Something about the quality of her handwriting had changed.The letters were softer, wider, giving each the feel of an invitation.
He wanted to refuse her, but he could see the door open before him and the path that lay at his feet.The idea of divulging everything he knew and speculated about the anomaly of his Trial felt like reaching the peak of a mountain he’d been climbing for the last ten years.
Ulla waited, the picture of patience.
Shutting the door was safer, but that safety meant nothing if it never opened again.
So, he took a leap of faith.
“I should have met a god and left a knight,” he said, watching her eyes as they tracked his lips.“But I had only the imp for company.All he did was wreak havoc.I failed to capture him, so for all I know, he’s a hallucination.I don’t know what to do now.”
The admission lifted something old and heavy inside him that he hadn’t known he was carrying.He took what felt like the first truly free breath since leaving the island.
She handed him the book and charcoal with two words.
Show me.
That surprised him.He hesitated, only because drawing the imp felt like admitting he was wildly superstitious after just denouncing the existence of the divine.He turned to a new page and paused.Then, he turned to the front of the book, contemplating the words there.
The Account ofSirBastion.
He may not have found the words to explain his Trial, but he felt compelled to leave some grain of truth for those who would come after him.
He sat on the stool and flattened the book over his knee, sketching a crude figure.The irony of the decision wasn’t lost on him.All the other Accounts had a Godmark sketched in the back, but here he was, drawing the source of all his woe right under his name.
The imp had a head like a carved turnip with deep, eyeless sockets and a skeletal grin that nearly split his face in half.Overlong arms dragged on the ground, and his bare feet looked like bundles of sticks.A threadbare sack covered his torso, and vines sprang from his skull, tapering to a point like a long cap.
“He’s not tall,” Bastion said, passing the drawing to her.“He doesn’t even come up to my waist.But he’s sneaky.And he’sstrong.”
Ulla studied the figure.On the page, the imp appeared almost comical.After a moment, she turned to the back and wrote,How do you know he isn’t a god?
“If he were, I would have a Godsmark somewhere on my body.”
Ulla arched an eyebrow.The charcoal hovered over the page for a moment.Then, she scrawled something, and a mischievous glint flashed in her eyes.She showed him the page, and Bastion stared, not comprehending at first.
I haven’t fully examined you.
A rush of blood hit his face and his groin.He leaned forwards on his knees, eyes firmly fixed on the floor, and cleared his throat.Heat coursed over his exposed skin, like he’d stepped from shade into the blazing summer sun.
He was extremely grateful that some sort of physical contact was needed for an Yvri to read a human’s thoughts.If she knew what had just run through his mind, she might not think so highly of him.
She shoved the book back under his face, a new line beneath the last.
You cannot control your first thought–only the second and your actions.
Mortified that shehadpicked up some of those less chivalrous thoughts, he cleared his throat and cast around for a change of subject.
“How are you?You used a lot of energy yesterday.”
I’m fine.The words were sharp and short.
“Is that all?”
She considered him, the book pressed to her chest while her claws tapped a rhythm against the cover.Then she sighed and began to write, not bothering to hide her exasperation.
Bastion placed a hand over the pages.The tempo of his heart shifted to a nervous tremolo.
“If it’s easier, you can just…” He touched his temple.
