And a damn steady hand.
Whistling, I note the dozens of split, shattered, or charred stones scattered about—each appearing to have suffered a different, though equally shitty end—then look back over my shoulder at the slumbering stranger.
Wonder what she’s up to.
I shift my attention to a staircase pressed awkwardly into the wall, leading to another trapdoor I probably shouldn’t go through without permission. It’s one thing to be on Raeve’s hit list, something much worse to ruffle the feathers of an experimenting Runi. Might end up growing an extra bone somewhere.
Or losing one.
In the kitchen space, I lift one of the many loaves and draw a deepwhiff, picking up notes of buttermin, sorrin spice, gongnut, something creamy—
Wow.
Slotting a drab on the table, I use Grihm’s dagger to slice myself a chunk, then lift the lid on a brick of golden butter. The type only produced by the fatty milk of fluffy southern colk. And myfavoritething in the world. Last time I had it was … well …
Before everything turned to shit.
I slide another drab on the table, slather my loaf in a thick layer, then take a large bite of the soft dough. Something that feels a lot like being punched in the mouth with creamy, nutty deliciousness. The salty butter seems to caramelize with each chew, warming the hearty flavors into something unmatched. By anything. Ever.
I groan, eyes rolling into the back of my head …
Fuck.
Me.
I pile another three drabs on the table and take another bite, pausing to tally the loaves. Over thirty.
Hope she hasn’t spiked them with something to mass murder the hierarchy. Seems like something one of Raeve’s friends would do …
I shrug and pile my plate with three more buttered chunks in exchange for a small fortune, deciding it wouldn’t be such a shit way to die. We’re all doomed anyway.
Moving toward the big hole in the wall that looks south, I notice the aurora ribbons tickling the horizon, marking the coming dae. I pack my mouth full and set my plate on a stone table. Wobbly, like it was shaped by someone who spat a few hurried commands and hoped for the best.
Still chewing, I lean forward to put my head out the window—
“I wouldn’t do that.”
It takes all my willpower not to shed my skin, leap out the window, and plummet to my death.
I look back at the stranger now sitting on the seater, hugging her bent legs, gripping the dagger I left on the table beside her. Not because I wanna die, but because it seemed the right thing to do.
Meeting her unusual gaze feels a bit like staring at the sun. Hard to hold. Don’t know why.
Swallowing, I study the hole in the wall again. Notice the runes etched all around the jagged edge, some painted with blood.Most, actually.
Oh.
“More vomiting?”
“Death.”
All the warmth drains from my face, and I slide back a careful, very precise step.
“Not a nice one either, if my etchings are correct. Which they usually are.” Her gaze flicks to the shattered, burnt, and busted stones on the table, back to me. “Well, at least by the time I reach the final prototype.”
Right.
“You’d get on well with my brother.”
