“Alright, then. So where is this flute? And more importantly, is there a series of caves along the way?”

CHAPTER 77

ZORA

“What’s it like?” Farin asks. He’s lying on his belly, propping his chin in his hand.

Staring at me.

I actually manage to sit myself up this time, though I have to groan and lean against the wall for support. Still. It’s progress. Much better than I was a few nights ago, when the cold had me ill enough to think letting Farin hold me through the night was a good idea.

It was not.

Okay, so I suppose from a survival standpoint, it was the right move. But allowing Farin to keep me from dying from the cold is akin to asking a spider to assist you in getting untangled from its web.

“What’s what like?” I ask, wishing to distract myself from the memory of Farin’s warm hands wrapped around my waist.

“Having all those worlds in your head?”

I shift, though it’s just as uncomfortable to do so. “Crowded,” I say, to which his face lights up in the most tantalizing smile.

“Well, maybe I could help you clear out some space in there.”

“You could?”

“My mind’s notoriously empty. I have plenty of space to share.”

I can’t help but laugh at that, though it almost feels macabre. There’s no way Farin’s mind is anywhere close to empty. In fact, it’s probably full of treacherous murder plots. Like the six uses of the blood of virgins or how to make suffocation a less peaceful way to die.

Still.

It’s nice to be asked.

“I don’t remember everything about all the worlds. You know how you have all these days of your life that you don’t recall a single detail about? It’s like that, but worse, because I just have so many lives to keep up with.”

“Then tell me what you do remember.”

I laugh. “Why do you care?”

“Because I’m bored.”

“And why is that my problem?”

“Because I tend to start contemplating murder when I’m bored, and since you’re the only person around, and I rather fancy you, I’d appreciate it if you kept me entertained.”

There’s an amused dance in the way his eyes twinkle.

Should it give me the warm fuzzies that this male wants a distraction from thinking about murdering me?

Likely not.

Okay, it’s a resounding no.

But coming from Farin, it’s practically a bouquet of my favorite flowers.

“Fine. But only because I’m bored too.”

“We don’t have to tell stories, if you don’t want. I’m sure we could come up with other activities to fill the time,” he teases, and though my heart skips, I hasten to scold it.

Farin is a flirt.

A murdery flirt.

He’s in love with Blaise. No, he’s obsessed with Blaise, because that’s what murdery people do. They obsess.

He just happens to have a rather flirtatious personality. It’s not as if I haven’t met plenty like him in my many lives—males who have their hearts set on one girl alone, yet mask their desire by flirting with any female in sight.

That’s what’s happening now.

Though I let myself be grateful he at least fancies me.

After all, that’s better than him wanting me dead, isn’t it?

“What world are you most interested in hearing about?” I ask.

He grins. “Whatever you’re most interested in.”

I ignore the way his smile twists my already wounded gut—the gut he wounded—into knots.

Ugh.

But I tell him anyway. I tell him of a realm where the ocean is such a deep indigo, it looks almost purple in the sunlight. A world in which the fae sprouted wings and soared in the heavens, making their homes in islands above the clouds.

I expect several questions about said cloud-islands, which is why I’m taken aback when instead Farin asks, “And what about males?”

“What about them?”

“Do you have one you’re hoping to get back to? A Blaise to your Farin, if you will?”

I don’t allow myself to dwell on how his words cause my stomach to sour.

“I don’t really let myself get close to males,” I say.

Farin frowns. “Why not?”

I sigh. “In each life, I start off an infant, just like everyone else. Then I grow into a child, lost in my head during the day, tortured by nightmares at night. Everyone always calls me a dreamer, says I’ve an imagination too big for my skull. Tutors scold me for never being able to pay attention, but really, it’s like I just have too much to keep up with. And then I get older, and about the time when I would notice boys my age, that’s when it hits me my dreams aren’t dreams at all. They’re memories. And of course, I go years without telling anyone, because obviously whoever I tell is going to think I’m crazy…”

I trail off, and Farin cocks his head to the side. “And then?”