My blood ices.
The handwritten recipe I discovered in the back of an old herbs and medicines book didn’t go into detail about the side effects. Simply said that exo was good for ‘boosting one’s morale postklashten’ ... whatever the hell that means. Everything after ‘boosting morale’ felt like unnecessary scripture.
There was certainly no fine print about hearts popping.
Now I regret taking three at once. No wonder I felt like I was about to sprout wings and flutter off like a sprite.
“Rhordyn found my stash and took it all,” I mutter, kicking at the water perhaps a little too ferociously. “So my heart’s safe.”
At least in a physical sense.
Kai drops low into the water, gaze seeming to assault the castle. “Well, that’ssomething,” he says, and there’s a bitter shadow to his tone I’m not familiar with.
I consider asking about it, but he jerks his chin toward my bag. “Got anything interesting to show me today?”
His voice is still cold, but I latch onto the change in conversation like it’s a streak of sun breaking through the clouds on a gloomy day.
“Actually, yes ...” I reach behind, peel back the lip of my bag, and revealTe Bruk o’ Avalanste—the pressed pages bookmarked in places by leaves, feathers, and various other bits now poking out the top. “I found a book.”
Sort of.
Kai spears forward into my personal space, planting strong arms either side of me as he lifts enough to inspect the book still nesting in my knapsack.
My breath catches.
He’s so close I can feel his beat thrashing against me, wild and unleashed. Like the air around him has its own violent pulse.
“A pristine, intact,originalcopy of the Book of Making!” he blurts. “Is it?Is it intact?”
“Ahh ... I think so. I didn’t find any damaged pages while I was flicking through.”
He makes a trilling sound that pebbles my skin, and I clear my throat, setting the book on my lap as Kai lowers into the water.
“The Book of Making ...” I trace the engraved text with the tip of my finger. “So that’s what this means?”
“Yes!” He grabs my hand and plants a kiss on my knuckles. “It’s averyrare find, Orlaith. Quite remarkable. The last time I saw an original wasyearsago, and it was half eaten by moth larvae. I never expected to see another so well-preserved.”
In Kai language, that’s:you pissed me off, I’m disappointed in you, but I’m impressed by your treasure hunting skills.
“It’s written in ancient Valish, unlike the recent translated versions.”
Huh.
“Well ... I found it in a barricaded storage room. I’ve never seen anything like it before.”
His brow puckers. “Not even one of the modern editions?”
“Not that I can remember, no.” I split the book at a spot I’d earmarked with a dried mulberry leaf. “But this is beautifully illustrated, so I was able to make out bits and pieces. Sort of. Where’s this?” I ask, pointing to the pristine sketch I just revealed.
I wish I could draw like that. My own freehand, emotion-driven style has nothing on the finer details that make this illustration so incredibly lifelike.
I feel like I could step right onto that volcano and touch the stone spires reaching from its crown. Clouds flirt with the tapered tips of the sharp, toothy fence that guards over the crater lake nesting in the center of it all.
“Mount Ether. Home of the prophet Maars. Frightful creature, but he transcribes the future through riddles he carves into stone,” Kai says, pointing to the twelve surrounding spires.
Something climbs up the length of my spine and leaves me battling a shiver.
“There’s a band of hardcore worshipers called theShulák. They hang off his every chiseled word like a suckling babe.”
