Destonne rubbed a hand across his neck and smudged the blood. “An old friend.”
Before they could make their way to the door, it swung open and a slim woman with frizzy brown hair emerged. She exclaimed, “Dezzy!” then promptly launched herself at Destonne and wrapped her arms like a vise around his neck.
Emmery watched in horror, waiting for the King to shove her away or perhaps stab her with one of the knives he always seemed to keep hidden on his person. After the countless executions in Asaella the last few weeks, Emmery wouldn’t be surprised if he’d killed for much less.
But the King just awkwardly patted her back and said, “Pleasure to see you too, Reize.”
After sufficiently strangling him, Reize crouched to hug Brennen. “Hello, my dear Bren.”
The wolf rested his horned head on her shoulder and his eyes fell closed, as if committing the embrace to memory.
Reize released Brennen and extended a hand to Emmery. “Reize Neston. Instrument of the Gods. Or former in-training, I should say.”
As she took Reize’s hand, the mesmerizing lemony hue of her eyes made Emmery stare helplessly. Not a shred of white remained, as if the yellow bled from her cornea, and as her eyes meandered, Emmery wondered if her vision was impaired. Yet there was an unsettling quality about that look, as if she held the world’s answers in that peculiar stare.
“Emmery Hawthorne. No important title,” she managed to reply.
“Oh, I know whoyouare. There are stories foretold and written in your name.”
Great. Emmery’s stomach sank as Aera nervously dug her claws into her shoulder.
“Stop that. Be nice,” Emmery hissed at her fox.
Aera responded with a huff and twitch of her tail.
Reize didn’t seem to notice the fox’s unease and offered a secret smile. “Come inside and I’ll tell you all you need to know.”
So, they followed and perched themselves on her strange wooden stools or, rather, lopped off tree trunks. The scent of damp moss and mould assaulted Emmery as insects skittered at their feet and leaves blew in through the open windows. Brennen sat in the corner unbothered, while Emmery pulled her knees to her chest for fear of things crawling up her legs. Judging by Aera’s soft yips, she too was uneasy.
“How do you know each other?” Emmery murmured to Destonne and leaned closer to add, “Dezzy.”
He narrowed his eyes at the nickname, then his breath coasted the shell of her ear as he whispered, “We attended the same school in the north. Reize recently came back through whensomeoneopened the mountain passage.” Destonne gave her a cheeky side eye.
“You’re very welcome.” Emmery shot him a smirk but kept her voice low as she said, “I assume from that enthusiastic hug you two were lovers.”
He snorted softly. “I think she may have fancied me. It was terribly awkward. She’s a bit too …eccentricfor my taste. But she’s perfectly nice.”
She didn’t know how to respond as they waited for Reize to return. Eccentric was one way of putting it. Only a particular kind of person could live in these circumstances. Emmery wasn’t that person and judging by the rod-like stiffness to Destonne’s spine, neither was he.
Reize surveyed them with those strange eyes as she swept into the room. “I apologize for not making our arranged meeting. I had an unexpected visitor.” Her lips quirked up as she skipped to her kitchen, or rather the carved out dark room with an old stove and mismatched cupboards, some missing their doors. A rush of water followed the clang of pots and pans.
“It’s no trouble,” Destonne responded. His brows scrunched as he peered into the kitchen.
“Tea?” she called.
Destonne’s deep voice carried to the other room as he said, “That’s very kind, but no. Thank you. We won’t be staying long.” Then he whispered to Emmery, his warm breath at her ear, “I don’t advise drinking the tea unless you enjoy the taste of unwashed socks.”
Emmery scrunched her nose. “And how do you know that taste?”
His eyes slid lazily to her. “Drink the tea and find out.”
Reize returned with four cups in hand and a chipped dusty-blue teapot. After she placed them on the low wooden slab used for a table, she gave them an overly pleased smile and sank down on a bench across from them, then smoothed her grey moth-eaten skirt. “Ask your questions,” she chimed in a sing-song voice.
Destonne propped his ankle on his knee. “Well, Reize, I’ll get straight to the point. We need to enter the Hollow.” He drummed his fingers on his thigh and eyed the simmering tea with a hint of disgust. “But we haven’t the slightest idea how to get there or what to expect.”
She surveyed the three of them carefully, her dark brows arched. “The path to the Hollow is a dangerous one, not like it once was. The demons run rampant. Those Deimos cast out now run the lands outside the sanctuary.”
“I’m afraid we have little choice,” Destonne said. “We wish to find a loophole to retrieve the blood offered to make a pactum. To free ourselves of its bonds.” He nodded to Emmery. “She wishes to retrieve her memories, and I, my magic.”