Page 15 of A Kiss From a Revenant
“Go sit over there. Quietly,” she commands the older child, who dutifully does as she’s told.
I rise from my work table and nod at her. Kindell had been a playful girl when we were young. The two of us would frolic through the farmers’ land until sunset. Now, as I look into her tired eyes, she is little more than a wraith of the girl I once knew. Childrearing has taken a toll on her.
It’s not surprising. Her father had been a strict man. Once Kindell was deemed old enough, he married her off to a nobleman, twice as wealthy as her father and more than twice Kindell’s age.
“Hello, Nory.” Kindell smiles, but it’s tight, as if her muscles rarely perform the action. “It’s been a long time.”
“Indeed,” I agree. “How can I help you? Do you need something fixed?”
I stare pointedly at her empty hands. If she had clothes for me, she hadn’t seemed to bring them in. Kindell glances towards the door, as if to ensure it remains closed. With a loud swallow, Kindell steps closer, the edge of my table brushing the front of her gown.
“I—I’ve just come from Isabelle’s. To offer my condolences for her husband’s untimely passing.” My stomach begins to sink, but I say nothing as she presses on. “She and I had formed a sort of bond these past few years. Our husbands both shared the same title…and vices…”
Kindell trails off, but I know full well what she means. Her husband, Lord Peter, has a reputation that rivaled Isabelle’s for his debauched nature. Peter’s cruelty was well-known. At leastPeter was more covert than Butch had been. Still, the signs of Kindell’s misfortunes were apparent if you knew where to look.
“Please do not be angry with Isabelle,” Kindell says in a rush. “She only told me as a means to help. I—I’m desperate, you see. Peter was always an awful man—from the moment we wed on the day of my eighteenth birthday, I have suffered under his hand.”
Her palm lands atop the babe swaddled against her breast. Moisture collects in her eyes.
“After the birth of our second daughter, he became enraged.” Kindell swallows thickly. “If the babe in my stomach now is not a boy, I fear how he will punish me and the girls.”
I open my mouth but find no words to say. The tremble of her chin and the fear in her eyes makes my heart ache. I know before she even produces the sack of gold, I will help her. For who she was to me when we were girls, and because no one should have to suffer this way.
“He may be cruel, but a miser he is not,” Kindell says, sliding the heavy sack of coins towards me.
The impeccable gown she wears indicates that Peter at least maintains appearances with his family. I reach for the bag and open it. My mouth dries at the sight. Hundreds of gold coins—jewels too—more than I received from Isabelle. With this wealth, I can stop working. I can do the things I dreamed of as a child. I can leave the Snowlands.
I shake myself before I get too lost in my fantasies. If I take her money, that means I have to make good on my promise to help her. I clasp the sack in my hands and meet her gaze.
“I will do what I can.”
Kindell seems to sag with relief as she takes a few steps back from my table.
“Peter will be out this evening surveying some of the farmland he’s purchased that’s been attacked by that creature. He takes the backroads home on horseback and will be alone.”
I nod and watch as she quickly collects her other child and exits my home. Gazing out the front window, I watch her enter a fine carriage parked just outside my house before the driver signals the four proud horses into action.
With a groan, I collapse back into my chair. My back protests as I rub my sore eyes. Can I really do this again? Luring Butch from the tavern was one thing—this will require a bit more planning.
There is no time to waste. My red gown from the previous night will take some time to be washed and pressed for tonight. I have the means to help Kindell, and I will.
Right now, however, I have a demon to summon. One, I can only pray hasn’t forgotten about his side of our bargain.
7
ERYX
The gnarled branches of the forest curl together overhead like finger bones.
The magic ofThe Woodsdances on the mild wind, tugging at the ends of my frayed cloak. After wandering aimlessly, my destination finally appears in a small clearing. A decaying oak tree rests atop thick, bumpy roots and leaf litter. Its pale bark glows like the moon. Its leaves hang limply from twisting branches with dark sap bleeding from each frail stem.
The trunk is split in half, leaking more putrid sap down the front—magic pulses from the petrified tree. The metallic taste coats my tongue. It’s been an age since I last found myself here in front of this deity.
God or goddess, I do not know. My maker has never been a creature of many words. Our paths had only crossed once before on the day I felt the oily lick of their magic during my creation. Since then, I have made it my mission never to go looking for my maker, lest they undo me on the spot. All of my kind that have ever gone searching for this power have met that fate.
Yet, foolishly, here I am standing in theshadow of their great power for even the sliver of a chance to make things different. I’ll beg if I have to—I’ll do whatever I can for her.
Nory.
