Page 90 of Curse of Thorns
Rev
Isit on a dusty bed, looking around at the strange cottage smack in the middle of the Schorchedlands.
“What is this place?” I ask. I followed the wraith who claims to be my long-dead brother for a few miles over the plains and into a mountain pass. He led me down a winding path between a set of smaller mountains and straight to a very normal-looking log cottage. He had me enter and then prompted me to invite him in.
The army of wraiths kept their focus on Caelynn, which made our way fairly uneventful. But that only makes me feel guiltier. Is she okay?
Of course, she is. She’s freaking Caelynn. She’s amazing. She’s undefeatable.
I blink as the image of her fallen body flashes before me, causing a wave of pain to rush through me.
I healed her, I tell myself. Not completely but enough. She’ll be okay.
I take in a long breath. “Where are we?”
There is only one small room with a fireplace, rusted pot hanging off kilter beside it. There’s a small table, one window, and a bed made of straw.
Grey smoke billows from the wraith, his face unreadable. Unrecognizable. I still can’t bring myself to call him by my brother’s name.
“Apparently some sorcerer lived here for a few years.”
I nod absently. Gavril, I remember from one of my books. “He was studying wraiths.”
“He was a fool. Though, I suppose it’s in your best interest. You are safe here, for now. Those wards stop spirits from entering without being invited. Making it a fairly safe abode.”
I examine the glowing symbols lining the door and window of the cottage.
“Even when invited, it’s rather—uncomfortable.” His smoke shudders, as if illustrating that he’s not feeling at his best inside these walls.
“Thanks,” I say, rubbing my hands together awkwardly.
I have so many questions. Too many. My mind won’t stop on just one, I’m overwhelmed.
“So...” I begin but trail off.
The wraith chuckles. “So, brother. You’ve taken up with my murderer, have you?”
