Page 47 of The Longing

ALICE

“Iwant to see the book Meg gave you,” I say as Fenrother polishes off the last of the breakfast bacon.

He’s covered in flakes and has the half-lidded look of someone who has ingested more butter and sugar than he’s used to.

“The text?”

If he’s playing dumb, he’s not doing a good job.

“Yes, the text. The one giving you all the great ideas.”

Fenrother looks cagey.

“Look, I already know most of what’s in it. It’s not like I’m going to be surprised by the contents,” I point out. “But maybe there’s something in it for me.” I fix him with a stare I hope is authoritative. “Something about how to mate a Wyrm. It might make things easier for both of us.”

“I liked what we did,” Fenrother says, taking a swig of his coffee.

“Yes, you made that clear. It wasbetter than you expected.”

I admit, I’m being salty. I know what Fenrother is, how he was raised, but I still can’t quite get past his description.

Fenrother drains his tankard and gets to his feet, walking through to his library and returning with the book, which he plonks on the table. I pull it toward me and open it up.

The pages are blank.

“What the hell is this?” I flick through, but there’s nothing there at all. Each page is empty.

“It is the text.”

“There’s nothing there.” I tap the page.

Fenrother’s brow furrows, and then his face brightens.

“Looks like the text is for me alone,” he says.

“What do you mean?” I continue flipping through the pages. Fenrother has explicitly referenced this book in his recent dealings with me. It’s not stuff he’s made up.

“It is an enchanted text. Bewitched for a single reader. Me,” he says, filled with smugness.

“You can read it?”

Fenrother places his finger on a page and slowly, spreading across the parchment like a stain, words appear. He grins at me with quite a lot of teeth. “I can.”

He removes his finger and the words fade away.

“What is the point of that?” I grumble.

“You’ll have to ask Meg.” Fenrother shrugs. “If I could make this book so you could read it too, I would.”

If I thought this was a victory for him, I was wrong. Every time I think I know Fenrother, I find out I am wrong.

I think of the beast on the battlements, the way he covered me with his wing. The way he stared out into the driving rain.

The sadness in his eyes.

Maybebetter than expectedis all he knows.

Maybe better than expected is how I should view my situation, here, with him. It’s not like there’s any going back, and despite Fenrother’s otherworldliness, he’s, well, growing on me.

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