Page 50 of A Castle of Broken Memories

Icy dread filled my lungs, and I struggled to breathe as I looked down…

…and saw the straggly threads lining my belt where my pouch used to be.

The egg, my brushes, the spell potion—all of it gone.

“Shit.”

Jack nodded slowly. “I’d say that about sums it up.”

I ran a hand through my curls, turning to face the door. “It could be just outside.” Unless it had been flung over the railing toward the center of the foyer and was being unintentionally guarded by a massive shadow monster.

“Mari…”

“We’ll give it a moment, then I can nip out and grab it.” Maybe. Doubtfully.

“Mari,” Jack repeated, more intensely this time. His hand cupped my shoulder, and I could feel the other hovering over my back. “You’re bleeding.”

Now that he mentioned it, my back did feel a bit tingly. And by tingly, I meant searing with pain that I was steadfastly blocking out in favor of focusing on the current predicament. I reached behind my back and winced when I brushed the frayed edge of torn fabric.

“Damn. This is my favorite cloak.”

“I’d say the state of your back is a more pressing concern. Come on. This cut needs stitches. Harp will fix you up.”

I wrinkled my nose. “A healing potion would be quicker.” And not involve needles piercing my skin. “Let me just peek outside and see if my bag’s there first.”

I cracked the door open and scanned the stairwell. No bag. I shut it with a sigh. “Stitches, it is.” I hobbled across the ballroom with Jack hovering by my side. “I don’t suppose she’d mend my cloak while she’s at it?”

Jack chuckled. “She’d sew you an entire outfit from scratch if you asked. She’s generous like that.”

“And handy, apparently,” I murmured, eyeing the golden harp while she dozed atop the stage. “Kind of strange, don’t you think? For an enchanted instrument to be so adept at practical skills? I mean, it’s not like anyone would have bothered teaching her.”

Jack paused at the foot of the stage steps, his expression bemused. “Now that you mention it, it is kind of odd.” He touched the strands of blond hair falling across his forehead. “She even cut my hair. How have I never wondered about that?”

I snorted. “Typical man. Assuming every woman must be well-versed in household arts, even when they’re a literal harp.”

“Hey, now. That is…”

I arched a brow. “Accurate?”

He blew out a huff of sheepish laughter. “Kind of, yeah.”

I patted his shoulder. “Don’t worry. At least you’re pretty.”

“Uh huh.” He waved me up the stairs. “Come on, then, before you bleed out on the steps. I’d hate to sully my good looks having to haul you up myself.”

“Definitely can’t have that.” I hissed as the ripped edges of my cloak grazed my open wound. “This is karma, isn’t it?” I muttered under my breath. “For all the shit I gave that stupid goblin king when he was torn up and bleeding.”

“What’s that?” Jack asked, leaning in.

I shook my head. “Nothing.” I gestured toward the sleeping harp. “Should you wake her up or I?”

“I’ll do it,” Jack replied. “You’re salty when you’re injured.”

“Ha!” I laughed. “Shows what you know. I’m salty all the time.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jack teased. “You’re a real villain.”

My smile fell, the thought of my past misdeeds as sobering as a bucket of cold water. I touched Jack’s sleeve, stalling him before he went to wake Harp. “It’s true, though. I’ve done things, villainous things. Things I’m too ashamed to say out loud.”