Page 61 of The Stolen Crown

I leaned nearer, our brows nearly touching. “You. Are not. Leaving me here.”

Tait eased out of my hold. “Don’t make a sound and stay close to me.”

“Why, Hearttalker, I thought you’d never ask.”

I caught the way he rolled his eyes. I hardly cared. Whether Tait Heartwalker wanted my nearness or not, he would get it. I kept half a pace behind, jumping at every rustle of leaves, every snap of twigs in the distant trees.

Tait nudged one of the crooked gate panels. Thick hinges wailed and swung the gate panel open, beckoning us into the ghostly village.

Mist tangled around my ankles, haunted fingers trying to hold me in place. Only the sound of our boots snapping twigs rattled the silence of the village.

Branches of roads sliced from the main walkway, curving between remains of stone cottages and wood and wattle homes. Turns of disuse left sod rooftops sprouting in the vibrant blooms of the isle, and great creeping tendrils of moss crawled up the outer walls.

I tucked myself nearer to Tait’s side. “It’s eerie, don’t you think? It’s empty, but feels—”

“Heavy.” Tait’s grip tightened around the handle of the knife.

True enough, the deeper we went into the village, the more the air thickened, like something inside wanted to drape over my limbs and swallow me whole.

We walked in silence. Tait studied one side of the road; I inspected the other. New moonlight cast cold splashes of light over dark stone and aged wood.

Another scream pierced the air. I stumbled over a raised root and caught myself on Tait’s elbow.

“Over there.” He used the tip of the blade to point at a narrow alcove.

I held my breath when, as one, we peered around the corner. Inky darkness cloaked the narrow space and choked off any attempt from the moon to reach the darkest corners. One step, another, and another. There was nothing in sight, and for a moment, I considered the wind might be playing tricks…

A whirlwind of screeching, wings, and sharp talons spiraled around my head.

My own scream tangled in the chaos. I buried my face against Tait’s chest, vaguely aware he’d pulled me into his side. My sore wrist throbbed with a new bite of pain when I jerked it too fiercely to cling to Tait’s waist. His body moved, and a few hisses slid through his teeth, until the frenzy faded in the heavy slap of wings against the night air.

For a long pause, I didn’t move, didn’t open my eyes, merely remained still, finding an anchor in the rush of Tait’s heartbeat against my brow.

He released a heavy breath, then tapped my shoulder. “It’s gone.”

I lifted my head. “What was that?”

“Two of those bleeding birds from the shore, only larger.”

“Three hells, they made that noise?”

“They were fighting over something.” Tait stepped deeper into the alcove bathed in shadows. From inside his pocket, he removed the tin of fire sticks and struck one tip.

A wash of faint golden light ignited the corners. I wished it had not.

Don’t scream again. Gods, don’t scream. I bit down on my bottom lip, a tremble skirting down my spine.

There, sitting upright against the back wall, was a corpse. Long dead based on sparse pieces of rotted flesh on the bones, but the birds feasted on what was left.

The flame died. Tait ignited another. He turned to the opposite side. I sucked in a quick breath. More bones. More tattered bits of flesh and clothes.

“We should go,” Tait said with a hard edge to his tone.

Something dreadful happened here. Pain radiated from the soil, soaking into our flesh and blood. As though the tortured souls of those left behind to rot still walked these empty roads.

I was frightened, desperate to get off this damn isle entirely, but a heady ache grew in my chest the longer I took in the dead. “Tait, we must send them to the gods. Properly, I mean.”

“Are you mad?”