“Some say she ate children,” a voice quietly said behind me. It was a woman, selling flowers at her booth, who gossiped with her customer.
“I heard she found herself a whaler,” another said.
“Maybe she put a spell on him,” said another.
“How can she place a spell when she can’t even see him?” The women snickered and I glared at them.
Anger welled up in me.
I have to find her.
The walkback nearly killed me. Each step pulled at the wound in my side, but I kept going.
Through groves and tangled paths and gullies washed from rain. Malia’s cottage rose like a mirage through the trees.
I barely managed a knock before the door swung open and her eyes widened in alarm. “Alaric?”
Her eyes were red, like she’d been crying.
“Malia…” I leaned against the door frame, exhaustion tearing me down.
“They’re coming,” I rasped. “The twins. I had to—” My vision swam, and the world tipped.
I felt her arms catch me. Felt her warm, vanilla scent envelop me.
And then everything went dark.
When I came to,I was on the settee, a blanket over my shoulders and the scent of herbs thick in the air.
The smell of soup filled the cottage andwhen I stepped into the doorway of the kitchen, I found Malia back to her usual self, humming and cutting a mango. Her head was turned slightly, and she held the mango at an odd angle while she scooped out the insides.
Then she noticed me there and jumped. Again, she never met my eyes, but, instead, turned her head slightly, as if she were gazing at me from the side of her face, to look me up and down.
“You clean up nicely,” she said.
“Thanks.” I rubbed my chin, feeling a little self-conscious and hoping I didn’t miss any spots while shaving.
“Would you happen to have a dagger I can borrow?” I asked.
She gave me a side look. “Why?”
“To protect you.” I quickly added, “And me. In case someone attacks.”
She paused, placed her finger on her lip, as if thinking, then nodded and brushed past me, her arm touching my chest as we both somehow fit in the kitchen doorway.
“Is that why you came back?” she asked, taking my wrist and leading me to her room. She had a humble bed with an old, ratted quilt. A little nightstand sat next to it, made of old wood scraps. A lantern sat on top of a stack of books. But something else caught my attention: a small wooden ship.
The sides of it were worn and smooth, as if a child had played with it for years. Was it Malia’s…
Or the children's toy?
The twins…
She looked under the bed, then let out a sigh. “It’s so hard to see.”
“Let me help,” I said, kneeling.
“It’s in the chest with a golden lock.”
