Sage reared his head, his big ears pricking with curiosity.
I ruffled the thick, cool fur around his neck and leaned forward to plant a kiss on the flat of his snout. “Sage,” I whisper-hissed in elation. “We’ve got a way out of this!”
Holy Skalki!
I couldn’t let my excitement alert Graysen. I didn’t want him barreling in here demanding answers because I wanted to squeal and dance in euphoria. He could never discover what I’d stumbled upon.
It was my beloved father’s deep voice that spoke the words inside my mind.Calm, Nelle…calm.
Slowly, my heartbeat slowed,slowedto a calmer pace.
According to what was written, if I could get my hands on these mites, they would feed off the magic attached to the collar around my throat. And in doing so, they’d eat right through thegodsdamned rope. It could take them a week or two, maybe a little longer.
However, as I continued to read the last passage, my stomach sank.
Zrenyth’s mites were rare,very rare, and the author detailed that there had only been one case of the otherworldly creatures being sighted. In their treasure trove, a sword forged by Zrenyth had mysteriously vanished. It wasn’t until later, when the author discovered the mites on a half-corroded dagger nearby, stillconsuming the remnants of Zrenyth’s magic and metal, that they realized what had happened.
As for whose treasure trove it was, the text never said.
Nevertheless, I’d been given a lead.
There was a very real chance of freeing myself from the magical collar because Zrenyth had blessed the Crowthers with the weapons and tools he’d forged for their warfare and wyrm taming.
Maybe, just maybe, the Crowthers had Zrenyth’s mites lurking in their armory.
35
Nelle
Before the sun had even risen, I was already tramping through the forest, my flashlight’s beam jittering over roots and trunks as I moved quickly between the trees, careful not to swing the canvas bags in my gloved hand. The thick shawl wrapped around my shoulders ruffled with each hasty stride, cocooning me in woolen warmth against the chill. Sage stalked ahead, his ghostly form slipping through dew-damp ferns and saplings. Yet not even the beauty of birdsong heralding the coming sun could ease my irritation, nor could the crisp forest air soothe the toxicity burning in my lungs.
It had been three days, and every attempt to find the escape tunnel had ended in the same infuriating nothing.
I kicked a stone into the undergrowth, anger slashing through my veins. It wasn’t just anger, it was a noxious plume of frustration poisoning every hopeful thought of getting off this estate.
When I’d been trapped on my family’s land, I’d filled my days with simple things: morning and evening runs to burn out the wyrm’s power, mapping the estate, tracking animals, swimming in the well and basking on sun-heated rocks. Lessons with my governess, online classes where I mostly learned new curse words, afternoons reading in my father’s office while eavesdropping on House matters. And in between, I’d chew through the remainder of my time in the library hunting monsters.
Right now, life wasn’t so different.
It was simply a new estate and a new objective to fill in my time.
I’d run through the forest every morning and evening for days, notebook in hand to sketch a rough map of the Crowthers’ land. I’d traced the adamere boundary as far as I could travel, which wasn’t far. The collar around my neck kept me from getting within ten feet of the wall. The cord would snag and tighten every time I approached. Even if someone blasted a hole through the stone, I wouldn’t make it out.
So Dustin Reed—spy or not—couldn’t free me. Not while Zrenyth’s magic tethered me to the estate. And he still hadn’t returned from the Wormwood Driads with that case of absinthe, either.
I’d mapped more of the Keep with its rabbit-warren hallways and the servants’ hidden passages slicing through the wings like secret highways. All the while, I pretended to admire their home, which was pretty much a museum with all the artifacts and treasures they’d collected throughout the millennia. It put my family in its place,nouveau, compared to the Crowthers’ long lineage.
I couldn’t wander freely either. Sentries guarded certain areas, denying entry.
And then there was the library.
The moment Graysen left for the garage each evening, I slipped out and went straight there. I’d shifted tables, chairs, rugs, feeling for the edge of a hatch. Then sconces, the fireplace. Anything that could be a trigger. After that, the books. One at a fucking time. With how massive the library was, it would take months to double-check the entire room.
Graysen had been off the estate most days too. He’d return each night grimy, stale air clinging to him, but always with some other scent layered beneath—the earthy musk of the lake, the clay tang of a pottery studio, or the industrial bite of coal and molten iron. He’d clean his dusty adamere armor, shower, eat, and bury himself in emails.
With him so busy, we’d barely spent time together. But whenever we were both in the tower, we continued trading answers for questions.
“What’s your favorite color?”
