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“I speak to the Heart, Sindri Tarquin Sendrick Ilan Arash, of the line of the Aerei,” the desk creaks, and I jump again, because holy crap, this desk is talking. I’ve witnessed different kinds of magic, but this is the weirdest of them all. “Not to you.”
“To the heart?” he whispers. “What do you mean?”
“Listen, Heart. The boy should be wary and careful of those who claim to help him.”
“Is it talking… to me?” I glance around on the off and creepy chance that another person has been hiding about the room. “Why is it calling me a heart?”
“No fucking idea,” Sindri mutters, sounding kind of pissed off. “It’s the first time it speaks in my presence. I stole it, along with the closet and the mirror, from my aunt’s basement before coming to the Academy. I figured nobody had been there in ages so nobody would miss them.”
“Don’t let him borrow more,” the desk intones.
Sindri chokes on laughter. “More furniture?”
“More gold,” the desk clarifies.
“Gold?” I glance at Sindri again. “You borrowed gold?”
His face pales. “I…”
“Don’t let him ask for the favor he wants to ask the most, or mention what he has learned about Sylmae. Nothing good will come from that.”
“What is this all about?” I mutter.
“So many years silent and this is what you have to say?” Sindri snarls at the desk. “I thought you could prove helpful one day but you want to scare me? Why shouldn’t I tell them what happened to her? It was them who drove her away in the first place.Kraish. This is on them.”
“His anger blinds him,” the desk goes on, no change in intonation indicating that it heard a single word Sindri or I have said. “As does his sorrow. You and him, you are connected. Complete the circle. Fulfill your destiny. Don’t let others stop you. But you need the boy, so protect him.”
“So magnanimous of you. Well, I don’t need protection!” Sindri throws something at the desk—a pillow, I realize as it hits the wood with a dull thump—and the voice stops.
The room falls silent.
“Er.” I shift on the bed, swing my legs off and pad over to the desk. “Hello, Mr. Desk? Can you explain all this a little?”
“There’s nothing to explain,” Sindri says harshly. “It’s a load of bullshit.”
“A magical wood that spouts bullshit. How improbable is that?” I pat the desk gently.
“It’s not improbable. It’s a fae thing. We like pranks. Probably someone thought to make a desk out of a piece of stupid magical wood.” His jaw works. “Come to think of it, it’s probably why Aunt Arlenna had it locked in her basement, gathering dust. I should have known better.”
He’s angry and trying to hide it, but he’s also too unsettled and jittery for me to buy his explanations.
“The desk told you not to tell them what happened to her. Who isthem? And who isSylmae? Your mother?”
He flinches. “It’s none—”
“Sin.” I fold my arms under my breasts. “If you say it’s none of my business one more time, I’m going to punch you in the nose.”
That has the strange effect of making his mouth twitch and then curl up in a grin. “Mia…”
“You like me threatening you, is that it? Want me to kick you in the balls, too?”
He laughs. “Come here.”
“No.” I shake my head, lean against the talking desk. “You’re a psycho. You get off on my threats. It’s weird.”
“You can’t hurt me, Dark Eyes. You’re cute when you’re angry.”
“And you’re scary when you’re furious.”
