I’ve seen many sights in my time in the Yeavering. I’ve experienced many horrible things. I think discovering our salvation is a bunch of skeletal monks is pretty mild if I’m honest.
“What is the price?”
“You perform the tasks we require. You serve our community. You may not leave until the time is right,” the skull says. “If you do not want to comply…”
He lifts a be-robed arm, and a skeletal finger points at the door behind us, which is now open. In the far, far distance, I hear the cackle of a Redcap.
“And if we comply, you will keep us safe from Tam Lin?”
“We will. The stronghold is impenetrable by the Faerie and their kin,” the brother intones.
Behind him the two other monks hum and sway. I look up at Linton. A muscle jumps in his jaw and his antennae are nowhere to be seen, entirely merged into his pale white and grey hair. Plus, not a single scale is falling from him.
But he isn’t frightened, he is livid. His red eyes are darker than ever.
“We will stay,” he growls.
The skeleton nods. “Brothers, take the two new apprentices to their quarters. But relieve the assassin of his weapons first.”
Linton pulls me against him. “I stay with my mate, or I keep my daggers.”
“Very well.” The skull stares at him. Although it’s not like it can do much else. “Hand over your weapons and be bound not to lift another in anger while you are here.”
Linton briefly glances down before releasing me and pulling one dagger at a time out of the bandolier strapped over his chest, dropping them at the feet of the monks.
He gives me another furtive look once it’s empty and then reaches under his left wing, where he produces another five knives, each one like a needle, and they’re tossed onto the growing pile.
When he’s done, he glares again at the lead monk who taps a skeletal foot. Linton huffs out a long snort of breath and reaches under his right wing. The pile in front of the monks grows by at least six more daggers, each one larger than the last, and then a small crossbow.
“Were you going to war?” I query.
“You can never have enough weapons,” Linton says with a shrug.
And another dagger falls out of his wings. He picks it up, inspects it, and puts it on the pile.
“Are you done?” the skeleton monk asks him.
Linton cocks his head on one side, nods, then shakes his head, reaching into his boot. He pulls out two more daggers and adds them to the pile.
“I want them all back when I leave,” he says with a growl. “I know what I have given you.”
Had the fleshless monk had eyebrows, I’m pretty certain he would have lifted them, but the white bone remains impassive.
“You will have your belongings returned if you leave,” he says, and the bony finger beckons at the monks behind him. “Take them away.”
I slide my hand into Linton’s as we follow one of the monks. The other is left behind to wrangle Linton’s arsenal of weapons. I’m holding his hand as he seems to like it, as well as to provide some reassurance for myself.
Linton’s callused hand is comforting in a way I can’t quite fathom.
The monk leads us through a door in the corner of the courtyard underneath a massive tower which forms one corner of the stronghold. I expect a musty smell inside, like a tomb, given the monks are, well, dead, but instead I’m greeted by the scent of fresh baking, and the air is warm.
I give Linton’s hand a squeeze because my senses tell me this is not a bad place. He looks down at me. His antennae are still flat against his head and he has a solemn look on his face.
Whilst there are the smells and feelings of life within this fortress, we don’t see anyone as the monk leads us to a set of spiral stone stairs and then up them until we reach a passage with numerous doors. He walks us past three of them before stopping in front of the fourth.
“These are your quarters,” he says, not dropping his cowl like the last monk. “You will eat with the others in the great hall, and you will get your work duties from the Housekeeper.”
Before either of us can ask any questions, he turns on his bony heel and walks back the way he came without a glance.
