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I waited stiffly for a moment, unsure if I was invited to join her and even more unsure if I cared. Finally, I leaned closer to peer over her shoulder. I sucked in a breath, her honey scent overwhelming me, and balled my hands in my lap. My heart pounded in my rib cage like a war drum.
Focus.
For fuck’s sake, we were supposed to be reading the words of a dead woman, and all I could think about was sinking my cock into her all-too-alive sister beside me.
Perhaps Lonnie did have a reason to be afraid after all.
I shifted against the headboard, letting the sharp wooden ridges dig uncomfortably into my back, and dug my nails so hard into my palms I was sure I’d drawn blood. Then, finally, when the pain had cleared the fog in my brain slightly, I began to read…
ROSEY
WRITTEN WINTER, SIX MONTHS BEFORE THE DEATH OF KING PENVALLE
NINE DAYS TO YULE:
I found myself on a ship headed for Nevermore. An icy fog coated the deck, so thick I was nearly blind to the waves crashing over the sides of the ship. The salt air stung my nose and throat, and each breath became like shards of ice stabbing through my chest. The wind howled in my ears, and I tried to run for cover, yet my boots felt like lead weights as they slipped continuously over the wet deck. Another sailor approached, shaking my shoulders. “They’re boarding!” he screamed in my face. “We’ll fucking lose everything.”
I had no answers for him. I knew we’d lose far more than cargo and wished I’d argued harder against this trip.
Even now, writing this, I feel quite certain that whatever that ship is carrying, both the cargo and the sailors will sink before the new year.
YULE:
The dream of the valley haunted me again last night. I can only assume this is nothing more than a memory, as I only ever find myself looking on from what I think must be my own eyes. I don’t recall ever seeing him in the old house, but little else makes sense—I only wish I could be certain. The image of myself at that age is vague and hazy around the edges. I could just as easily be watching myself as Lonnie; it feels like we were sharing a single face.
FOUR DAYS UNTIL THE COMING OF DANU (NEW YEAR):
Last night, I know I was close to finding him again.
The dream was the most vivid in weeks. I was sitting in a tavern in Inbetwixt. The table was sticky, and the air was thick with smoke, and the crowd pulsed around me like a living, breathing thing. I could barely hear the woman next to me over the din, but it didn’t matter. She wasn’t the one I was waiting for.
“Oi,” someone yelled in my ear. “You the one here about the ships?”
I turned to face the other man and felt my face twist in a sneer. “Keep your voice down, you fucking soft-handed fool.”
The other male looked affronted. “I won’t stay where I’m going to be insulted by some Slúagh-born savage from Wanderlust.”
I gritted my teeth and bit back another retort. I might have hit him, but Ambrose needed this kid alive. At least for now.
TWO DAYS AFTER THE COMING OF DANU (NEW YEAR):
Nothing clear this week. Not sleeping well. Went to visit Ciara in the village for a calming draft and heard a storm sunk several merchant ships from Inbetwixt.
LONNIE
THE WILDES, INBETWIXT
Istared down at my sister’s journal in confusion…or, perhaps, disbelief. My hand shook slightly, and I was almost afraid to turn the page.
Disappointment washed over me, and I held my breath, trying not to give in to the wave of grief that threatened to follow.
The first entry itself was entirely nonsensical and sounded nothing like Rosey at all. It was a dream, I supposed, that she was describing. Nothing else made sense.
Bael exhaled sharply beside me, and I shuddered, the feel of his breath just grazing my skin. “Your sister was a seer?” he asked in a tone that was more statement than question.
“No!” I said too fast, even as my stomach sank as he essentially confirmed what I’d been thinking. “I mean, not that I was aware of. She never said anything about it or exhibited a single sign.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Aside from the journals, of course.”
