Page 70 of Hollowed
“Ishould have healed by now,” he said through gritted teeth. “Evenwith all the magicI’dused, it should not have affected me so.”
Ifroze at his words. “Wasit her magic?”
Helicked his lips again, his blue eyes darkening as he studied my face for a long moment. “Likely, yes.”
“Youneed to rest then,”Isaid, placing the rag down at his side. “Iwill get you some water and then brew you some tea to help you sleep.”
Withoutwaiting for his response,Iturned to leave the room.BeforeIcould step out, though, a cup clattered from the dresser, sending me jerking back into the doorframe with a hiss asIheld my shoulder.
There, sitting on the dresser, was a steaming cup of tea beside the rag and bowl.
“It’sthe house,”Alexandersaid, trying to smile through his grimace. “I’msorry it startled you.”
“It’sfine,”Isaid, rubbing my collarbone as my heart slowed. “I’lllet you drink your tea and rest, then.”
“Katrina,” he called. “Wait.”
Ipaused in the doorframe, turning over my shoulder.
“Thankyou,” he said.Thesoftness of his voice and his eyes were like daggers plunging and twisting into my heart.Iwanted to lean over and question him, to ask if he had known all along whatIwas, but when he looked at me like that—likeIwas the breath in his lungs—allIcould do was melt.
Mythroat burned, all the unsaid words scratching and clawing to get out.Unableto let any of them free,Isimply nodded before turning away, leaving the room and drawing the door closed behind me.
Myvision blurred with tears asIstumbled to the kitchen.Bracingone hand against the countertop,Itook deep breaths, focusing on the wood grain beneath my hand.
Atear escaped from the corner of my eye.Iwanted him.Gods,Iwanted.Perhaps, in another life, perhaps we could have been together.Butin this one, plagued by shadows of death and fire, we had no hope.
Somethingfractured in my chest at the admission.
Wipingaway the tear from my cheek,Ilet my curtain of hair fall around my face.Justfor a moment,Icould mourn whatIhad lost, but never truly had.Justfor a moment, beforeIneeded to shove it all back and focus on the reality at hand.
Itwould be awhile before he woke, hopefully, soIturned to the rest of the cottage.Thebookshelf caught my eye, sparking something in my mind.IfAlexanderhad known the truth of his mother’s words, perhaps he would have more information on phoenixes.
Tippingmy head to the side,Iscanned the titles, searching for anything that would stand out.Halfwaydown the third shelf, a faint tugging sensation in my chest guided me toward a thick leather-bound tome.Thegilded title blazed like molten metal.
Thebook that had called to me the first timeI’dseen it.
Withoutgiving myself a moment to second guess myself,Ipulled it from the shelf.Mybreath caught in my chest, andIfroze, waiting for whateverAlexanderhad been warning me about to happen.Nothingdid.
Thebook felt warm in my hands, like holding a warm mug, rather than a burning inferno.Itook it back to the kitchen table.
ThoughIitched to dive right in,Istopped, filling the kettle with water, and putting it on the stove to make tea for myself, since the house had only made enough forAlexander.Oncethat was done and my fire ignited,Islid into the chair at the table and opened the book; the leather cracked as the smell of worn parchment tickled my nose.
Iflipped through the pages as the water heated.Myeyes devoured every word.Turningto the next page, my hand wavered.Anillustration of a great bird of fire looked back at me, its head held proudly, and wings of flame outstretched.Myfingers traced over the lines, following the curve of its beak and the sharp points of its wings.Reluctantly,Ipulled my eyes over to the accompanying text.
Aflame growsin the darkness,
Aloneand blazing bright.
Screamsgrow coldly in the wind,
Onwings as black as night.
Deathdemands an offering,
Onlythose with sight can see.
Ashesand dust surround the world,