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“But she’s my family. She’s your family, now, too.”
Nodding, Kai hears me, but he’s in warrior mode. “Think of all the risks first. If I’m carrying her—which I don’t mind doing, by the way—my arms will be occupied. The problem there is that I won’t be able to use my sword, and that will prohibit me from protecting you or her. Plus, we don’t know what taking her out of this vessel will do to her. Will it harm her? Inside this container, she’s been preserved, protected from the elements and filth. She looks as well as one could in this shithole, and that leads me to believe magic is involved. Somehow, someone has kept her alive and clean. She’s been cared for.”
Damn it. Why does he have to be so rational?
I recognize I’m not thinking clearly because my emotions are in the way, and I try to view the situation from an outside perspective.
Whoever put Zaylee in here, they’ve done a lot of work with her and with the temple. I know from personal experience that keeping a space free of dust in the Lost Land is a constant job, even when you’re in one of the enchanted bubbles.
There isn’t one speck of dirt on Zaylee. Her hands are clasped over her stomach as if someone posed them that way, and there isn’t any grime under her fingernails. Her hair is brushed, shiny, and straight. The black strands fan out on the pillow under her head and spill over her shoulders.
In a dress made of tan suede, she’s adequately covered, though the sewing skill of the outfit leaves a lot to be desired. Poorly done needlework lines the seams at the neck and the arm holes of the sleeveless top.
Did she make this dress herself? She and I aren’t acquainted well enough for me to know if she’s good with a needle and thread.
The fit is also wrong, like she’s grown out of it. The hem at the bottom is a little high, a few inches above her ankles. Under the cinched waist, the curves of her hips flare out. Above it, the top is stretched over her chest.
“Her body has obvious signs of… maturing,” I say, choosing my words carefully because I’m not sure how to say her breasts look bigger without making it awkward. “That indicates she’s been here for a while. Long enough to become an adult. I’d say she’s at least twenty-one.”
Respectfully keeping his gaze above her neckline, Kai adds, “Yes. Her face has lost the roundness it had when she was younger.” He frowns with confusion. “But how could she age so quickly? You and Zaylee arrived at the same time, and you weren’t Armand’s captive for years, right? There’s no way.”
“Definitely not. Time could pass differently in other regions,” I deduce. “The Lost Land is senseless like that.”
Distraught, I stare at my granddaughter. Although she’s in good shape, she’s been here for far too long. Who knows how many years she’s spent locked up and unconscious? It could be more than five years. Ten. Twenty?
It’s not fair to her, and I come to the conclusion that abandoning her isn’t an option. I can’t walk away from her, even if it’s risky.
“We have to take her with us,” I state with gumption. “It’s so awful, thinking of her here, alone, her life passing her by.”
“If that’s what you want, then that’s what we’ll do,” Kai concedes easily.
I know he’s not giving in because he thinks it’s a good idea. He’s simply granting me what I wish.
Because he loves me.
And I love him for it. However, while I appreciate his willingness to disregard his instincts and training for me, I want to convince him that this is the right call.
Attempting to justify jeopardizing our quest, I suggest, “Freeing Zaylee might be the test. After all…” I knock on the glass. “It’s going to take some miracle to get this thing open. There must be a trick to it because the outside is completely smooth. There are no cracks. No hinges. It’s like it was built around her and sealed up. How is that possible?”
“About as impossible as these lilies.”
Kai picks up one of the flowers from a vase. Spinning the stem in his fingers, he scrutinizes the ultra-thin petals before trying to break one off. With how delicate it is, he should be able to snap it, but it stays whole.
“Whatever material this is made of, it’s unfamiliar to me. Brute force might be the only way.” Putting the flower back where it belongs, Kai brandishes a weapon I haven’t seen him use yet. He unhooks a small mallet from his belt, goes to the bottom of the casket near Zaylee’s feet, and raises it. “Give me space. Shards may fly.”
After I’ve stationed myself at the bottom of the steps, Kai brings the mallet down. Hard. I wince when it makes contact, expecting to hear the ear-splitting sound of shattering glass.
Instead, it’s just a quiet plink.
Rising on my tiptoes, I study the casket and the perplexed expression on Kai’s face. The mallet didn’t even make a dent.
Kai tries again.
Same thing.
“What the fuck?” he mutters.
Soon, he’s hitting the glass like a miner desperately digging for treasure. He violently slams his tool against the surface, getting more and more agitated when his efforts produce no results.
