Total pages in book: 141
Estimated words: 140780 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 704(@200wpm)___ 563(@250wpm)___ 469(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 140780 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 704(@200wpm)___ 563(@250wpm)___ 469(@300wpm)
A pulse shot through my heart—the bond delivering echoes of Lucien’s dislike at being touched by strangers.
Without looking in my direction, Lucien extended his hand to me. The tips of his fingers glowed, barely there but growing worse each moment I didn’t touch him.
I went to him.
The moment my ice-laced hand slid into his, he shuddered.
The frost inside me arrowed into him like a dart, delivering an antidote to the flames poisoning him.
Inhaling sharply, his fingers crushed mine. “Just tell me here—”
“No, no, no.” The old man shook his head. “Not here. It can’t be here.” He flinched as he looked at the Snowflake Corp guards. “Just you.”
“I’m not going anywhere without her.” Lucien tugged me to his side. “If you want to talk to me, you’ll talk to both of us.”
“Fine.” The old man took off, hobbling toward the path between the two buildings. “That’s fine. More than fine. Come. Hurry.” He disappeared into the shadows and Lucien shot me a look.
“Do we go?” he asked quietly.
“You kind of already agreed.”
He grunted with annoyance.
“Xiao Lu?” Uncle Wen called as we stepped toward the shadowy alley. “Where are you going?”
“Rook?” Dillon shouted. “Wait. I’ll come with you—”
“No need,” Lucien huffed. “Stay here.”
He dragged me between the buildings, and shadows swallowed us whole.
Chapter Fifty-Nine
“STAY CLOSE TO ME.” I SQUEEZED Rook’s hand.
I hated how much I needed her—how much I relied on her to stop me from accidental mass murder. Really, I should’ve mastered my temper before stepping into public.
I was still too used to walls and silence to be safe in a busy village. The noise. The press of bodies. The stink of sweat and life. It all scraped against my nerves until the fire roared for peace.
Going to Brimstone this soon was also a mistake, but...Marcus’s silence irritated me. He was up to something. And before he had the chance to bring a battle to me, I intended to bring it to him—along with carving out his heart and barbecuing it for Whisper.
“I’ll make sure you don’t incinerate the poor chap by mistake,” Rook whispered as we chased after the old man who was far faster than he appeared.
The labyrinth of pathways between the buildings took us deeper and deeper into the village. Smells of cooking and snatches of conversation surrounded us as we wove around homes before spilling out into a common area. A communal eating table, drinking well, and ancient temple sat proudly in the sun.
Beckoning us to follow, the old man stepped through the open metal gates of the temple and vanished inside.
Rook and I slowed as we studied the place of worship. The timber had gone silver with age, the tiled roof sagging in the centre. Red lanterns swung from the eave corners; their tassels dull and frayed from bad weather.
Neither of us spoke as we climbed the three steps and entered the gloomy space.
Incense smoke clung to the walls, hazy and rich, coiling from multiple sticks that’d been lit in honour of the rows upon rows of memorial tablets. So many plaques—wood and brass, bronze and tin—hundreds of them standing like sentinels, balanced on shelves from floor to ceiling.
The old man bowed politely at the central offerings plinth before heading to a temporary table where pots, soil mix, and seeds waited to be planted.
That explained why he was so filthy.
On the floor, pots that’d already been planted waited.
He caught me looking. “I’m planting white chrysanthemums for the dead.” His hands shook a little as he made a bed of soil, dug his thumb in, and tucked a seed tight in the divot. “I’ve been the custodian of Mistwood Temple ever since they took you away.”
The fire inside me smoked with warning. “You knew when I was taken?”
I glanced around the space. Was this a trap? Was Marcus behind this and I’d stupidly stepped into it?
Not that it mattered.
Even if Marcus swarmed this entire village with a thousand men, he wouldn’t be able to touch me.
Not now.
Did that make me arrogant or just realistic?
The old man nodded. Grabbing another pot, he repeated what he’d just done. “I used to be a gardener at Ashfall Cliff. I worked happily under Head Steward Wen and often saw you when you were a boy.”
I tried to recall his face but failed. “I’m sorry, I don’t remember.”
He didn’t reply for a while, focusing on spraying his newly planted seed with water. “You don’t remember other things either...do you?”
“Remember what?” My hand wrapped tighter around Rook’s, grateful when her arctic energy flowed through me, snuffing out the fires that kept springing to life.
Abandoning his potting, the old man locked eyes with me. “Back then, we all knew you were different. We all watched you grow up. No one would’ve said a damn thing. We loved your family. We loved that you employed so many of us and granted such wealth to these remote villages. So...when they took you—”