“Further research will need to be done to decipher the true source, if it ever can be.”
“Eventually.”
Damien continued to read aloud as they went on, putting a stop to Amma’s attempted befriending of the imp, and proving her absolutely wrong: there weren’t even any slightly-moist details on those pages let alone juicy ones. He kept right on reading until it got too dark to see, and they finally stopped for the night. The day on the road had been tiring, and after Damien ordered Amma to stay put as usual with that terrible arcane word, she soon found herself asleep, dreaming of a theology classroom she couldn’t escape only to wake early, begin riding again, and for him to pick up right where he left off.
Finally, after reciting pages of ingredients and the uneventful reactions when mixed together in increasingly specific measurements, Amma reached her limit. “Damien, do you think you could take a little break?”
“Take a break? But I’m doing exactly as you requested.” Bewildered, Damien gestured with the book, the first exciting thing that had happened with it yet.
“Well, maybe you could skip ahead.”
Even Kaz made a small noise of agreement at that.
“To what, pray tell?”
“I don’t know, something a little spicier? Local gossip, a run-in with an enemy? Maybe the author had a lover? You can’t tell me there are no entries about at leastonepassionate night with that Maribel lady.”
Damien grunted, flipping back through the pages with his brow narrowed. “I skipped that bit actually.”
“What? Why would you do that?”
“Because the language is bloody, fucking vulgar. I mean,Idon’t even usethatword.” His eyes widened at the lines, then he clicked his tongue. “Look, you requested I read aloud, so I am reading aloud.”
“Selectively,” she said with a pout.
“I refuse to alter my actions further at your whim.” He frowned down at the pages then, clamping his mouth shut.
“Oh, Damien, I just wanted you to talk to me,” she admitted, knowing how pitiful she sounded. “You know, have a conversation?”
Damien pursed his lips, flipped another page, and then closed the book. “Fine. Converse.”
“Oh!” She sat up straight. Of course, now her mind went blank—she never really expected to get so far. “What’s um…your favorite color?” The question had come out as unsure as it possibly could, and she felt stupid for even having thought of it, much less asking it. She was twenty-five for goodness’s sake, not eight, but she also knew it would be best to begin shallowly.
“My favorite color?”
Amma cringed at herself—too shallow, maybe—but doubled down. “I mean, if we’re going to be stuck together for a while, we may as well get to know each other, right?”
“You want to get to know the man who’s going to end your life?”
Amma’s insides twisted—that was quite a bit deeper. “Sure, why not? What’s your favorite color?”
He glanced down at himself, a solid shadow atop the knoggelvi, then back up. “Black.”
“Right. Okay…” Amma breathed in and looked up at the trees, a red-winged bird flitting by and disappearing amongst the green. “What’s your favorite animal?”
He scrunched up his nose then shrugged. “Raven.”
“Food?” she asked quicker, feeling like it were a game.
“Meat.”
“Moon?”
“Uh, Ero, I guess?”
“Hobby?”
“Spilling the blood of my enemies.”
