Page 46 of Death Will Follow

“We came urgently after meeting the Noble Lord in Pyralis roughly one week past. We did not have time to send word. The journey has been long. Please let us pass so we might find lodging within the Estate for the night.” Bryn lowered her hood and tipped her head, displaying the delicate vines inked on her neck and the sides of her face, the rain falling softly upon her upturned cheeks.

The guard scrutinized the three of them from her perch for longer than was comfortable, and Nova feared they might be turned away.

“I’ve heard whispers of you: the female with the strange markings,” the guard finally replied. “You may enter to find lodging, but I doubt the Noble Lord will grant you an audience.”

A great wooden drawbridge lowered slowly, heavy chains clinking rhythmically as the entrance to the Estate yawned open before them. Their party crossed over the moat, Nova casting wary glances to either side, but none of the sentries paid them any mind. She loosed a breath once they passed through the gate and it was clear no one intended to stop them.

The city surrounding the Estate sat upon meandering streets that looped and crisscrossed one another, the dirt roads transforming into mudflats with the rain. Unlike the quaint settlements they’d passed on their journey, the Estate was alive with activity. Folk walked with purpose along the main thoroughfare, boots caked with muck, hunting prizes hanging from their belts or woven baskets full of foraged plants strapped to their backs. Lamplighters wandered the streets, setting flame to the lamps mounted on posts at every corner as the sky darkened. Few folk took note of them as they rode through the puddled streets in search of an inn. After so many nights sleeping on the ground, the thought of a proper bed filled Nova with eager anticipation.

In the distance, the Maedwen Estate speared the sky. Situated upon an incline, it was a marvel of stone and metal with an imposing outer wall protecting a central tower structure Nova estimated stood ten stories tall. On clear days, she imagined the guards posted at the top of the tower would have a view spanning a great distance in every direction. Were it not for the forest that surrounded the Estate, it would be nearly impossible to make an approach without someone sounding the alarm.

As night fell, the bustling city cloaked itself in a cozy atmosphere, the orange glow of firelight spilling from the windows of homes and establishments alike. Nova wished nothing more than to be sat before a roaring fire with her chilled feet propped up close to the flames.

Finally, they arrived at The Wilted Bloom, an inn situated on the town square. Callan slid down from Frost’s back, clicking his tongue at the muck marring the animal’s normally pristine white coat. He looped Frost’s lead around the hitching post, apparently unwilling to let his horse wander, then turned to do the same with Shade. Nova dropped down from the saddle, boots squelching as they sank into the mud.

Bryn remained seated atop her borrowed horse, which she’d taken to calling Strawberry, and tipped her head in the direction of the tower.

“I’ll make some inquiries at the Noble residence. See if I can arrange an audience with the sister.”

Callan nodded once. “I’ll see about securing lodging. Meet us back here when your task is complete.”

Bryn nudged her heels against Strawberry’s ribs and disappeared into the bustling crowd.

Folk flooded the street despite the light rain, passing in and out of shops and lining up to order food from the carts posted on every corner of the square. Nova lost herself in the scent of freshly baked bread and hearty stew wafting on the air and setting her mouth watering.

Callan laid one hand on her shoulder, the other patting the side of Frost’s neck.

“Would you wait here? The sign says no vacancy, but perhaps they can find room for us for just one night.” Callan cast a wary glance in either direction. “Stay close. And keep your hood up. It’s not only sprites you need fear in Maedwen. Plenty of regular folk make a living preying on strangers in this city.”

“I’ll be careful,” Nova said, planting a quick kiss on the corner of his mouth.

Callan smiled faintly, seemingly warmed a degree by the gesture. He lingered for a moment longer, trailing his hand down her arm and clasping her fingers for a beat before letting go and heading into The Wilted Bloom.

Nova had every intention of keeping close to the horses, but the city had come alive around her. Laughter mixed with the tinny refrain of a lively fiddle, spilling out into the night at the next cross street. A cart parked outside the trading post offered a savory dish that, after so long on the road, smelled more delicious than any meal she’d ever eaten. Without realizing it, Nova had wandered halfway to the corner. Remembering Callan’s warning, she slipped into a narrow alleyway between buildings, listening to the music and observing the revelers from the shadows.

When the tune died down moments later, the sound of weeping drifted down the alleyway behind her. Nova turned, squinting into the darkness and straining to hear the cries, soft, like those of a woman or, perhaps, a child.

“Is someone there?” she called out, taking a cautious step further into the dim alley. She received no reply, but the crying continued. Bracing her palms against the walls on either side of her, she steadied herself, blindly navigating the uneven ground.

The cries grew louder as she went, and a faint blue light appeared. A moment later, she came upon a young boy sat upon a low stoop, a lantern with a flickering blue flame resting on the step beside him. Were she in the Human Realm, she would have guessed he was about six years of age. Tilting his head back, he gazed up at her, tears shimmering like gemstones in the corners of his eyes before rolling down his round cheeks.

“What’s the matter, child? Are you lost?” Nova asked, pitching her voice in the soothing singsong she typically reserved for horses.

The boy wailed, squeezing his eyes shut and opening his mouth wide.

“There, there,” Nova murmured, crouching down in front of him. “Whatever it is, we can sort it out.”

“It’s—” The boy hiccupped, struggling to catch his breath. “M-my hands.” His gaze fell to his lap.

Assuming he must be injured, Nova reached out to inspect them. But where she expected to find the soft, chubby fingers of a young child, she found something cold and hard instead. Nova lifted the boy’s hands, squinting to see them in the low light of the blue flame.

His hands—they were wooden.

Nova gasped. Still, she couldn’t help but marvel at the fine artistry of the boy’s hands, carved from pale yew wood and remarkably detailed. The boy continued to weep, a bit quieter now that he had her attention, shed tears collecting in the intricate lines etched into his palms.

“How did this happen?” Nova met the boy’s gaze, his watery eyes red rimmed and impossibly green.

“The crone that runs the apothecary,” the boy explained, pausing to take a shuddering breath. “She h-hexed me.”