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He nods, almost imperceptibly. “Yes, but I couldn’t feel you. Once I had the reins.”
I don’t know how to respond to that, so I don’t.
“Well,” he says, straightening a bit and wiping his stained fingertips on his pants. “I suppose if you were there, you know there’s a flaw to your logic.”
“And what’s that?”
“Because if you were there, then you felt how Blaise kissed me. And you know she never kissed you like that.”
Blood pounds at my brain, and where I expect a taunting grin to splay across Farin’s mouth, all I get is an assessing look.
Farin putting his hands all over Blaise, lowering her onto the bed. My bed.
A vision of ripping Farin’s head from his body flashes through my mind. For a moment, we exchange a glance of mutual understanding that I’m about to try.
But then I wonder if that’s exactly what he wants. If he thinks his death on this island will send him back, just like I’ve speculated, but he can’t muster up the courage to end it himself.
The thought makes the blood running through my head go cold.
It’s well enough, because just then a tendril of smoke hits our noses, calling attention to the glow of a campfire in the distance.
Farin and I exchange a look that communicates we’re tabling killing one another until we have a better idea of who else is inhabiting this abandoned island.
We reach the campsite quickly, our feet padding the sandy ground almost silently. The campsite is set on the edge of the beach, far enough from the waves to keep from washing away during high tide.
On a pile of rubble sits a girl who’s muttering to herself in a language I don’t recognize.
One silent look at Farin tells me he doesn’t recognize it either. That shouldn’t be surprising. We’re in a different realm. There’s no reason to expect to recognize any languages here.
Exhaustion mingles with exasperation in my gut. It seems there’s no barrier to getting back home that the Fates won’t put in our way. I’m debating whether it’s even worth trying to communicate with the girl when Farin fidgets, and her neck snaps to the side, following the sound of rustling leaves.
The light of her campfire dances across her features, highlighting a tanned complexion, wide blue eyes, and hair of golden flax.
My heart stutters to a stop when my sister’s eyes lock onto mine.
“Well, then,” says Farin, stepping out from our hiding place in the brush and beckoning me to follow. “Seems like we’ve found our story.”
CHAPTER 3
KIRAN
Humans die.
Asha is human.
Therefore, Asha…
Someone slips into the dark dungeon, the pitiful excuse for a library in the basement of Mystral Castle. According to Blaise, Nox and his mentor spent years building this “library” into what it is today.
What it is today is an insult to the concept of organization, but I can’t exactly afford to be as picky as I might like.
The information I’m searching for doesn’t tend to make it into civilized collections.
Besides, we’re to leave for Othian tomorrow, and I won’t be able to take the contents of this library with me. If I’m going to find the answer to my predicament within these volumes, I need to find it today.
The untimely blizzard has kept us trapped, confined to this dank, depressing castle where shadows writhe in the corner of my vision and the drafts from leaky windows whisper paranoia into my ears.
Evander and I have tried to send an explanation of our delay to our wives, but even the couriers refuse to weather storms such as this one.
