Page 59 of Kill the Beast
Love on its own wouldn’t unmake the Beast. She needed something tangible. Something she could burn or melt and incorporate into the forging of the sword.
But what could she use, when she had nothing left?
Nadia’s mocking voice came back to her.You could make each other bracelets out of your own hair. Would a token of undying friendship help unravel the glyph, Rags?
Lyssa sucked in a sharp breath, frustration burning away as an idea began to take shape in her mind. Nadia had been joking, just trying to get a rise out of Lyssa, but what if she was onto something?
What if a personal concern didn’t have to come from only the victims that werekilledby the Beast? Weren’t Lyssa and Alderic victims, in their own right? Their lives destroyed by the monster just as irrevocably? Lyssa had always felt like the old version ofher had died alongside Eddie that night. Would a symbolic death hold the same weight as a literal one, for their purposes?
Maybe she could use an item of her own, instead of something of her brother’s. A token of undying friendship, like Nadia had teased. A symbol of love, of happiness.
What was something she loved, other than Eddie?
Brandy. He was her only friend these days, and the last remaining link to her past, to both her mother and her brother. He had lost Eddie, too, same as she had, which made him yet another victim of the Beast.
She could use his collar, maybe—he wouldn’t need it anymore, anyway, after she fought the Beast. Whether she lived or died, Brandy would stay in the Witch’s Wood for the rest of his unnaturally long life, chewing on his beef bones and splashing in the stream without pain. The thought of it made her happy, and hadn’t Rags said that happiness was crucial to the unmaking of the glyph?
Maybe it wasn’t as good as something of Eddie’s would have been, but it was the only thing Lyssa had to work with, and it would have to do.
She got up, padded over to where her pack still sat on one of the armchairs, and fished out her list of items, her stub of a pencil. Besidepersonal concernsshe wroteLyssa: Brandy’s collar.
With that settled, the rushing torrent of her thoughts eased a little. Alderic still had to come up with a personal concern and collect it, but at least they were one step closer than they had been before.
Lyssa crawled back into bed, flipping over her pillow because the tearstains soaking the silk were already getting cold. Sleep was still elusive, though—the room was too big, too quiet, too empty, and it put her on edge. She missed her bedroll in Alderic’s ridiculous daisy-patterned tent, where she had at least been able to fall asleep to the crackling of the fire, the sound of Alderic murmuring to Brandy on the other side of the canvas wall. She hadn’t beenable to hear what he was saying, but it had lulled her into slumber all the same.
Lyssa woke far later than she had intended to, afternoon sunlight already slashing through the gap in the curtains. She still felt exhausted, her mind muzzy with half-remembered nightmares.
As she pulled on her clothes, she glanced at the connecting door separating her room from Alderic’s. Was he still asleep? Or awake and already drinking himself into oblivion? She hadn’t heard a peep from him since he had shut the door in her face the night before, and the realization sparked a coal of concern to light inside her that she couldn’t easily extinguish again.
She warred with herself for a moment, torn between her resolution to sever whatever bond had begun to form between them and a genuine concern for his well-being. But if he was the key to her success, as Ragnhild’s bones had suggested, it meant that she should probably check on him—for Beast-killing reasons.
She rapped her knuckles against the connecting door. “You awake, Al?”
There was no answer.
She pressed her ear to the door. No sounds inside, no hasty pulling on of pants, or shuffling out of bed, or hangover groan. She knocked again, sharper this time. “Alderic.”
Still no response.
That little coal of concern burned brighter. Lyssa undid the latch, turned the knob—he hadn’t bothered to lock it on his side—and flung the door open.
Alderic was draped across one of the room’s armchairs like a forgotten coat, his legs hooked over one plush arm and his neck braced against the other, his head leaned back and his long pale hair pooled on the rug like an iced-over waterfall. The white column of his throat was exposed, smooth as marble except for the jagged scar twisting around the middle like a pink pearl necklace. He was staring at the ceiling beam with a blank expression.
“Go away,” he said, without moving.
“What are you doing?” she asked, concern flaring into anger, because being angry meant not having to confront the fear that had gripped her a moment ago—fear that had absolutely nothing to do with the sword or the Beast. “Why didn’t you answer when I knocked?”
He lifted his head and glared at her. There were dark circles beneath his eyes, like he had been up all night. “What part of ‘go away’ did you not understand? I want to be left alone.”
“I was just—”
“I thought we agreed that we would not cross any more lines,” he snapped. “That door is a line and you have crossed it.”
“Fine. I’m sorry.” She backed out of his room and slammed the door. Braced her back against it and blew out a frustrated breath. “Asshole,” she said, hoping he heard her through the wood, but if he did there was no sign of it.
She grabbed the coin purse Alderic had given her and stalked out into the hotel hallway.
Warham was swarming with people, as it always was, the flow of foot traffic bracketed by fruit sellers and newspaper boys and wandering performers all vying for attention and coin. Usually, it brought Lyssa some measure of comfort—this was her home, after all, despite the bad memories rubbing elbows with the good—but today, prowling the streets by herself only darkened her mood. She would have given anything for Brandy to be by her side, or even—the Lady help her—a ruffle-shirted asshole with more money than sense, no matter how pissy he was today.
