine nightgown is not mine. I would never buy something with such voluminous folds. Billowing sleeves cover my arms, only to cinch around my wrists. Lace and ribbon pull against my breasts before endless folds encase my waist and legs.

“Am I dead?” I frown, pushing up from the bed. I cross to an antique mirror. The image is a little distorted, but I can see myself staring back. This gown looks like something a Victorian ghost would wear to haunt an old mansion. The amulet hangs over the gown.

My curls are wild around my head. They air-dried while I slept. I’ve been bathed. I don’t remember doing that.

“Please let this be Costin’s home,” I whisper to my reflection.

I wander around. The floor creaks beneath my steps. It’s like stepping back in time into the life of a man who has lived far longer than I can even comprehend.

I touch the amulet. Part of me is having a difficult time believing it’s really there.

I feel safe in this room, tucked away from the world. If I don’t look out the windows, I can imagine I’m far away from life. Mortimer can’t find me to force me to sign the betrothal agreement. Chester’s reedy laugh can’t penetrate the silence. And Conrad can’t threaten to kill everyone I care about.

There’s a dormant fireplace across from the bed, its mantel cluttered with items collected over centuries. I let my fingers glide over them, dancing across the lip of a gold goblet encrusted with gems before lifting the lid to a jewelry box shaped like a tiny chest. Costin’s rings and broaches are neatly laid out inside, and I smile.

It is his home.

To the side, a long, low bookcase is filled with thick, leather-bound books. A narrow space along the edge, about the width of the prophecy book, is empty. I hesitate before pulling one of the volumes. The cracked spine gives weight to its age with spots rubbed smooth in the binding as if it’s been read many times. It’s written in a language I don’t recognize. I put it back, thinking it’s best not to wake upany other prophecies. I’ve had my fill of fate and destiny.

On top, scrolls are stacked into small pyramids, tied with faded ribbons. I wonder what stories are locked away on this shelf. How many pieces of history has Costin witnessed firsthand?

And then there are the weapons.

A sword hangs above the fireplace, mounted on the wall, the blade long and slightly curved. The hilt is encrusted with rubies that match the goblet. Like everything in the room, it looks old but well-kept. Next to it is a battle axe and a spiked ball hanging from a chain. Next to the fireplace is a set of medieval armor, the gleam of polish unable to hide the nicks and dents of time. I imagine Costin has seen countless battles in some long-forgotten war.

This room—this place—it’s a glimpse into Costin’s life. So many centuries. So many moments.

How can a mortal woman possibly compete with that?

I’m twenty-eight. He’s eternity.

The amulet will protect me from death, but I don’t know what that means in the long term. What happens as I age? Will I just get older, kept alive by Draakmar’s magic? Even now, I feel the dragon sleeping, its steady breath carrying it through dreams.

I did it. I controlled a dragon. I stood against a force of destruction and… turned it into a pet.

That will teach Astrid not to let me have a puppy.

I try to make myself feel better, but the fear lingers beneath the surface.

I might not know what this victory looks like in the long run, but its weight hangs heavy on my mind. I can’t keep running from who I am. I’m a mortal, protected by a dangerous amulet that borrows magic from a grumpy, ancient being. I’m tied to the supernatural world in ways I never wanted to be.

No longer merely mortal, but mortal still.

I close my eyes and take a deep breath, letting the frantic thoughts tumble through me. I mended the amulet, but in doing so, I ensured I’d never live a normal life. I saved the world. I did that. What else am I capable of? What does it mean for my future? I’m no longer just a bystander in the supernatural world—I’m part of it. And as much as I’ve fought it, as much as I’ve tried to hold on to the idea that I could have a normal life, I know now that’s not possible.

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