Page 101 of A Song of Air
Uric unsheathed the obsidian blade from his waist at those words, staring at his prince with an expression that urged caution. Though Arlo walked into the tent first, followed by Malika and the weeping, sniveling human, Julius and Iona followed soon after. Only then did Prince Valerio step inside, with Uric close at his back.
The tent smelt of smoke, though there was no fire burning inside, and what Uric had thought would be a tight fit in fact was not. The inside was far more spacious than the outside suggested, as if by a work of magic; magic that Uric could taste on his tongue.
Every crevice inside was filled with shelves of strange objects. Creatures in jars suspended in glittering liquid, weapons piled high atop one another, fabrics and ribbons and golden scissors that emitted a strange light...
There was a desk at the far end of the tent with a male slumped over it. His hand lifted, golden fingers flickering as he waved them all in.
“Come in, come in,” he said. “I’ve been expecting you all.”
Beside them, Iona scuffled her feet forward. “Wait...”
Then the hunched figure straightened and turned in his chair. As they were met with the face of the newcomer, Iona gasped beside them.
“Welcome,” Kerrigan said. “It has been a long time, has it not?”
Iona stepped forward, her jaw dropped open wide. “George?” she exclaimed.
Kerrigan—George—smiled a grin with sharp, black teeth. “Hello,” he said. “Iona Wylde.”
Lost Forever
Iona had to blink twice. Then several more times, if only to make sure she was not as crazy as she felt. For a moment she thought her mind was playing tricks on her. Because there was absolutely no way she was staring at someone from her not-so-distant past.
But after gaping at him for what felt like several moments, she had no choice but to accept thatGeorge was here.
The last time she had seen him had been in Porir when she’d snuck through the streets of the city as it was being invaded by the emperor’s soldiers. He’d given her fake documents for both her and her familiar so she could travel between kingdoms without being stopped by soldiers.
That had been so long ago now, but she hadn’t forgotten his face. Not that she ever could. George Apidae was eccentric, always had been, and even though he’d so obviously changed his appearance, she could still recognize him in all his flower-crown glory.
Where he’d once had bronze skin, it now shimmered blue with smatterings of gold here and there. His entire body emitted a light glow like an ancient will-o-the-wisp. His long, dark locs were the same, tapering down his shoulders and waist. Though now, they moved against his shoulders as if they were living beings. He was still as graceful as she remembered, those long and shapely legs crossed, one over another, golden eyes shining like they held all the world’s secrets.
He’d always been a mystery, and while Iona had trusted him to get her black-market deals back in Porir, she would never trust someone like him with her life.
“Iona Wylde.” George leaned back in his chair, ever the king on his throne, surrounded by mountains of clutter and rare objects. The inside of the tent mirrored what the inside of his factory back in Porir looked like. Fae bones strung up with rope, fluttering pixie wings in glass jars, glimmering liquids that looked as vile as poison, and floating animal heads above his table... “Come to grace me with your presence.” He smiled a feral gesture.
Those words and thick accent reminded her of the last time she’d seen him.
