I point to the light and look at Golem, watching him nod.
We both walk along the wall until we reach the entry doors of the second mill. I silently take the handle and push inwards, but the wooden door doesn’t budge.
“You wouldn’t by chance know how to pick a lock, would you, Golem?”
My magical friend shakes his head, hand coming down to the handle to try for himself. He flicks his fingers in the same way he did to my door at the inn, but the lock stays firmly in place. I scowl and peer up to the lighted window on the second floor, knowing we need to get in.
Stormfall gently moves against my shoulder, his talons sinking into my skin. I turn my head and watch him walk out from under my hood, taking a path towards my shoulder before he starts trailing down my arm. Iextend my hand to the door handle and watch him move down to my wrist, his black wings extending towards the handle before they fold inwards. He removes his wings from the metal and takes a step back, his yellow eyes fixated on the entry as Golem and I watch on in wonder.
What used to be a metal lock is now slowly beginning to turn to ash, the debris falling down to the ground and leaving nothing more than a small hole in the door where the lock used to be. I gratefully lift my finger to Storm’s chest and stroke him in amazement, watching as Golem steps forward and pushes the wooden door into the dark building.
Barrels upon barrels of toddy and ale line the walls of the storeroom. It’s a simple holding room, but past the casks and in a dark corner is a staircase leading upstairs. If I remember correctly, the stairs lead to a few small production rooms and other storerooms, some of the spaces used while others were bare.
I nod to Golem and lead him up the staircase, hoping that whatever magic he’s using to shield us still holds true. We reach the top hall in silence and spot the glowing candlelight in the room at the farthest end, the door half-way open and illuminating the floor for us. I take a deep breath and turn to Golem one last time, watching as he nods and then narrows his eyes on the door over my shoulder. The two of us walk side by side with quiet determination until we reach it, both of our eyes going wide when we peer inside.
I gasp at the sight.
The blonde Discerni sits in the middle of the room wearing only his riding pants. Everything else is stripped from his body. His head is bowed into his chest with his arms wrapped behind the chair he’s sitting in, strands of his pale blonde hair falling in front of his face while the rest of it sits in a messy tie down his back. His chest is chiseled and tight for a supposed merchant, his muscles bulging out of his arms as beads of sweat drip down his temples.
I stare at his chest and watch as blood runs down in different directions. Some of it is dried and scabbing while other cuts are still fresh, those ones no doubt from recent slashes. There’s blood dripping out of the corner of his mouth and onto his chin as well, the red hue falling down into his lap.
The man groans in pain and exhaustion, his head moving to the side as if to look at something in the corner. His tilt of head gives us a different angle of his face, my eyes widening even more as I realize the Discerni is not a man, but not a boy, either.
He looks to be a few years younger than me, his pale Discerni features severely angular and sharp as those in Woodlands often covet. He has thick blonde lashes that rest over hooded eyes, the full of him looking to be in and out of consciousness. He groans again when Desmond slowly comes into view, the Master Informer walking around the back of the man’s chair as he looks down at him.
Desmond’s dark brown eyes are silent and impassive, the sight of him staring at the blonde Discerni sending a chill down my spine. His black long sleeve shirt has been rolled up to his elbows, his ebony skin dancing under the dim firelight of the single candle in the room. Blood paints his hands as he holds a large green agate dagger, his knuckles tightening around the hilt as he scowls down at the man.
“Let’s try this again.”
I shiver at his voice, at his dark figure standing behind the Discerni in pure intimidation. He angles the dagger low to the man’s bound wrists, the look of no remorse settling into his features.
“Who sent you to follow the human woman?”
“I don’t know,” the Discerni shakes his head, jerking awake to the sound of Desmond’s voice. I stifle another gasp at the sight of multiple large bruises littered across the opposite side of his face, one of them open in a gash.
“Wrong answer,” Desmond replies coldly.
The man screams and sags farther into his body, his chin tucking itself violently against his chest. Desmond reaches around the Discerni’s shoulder and drops a severed finger into his lap, his own fingers dripping with blood as my eyes widen at the sheer violence.
“We have nine more fingers to go,Woodlands,” he spits the word, “I’ve never heard of someone being able to summon without them, but I’m willing to let you give it a try. I suggest you give us something before I take off your wrists.”
Despite the threatening language that makes me want to hurl, all I can focus on is one thing.
Us.
Desmond saidus.
Is Keane here as well?
I look around the small room but can’t spot another figure, everything so well hidden in the shadows. The blonde Discerni turns to the same side of the room that he looked at before, his face cold and sharp as he starts grinning at the darkened corner.
A scream tears out of him just before Desmond leans forward to drop another of his fingers onto his lap. Blood is now pooling on top of the Discerni’s riding pants, his severed body parts resting on his thighs in a gruesome sight that has my own legs starting to shake. There’s a deep heaviness taking over my body as I watch Desmond repeat the process and drop a thumb down without emotion.
I shouldn’t be here,I tremble.
Weshouldn’t be here.
I take a step back and land into Golem’s chest. His hands move to my shoulders and grip them hard, willing me to stay in place.
