“Right,” I say, rubbing at my forehead.
Then I tell her of the forest faeries.
“You mean to tell me you once had a faerie flute, basically a super flute, in your possession and you tossed it into a body of water?” Blaise asks, arms crossed as her eyes bulge. Her voice is calm, but she’s bouncing up and down on her heels.
“Technically, I buried it in the ground.”
“You’re right. That’s so much better.”
“I know.”
“Why? Why would you do that?”
I shrug. “The man who raised me…I had a good idea of what he would want to do with that kind of power. The kinds of things he would make me do. At the time, I still planned on going back to him, so it seemed easier to bury it than to…”
“To have to tell him no?” Blaise’s tone is softer than I would have expected.
I nod, crossing my arms.
“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.
