He cleared his throat and stepped stiffly inside — as if he was expecting to walk into a blast. “Lady Kyleigh to see you, sir,” he said, with a great deal less than his usual pomp.
She strode past him, and he shut the door — leaving her alone with their unwanted guest.
Most of the rooms in Roost were completely unfurnished. But for whatever reason, Crumfeld had taken great care with the library. The small hearth was stoked to a blaze, the elaborate desk and its many compartments were swept clean, and every thread of the rug had been beaten free of dust. Even the lounge chair cushions were settled just so, with every stitch lined up with the pattern of the backing.
As if the room wasn’t gaudy enough, he’d also taken it upon himself to hang an elaborate, gold-branched chandelier from the highest point of the ceiling.
It was all a bit unnecessary, in Kyleigh’s opinion. The library should’ve been about books and little else. Towering shelves lined the whole room like walls but — to Crumfeld’s constant dismay — they went mostly bare.
When she’d suggested that he fill them himself, his face had gone rather longer than usual. “You are the Lady of Copperdock,” he’d scolded her. “The library should be your sanctuary. It is your duty to fill them as you please.”
There were few things that exhausted Kyleigh more than reading. So if Crumfeld was waiting for her to gather books, he might have a several hundred years to wait.
She glanced about the room, and it didn’t take her long to spot the man who’d managed to get Crumfeld’s kerchief in a knot.
He was bent over behind the desk, inspecting the library’s one tiny collection of books. He wore a stained tunic and breeches that were far too large — both sopping wet from the rain. His dark hair stood on end, as if he’d slung his head about to dry it. His feet were bare and caked in mud. She could see clearly where he’d roamed about the room, leaving filthy footprints across the stone and rug in his wake.
Well, no wonder Crumfeld was cross.
Kyleigh took a step towards him. “Can I help you?”
“An interesting collection, you have here.” His voice was light, and the way he growled made it sound strange — almost like a purr. “I don’t know all of the words,” he continued, tracing one finger against the nearest spine, “but I think I know this one: dragon . And here it is again — dragon . Every book seems to have it. How interesting.”
Kyleigh stopped. “Yes, I’m something of a collector,” she said, more cautiously. She didn’t like the direction this was heading, and her hand wandered closer to Harbinger.
Fortunately for him, the man turned slowly.
He was younger than she’d expected him to be — perhaps only a little older than Mandy. His skin was tanned like leather. His face was clean-shaven and his nose was straight. There was a considerable amount of arrogance behind his smirk. And his eyes …
Wait — she knew those eyes.
Kyleigh took an involuntary step forward, squinting for a better look. The man’s eyes were a deep, golden brown. They took in the firelight and somehow managed to mute it. There was an unnatural focus in them, and a deadly sense of play. He watched her as if he had a hand about her throat — as if he were squeezing out her last breath and at the same time, trying to calm her struggling. As if she might as well just lie still, and accept the fact that there was nothing she could do to stop him.
Oh, yes. She most definitely knew those eyes.
“What are you doing in my territory, cat?”
He smirked as she stepped towards him. “Merely following some rumors … I’ve come all the way from the Unforgivable Mountains, you know.”
“Have you?”
“Oh, yes.” He stepped to the side, dragging his feet obnoxiously against the rug as he went. “The birds have been growing ever more insolent. They’ve returned from their winters with fats bellies, and with their beaks full of
She strode past him, and he shut the door — leaving her alone with their unwanted guest.
Most of the rooms in Roost were completely unfurnished. But for whatever reason, Crumfeld had taken great care with the library. The small hearth was stoked to a blaze, the elaborate desk and its many compartments were swept clean, and every thread of the rug had been beaten free of dust. Even the lounge chair cushions were settled just so, with every stitch lined up with the pattern of the backing.
As if the room wasn’t gaudy enough, he’d also taken it upon himself to hang an elaborate, gold-branched chandelier from the highest point of the ceiling.
It was all a bit unnecessary, in Kyleigh’s opinion. The library should’ve been about books and little else. Towering shelves lined the whole room like walls but — to Crumfeld’s constant dismay — they went mostly bare.
When she’d suggested that he fill them himself, his face had gone rather longer than usual. “You are the Lady of Copperdock,” he’d scolded her. “The library should be your sanctuary. It is your duty to fill them as you please.”
There were few things that exhausted Kyleigh more than reading. So if Crumfeld was waiting for her to gather books, he might have a several hundred years to wait.
She glanced about the room, and it didn’t take her long to spot the man who’d managed to get Crumfeld’s kerchief in a knot.
He was bent over behind the desk, inspecting the library’s one tiny collection of books. He wore a stained tunic and breeches that were far too large — both sopping wet from the rain. His dark hair stood on end, as if he’d slung his head about to dry it. His feet were bare and caked in mud. She could see clearly where he’d roamed about the room, leaving filthy footprints across the stone and rug in his wake.
Well, no wonder Crumfeld was cross.
Kyleigh took a step towards him. “Can I help you?”
“An interesting collection, you have here.” His voice was light, and the way he growled made it sound strange — almost like a purr. “I don’t know all of the words,” he continued, tracing one finger against the nearest spine, “but I think I know this one: dragon . And here it is again — dragon . Every book seems to have it. How interesting.”
Kyleigh stopped. “Yes, I’m something of a collector,” she said, more cautiously. She didn’t like the direction this was heading, and her hand wandered closer to Harbinger.
Fortunately for him, the man turned slowly.
He was younger than she’d expected him to be — perhaps only a little older than Mandy. His skin was tanned like leather. His face was clean-shaven and his nose was straight. There was a considerable amount of arrogance behind his smirk. And his eyes …
Wait — she knew those eyes.
Kyleigh took an involuntary step forward, squinting for a better look. The man’s eyes were a deep, golden brown. They took in the firelight and somehow managed to mute it. There was an unnatural focus in them, and a deadly sense of play. He watched her as if he had a hand about her throat — as if he were squeezing out her last breath and at the same time, trying to calm her struggling. As if she might as well just lie still, and accept the fact that there was nothing she could do to stop him.
Oh, yes. She most definitely knew those eyes.
“What are you doing in my territory, cat?”
He smirked as she stepped towards him. “Merely following some rumors … I’ve come all the way from the Unforgivable Mountains, you know.”
“Have you?”
“Oh, yes.” He stepped to the side, dragging his feet obnoxiously against the rug as he went. “The birds have been growing ever more insolent. They’ve returned from their winters with fats bellies, and with their beaks full of
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