I stared after him as he started walking in the direction of the nearest lake, but when my eyes flicked down unbidden to his pale, flexing backside, I flushed and quickly shut the door.
Not sure what to do with the book, I placed it down beside the fire in the living room and went into the bedroom.
“It’s safe,” I said to the empty room. “He’s gone.”
The crow hopped out from under the bed. Lonan appeared from a twist of black smoke, standing there naked, his body tense.
“Who was that?”
“The kelpie.”
He stiffened then scowled, fingers flexing as his eyes darted down to the blade discarded on the floor beside his armour.
“Why was the kelpie here?”
“He gave me a book.” I gestured towards it through the bedroom door, shrugging. “I kept an eye out for him when I was first here, thinking he might be able to help me escape. But he never showed his face, so…”
Lonan was still, eyes fixed on the book behind me. “What book is it?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t looked yet.” I went tense as I looked at him, my stomach clenching into a knot. “Are you going to tell your mother?”
His eyes shot to my face, brows pinching as they flickered with hurt. “No.”
“I’m sorry,” I blurted immediately, crossing the room to take his hand. “I didn’t mean it like—I know you wouldn’t.”
He exhaled, reaching up to rub his face. “No, I understand.”
He gave me a tiny, forced smile, leaning in to kiss my cheek.
“I should go. Leave you to have a look at it.”
“You don’t have to go,” I blurted immediately, flushing. “We can look together. It might—it might help me shed my mortal skin.”
Lonan froze at that, then his face did something complicated before he could mask his emotions. Like the thought of it both devastated and relieved him at the same time.
He nodded once.
“Maybe it will,” he said, kissing my cheek again before stepping away to get dressed. “But I have to go. I’ve been gone too long.”
I exhaled, shoulders sagging as I watched him shrug on his shirt before I forced myself to get dressed for the day.
He gave me one last, long kiss before he left. I wrapped his presents into a piece of cloth so he could grip it between his talons when he turned into a crow. He twisted into the bird at the doorstep without taking a single step outside. I wondered if he didn’t want to leave any footprints in the snow, though the kelpie’s were still there.
I forced myself to smile at him as he carefully gripped the bag in his talons and flew off. Once I could no longer see him, I went back inside and started the fires in the kitchen and living room, pouring water into the cauldron to make tea.
Then I knelt on the rug with the book. It was still damp, but getting warm from the fire. I was fairly sure the ink would have run entirely and the writing would be completely illegible when I opened it—I was guessing the kelpie had brought it here from the lake, though I had no idea how he travelled between lakes from the forest to unseelie land.
The pages inside were sodden but the ink hadn’t run at all. It was drying quickly. I couldn’t see the first page of the book, its title, because several loose pieces of paper were tucked inside the front cover.
I lifted them up and carefully unfolded them, fearful that they would rip along the wet folds. Then I stared at what was written. They were covered in utter gibberish. Broken sentences. Lone words. Single stanzas, like someone had started writing a poem and given up quickly.
Some of it was written in a messy, scratchy handwriting that looked shaky in some places and too big and loopy in others. Like the writer hadn’t even been looking—or maybe they’d been drunk—when they scribbled the words.
But some of the phrases and sentences were in a handwriting I recognised. Because it was Nua’s. It was the same looping cursive scroll as the notes. I recognised theNs instantly, with their long, curling, elegant tail.
I read over everything on the pages again and again, trying to make sense of any of it.
Black shapes lurk always watching