“That’s when they closed in, the brotherhood, all of them with those maroon hoods over their heads, white masks on.”
I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to will away the images, the smell of burning hair, the sound of sizzling and popping.
“My mother and father appeared behind them. They’d been looking for me, and they found us, but at the worst time.”
Wolfe’s head shot up, horror etched across his face.
“The brotherhood turned, distracted by my parents, so I did the only thing I could: I took the princess’s hand, held up the shield I’d taken, and yanked the princess with me through the fire. It was hot. So unbelievably hot, our clothes and hair getting singed. But with the shield, we could make it. We were so close to being free, but one of the brotherhood reached through the fire, wearing some kind of magical gloves that made him immune. He grabbed Princess Ashami.”
Tears welled in my eyes.
“I refused to let go of her hand, but she kept screaming at me to run. To leave her and to save myself. I don’t know who let go: me or her. Or maybe the person who’d grabbed her had pulled so hard that we didn’t stand a chance. But at that point, I couldn’t do anything but run. Run and hide. I couldn’t defend myself, defend my home, defend the people I loved.”
I licked my lips, willing my voice steady while Wolfe sat there in silence, his dark eyes full of compassion.
“So that’s why I need you. That’s why I want to train, why I want to learn. I don’t care if I passed out. What I care about is that I can save myself or Morton if it came down to it. I’m sick of being a damsel in distress.”
“Well, fuck,” he finally said, and I didn’t know why, but I burst out laughing. I looked at his perplexed face, which only made me laugh harder. Finally, I wiped the tears from my eyes. “You know I haven’t told anyone that story before. To be fair, I was by myself in a tower for three years, but since you two came and rescued me, I haven’t told a soul.”
“Why’d you tell me, then?” he asked.
“Because I want you to train me.” I studied him, watching the wayhis dark eyes flashed with sympathy I rarely saw on his face. “And maybe also a little bit because I knew you wouldn’t make a huge deal out of it, wouldn’t treat me differently because of it. Well, I hoped at least.”
He sighed heavily. “I’ll keep training you.”
Relief swept through me. I hadn’t realized how much I was worried about it until Wolfe agreed. Suddenly, my eyes felt heavy, and I lay back down. “I think I’m going to rest now.”
He nodded and stood, walking toward the door and hesitating. “Thank you. For sharing that with me.” Without another word, he walked out, the door slamming shut as he went outside, and I fell into a deep sleep.
CHAPTER 17
Niamh
“Acastle that can’t clean itself isn’t really all that amazing.” Morton huffed, a rag under his wing that he pushed along the ground.
I peeked at Morton over a tower of books I’d just stacked. We’d spent the last few days sweeping and dusting, and now we were ready to mop the floors, which were actually quite a lovely dark wood underneath all the clutter. We’d also decided to remove all the books from the shelves so we could repair and clean them—and possibly paint them, though we were divided on that point. Morton thought painting the wood would ruin it, but I thought it would add fun pops of color to the space.
“Well, it might not clean itself, but it does have a talking painting!” Margaret popped up in one of the paintings behind Morton.
“Oh, I know,” Morton said, his black eyes blinking rapidly.
Margaret had visited every day this past week, and she tended, to, well, talk. A lot.
“Oh.” Margaret snapped her fingers. “We also have Sir Arthur.”
“Who is Sir Arthur?” I asked.
“A knight!” Margaret said. “He lives in the dungeon. I visit him sometimes, but he’s very aggressive.”
I straightened the stack of books as one book flew from its shelf and landed on top, making the pile teeter. “There’s a knight living in the dungeon?”
“Don’t ask,” Morton said out of the side of his mouth. “You’ll learn his entire backstory.”
“Yes! He’s been here for centuries. He’s very brave. It’s too bad he’s stuck down there.”
“Why is he stuck down there?”
“Stop asking follow-up questions.” Morton stopped cleaning the floor and shot me what I deciphered was a glare.
