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If I hadn’t grown accustomed to studying Kost—or at least, Iusedto take an interest in his expressions and physique—I wouldn’t have noticed the near-imperceptible flinch. “I was here when Noc died.”
I raised a careful brow, looking first at Ozias—who was of course unsurprised by this tidbit—before clearing my throat. “Noc died here?”
For the first time since myincidentwith Rook, Kost met my gaze. “Yes. Just beyond this town during a battle with Rhyne.”
“I wasn’t referring to that.” Calem dropped his hands on his thighs, the loud slap an exasperated, resounding thing.
This time, Kost’s flinch was entirely, perhaps intentionally, obvious. Snapping his attention to Calem, he leveled him with a cold look. “I know.” Then, without glancing in our direction, he said, “Follow this path. The first establishment you will encounter is the stable. House the Zeelahs, and I’ll meet you at the inn within the hour.” He dismounted swiftly, batting away the cattails that smacked against his legs.
“Where are you going?” The question was out before I realized, and I silently hated myself for my morbid curiosity. I wasdonewith Kost. He was the guild master of Cruor. For all I knew, he had business to attend to that was beyond my purview. Why did I care at all?
He didn’t look my way. “I’ll join you shortly.” Stepping into the shadows, he moved quickly down the path and into town,turning behind the first set of buildings and disappearing from our view. Beside me, Rook let out a questioning hoot. He nodded his head fervently in the direction of Kost before rubbing against my leg with the artistry of a cat.
“It’s all right. Felicks will be back.” I let out a tight sigh. “Though you should wait for us in the woods.”
“What? Why?” Ozias asked.
“I could stable him with the Zeelahs, but I doubt Rook would do well with that. If anything, it’d make him anxious, and the last thing we want is him prowling the town without us in light of recent events.” I looked down at my Kitska beast. A gentle whine sounded from the back of his throat. He shoved his snout against my trousers, and I gave him a reassuring pat. “You’re safer out here. We’ll come as soon as we can.”
Rook let out a resigned huff, but he turned and trotted toward the tree line, glancing back several times before finally slinking away.
Calem snorted. “That was a pout if I’ve ever seen one.”
“Most definitely.” A smile tugged at my lips, and I righted myself in my saddle. “We should go before he tries to tail us into town.”
“If you say so.” Ozias looked after Rook; a crease of worry etched into his forehead. After a beat, he pushed ahead of us and snagged Kost’s lingering mount. “C’mon, let’s get settled.”
We quickly deposited our Zeelahs at the stable and climbed a short flight of wooden stairs onto the raised stilts of Moeras. The vibrational hum of cicadas filled the air, drowning out all other sounds save the occasional greetings of inhabitants we passed on the creaking plank bridges. We strolled by house after house of riotous color. Teal with gold accents. Burnt sienna. Smoldering red. Emerald green. It was as if the residents knew their surroundings were bland, and they made up for it by decorating their homes in earnest. Therewas something pleasing about the inconsistent color schemes, the raucous clashing of a violet cottage next to a sunflower bungalow.
“It’s no wonder Kost is such a stickler for colors,” Calem muttered. He adjusted the packs dangling from his shoulders, hoisting them higher up.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“Never mind him,” Ozias said, offering a rare glare toward his brother. Calem shrugged, leaving Ozias to answer with an exaggerated eye roll. Their nonverbal language, perfected over the years, was bizarrely entertaining to watch—and not at all subtle.
“Wait, is this where Kost is from?” I asked, piecing together Calem’s comments like a puzzle.
“He rarely talks about it,” Calem said.
“Which means we shouldn’t be. C’mon, there’s the inn,” Ozias continued before I could interject, and he hooked a right toward a large, single-story building with three dominating gables. While the paint colors were understated, the wooden pillars holding up the building were something else entirely. Intricate, hand-carved patterns read like stories, depicting wars of old and even creatures I’d never glimpsed. I wanted to jump from the bridge and battle against the cattails just to run my hands over the wood, to feel the beasts’ forms, the breaths in their chests. But Calem nudged me forward, and I had to abandon the works of art for a simple door and a hanging, iron sign that readThe Wooden Flower.
Ozias pushed through first and approached a middle-aged man bent over a desk. He rolled a toothpick between his teeth as he scratched our names into his guest book, then fished a handful of rusted keys from a hidden drawer.
“This way,” he said with a wave, coming around the table to escort us down a nearby hallway. “The right wing is where you’ll be staying. Tavern is in the middle, behind where you checked in.Lucinda, she’s our cook, is known for her venison. You ought to try some if you’re hungry.” After passing several heavy wooden doors, he came to a stop before one labeledMarigold. “The next three are yours, too. Cornflower, Lavender, Rose.” He handed us our keys one by one, giving Kost’s extra key to Ozias. “And there’s a bard who plays in the evenings. Lots of folks come in to see him.”
“Thanks,” Ozias said with a grin. “Appreciate it.”
“Let me know if you need anything.” He tipped his chin in parting and then left, whistling a quiet tune as he went.
Once our overly friendly attendant was out of earshot, Ozias handed us each a key. “Take a breather while you can.” He unlocked his door and stepped into his room letting it click firmly closed behind him. Calem didn’t hesitate, jostling the iron handle of Cornflower until the key slid into place. His door swung shut just as I opened mine. I came to an abrupt halt at the threshold of Lavender as the inn’s name rang through my mind.
“Gods.” The Wooden Flower was, in fact, full of flowers—wooden and alive. Almost every square inch of my quarters was coated in a shade of pale purple, down to the hand-carved wooden frame of my bed. A deep, lustrous green accented the decor like the vines and leaves that accompanied the flowers draped from the ceiling rafters. The air was perfumed with the thick scent of lavender, and while I’d always been indifferent to flowers, it was impossible not to admire the beauty of it all.
“How do they even manage this?” I mused, reaching my fingertips toward the ceiling to graze one of the lowest velvet petals. In all my years of travel, I’d never once visited Moeras. The marshlands of Penumbra Glades had never been appealing to me, but now a growing bud of intrigue had bloomed in my mind, and the desire to learn more—to see more—took hold of me with a force I’d all but forgotten.
Reaching for my necklace, I gripped Okean’s key tightly. It was a familiar pull, not quite as strong as the drive I’d felt for discovering new beasts, but something similar. It was an echo of what I used to feel. Of who I used to be.
All this time, I’d been trying so hard to hold on to my past that I’d resisted training, searched for Kitska beasts in the woods, researched cures… All the while, I’d walled off the one part of me that I’d been trying so hard to find. I was so afraid to lose it that I’d forgotten it made me who I was today. Okean was part of that. He was all I had left. And it was better to live with the pain, the reminder, of what I’d lost than never see him again.
