“I need to go upstairs and check something.” I glance at Kaan, kneading the cramp from my thigh. Residue of Sereme’s last dose offuck you, Raeve. “Can you—”
“I’ve got him, Moonbeam.”
I set my satchel on the counter for Ahvi to fill and make for the ghastly purple door. I boot it open, charge up the stairs, then through the busted entrance of Sereme’s serpent den, looking around at all her purple shit strewn about.
Alsolooted.
No warm light spills within like the dae I was here last. Instead, a thin layer of mist slowly seeps through the smashed northern window, softening the floor in a gauzy veil.
At the sound of fluttering parchment wings, my gaze is drawn to Sereme’s purple desk. Atop of which, sitting perfectly square to the piece of furniture, is a small silver cage. Home to a single parchment lark trying to wiggle a path to freedom between the too-tight bars.
My instincts prickle like pins stabbing me all over.
I move forward, unsurprised to see the lark try to follow my location while I walk around to the back of the desk. With a sigh, I unclip the cage door and swing it open, catching the lark as it rushes toward me.
Upon unfolding it, I scan Sereme’s script:
R.
Plans have changed.
We’ll be in touch.
I laugh, drop the note, and swat the cage off the desk with the back of my hand. It clatters across the floor while Iroil.
Message received loud and clear:
The Elding’s miskunn had another vision. Me, stuffing a blade down both his and Sereme’s throats.
I slash a dagger through the bulging purple upholstery of Sereme’s beloved chair.
“Guess this place belonged to somebody you’re fond of?”
I look up to see Pyrok strolling through the room, scowling. He scans the space, blindly using two fingers to loosen the pin feathers at the crown of Gruffin’s head, releasing fluffy bursts of pretty blue plumage.
“Oh yeah,” I mutter, jolting the drawers—both locked. “Sereme’s a real treasure.”
I reach under her desk and flip it over. It crashes to the ground, dashing dust and obliterating the silence. Something I only ruin more when I bring my boot down upon the desk’s brittle underside and bust a hole in the wood.
Crouching, I rip away the splintered shards, revealing a cache of unfolded parchment larks I rifle through, hunting for one garnished with the jerkysignature of a certain male I’m determined to come face-to-face with. Right before I turn his intestines into a pretty garnish I’ll feed to Líri.
Still steaming.
“This place is creepy,” Pyrok says, scrunching his face at a frame showcasing what looks like a large purple-winged tick that’s pinned to the backboard. “Makes me wish I wasn’t sober.”
“I always walked out of here wanting to stab someone.” Spotting the signature I’m looking for, I snatch the square of pale-brown parchment and refold it down the pre-creased lines. It flutters to life, immediately trying to wriggle from my pinched grip as I turn it around and assess its tail … return foldunpinched.“This dae is going to be no different,” I say, lavishing in the thought of the Elding’s blood on my hands.
The fuck.
I unfold the lark and pocket it for later, pausing when I see another note at the bottom of the drawer, signed with the same signature—its scrawled guts bared.
I lift it out, reading:
SEREME.
SHOULD SHE WANT TO SAVE A CLUTCH OF WOUNDED NULLS, SO BE IT. IT IS OF LITTLE POLITICAL INFLUENCE AND DOES NOT AFFECT MY PLANS. THE REQUIRED RESOURCES ARE TO BE PUT TO HER DISPOSAL.
I’VE BECOME AWARE THAT YOU’RE USING—
