"So, did you find out what's going on with the Lord Master?" Milcent asked as her large hands wrapped a brown leather strap littered with numbers around my waist.
I had been whisked away by Milcent the moment she saw me leaving the bathing room and had been pliant as she measured body, listening to her babble, answering her questions, which thankfully were never about Grigore, but now she was moving onto something I was unsure I could answer. I pondered for a moment, wondering if Grigore would mind me speaking of what we had discovered in the cold halls. I doubted he wanted many to know, he had asked me not to speak of it to the Lord Master's family, something that was hard to do around Filip. He constantly kept trying to pry information from me while Grigore looked at the room of the second killing. I stuck to my story of not knowing anything but I had a funny feeling he knew I was lying. But Milcent was Milcent. I doubted she was much of a gossip and Grigore seemed to trust her. He'd left me with her after all and not once warned me against her.
I glanced at the door when a load roar of men swept into the room. Grigore was among them, brooding in the corner, trying his best to ignore the good cheer with a ward in hand. No one would overhear us. It was so loud out there and almost every man and woman was drunk.
"Promise not to breathe a word?" I asked.
Milcent nodded and looked up at me with intrigue. "No word shall leave these lips of mine about it."
I shifted my weight with uncertainty, gazing down at Milcent's honest expression, before I finally answered her question. "Grigore believes it's a myling."
Milcent looked taken aback. "A myling? You mean one of those ghosts? A vengeful child ghost?" I nodded silently as Milcent's confusion thickened. "Well I didn't expect it to be one of those. I heard mylings are rare. A child to feel so much hate and rage at death is difficult to come by. And it haunts the Lord Master, you say?"
"It does. His whole family." I said softly. "That is what Grigore thinks anyway but we haven't managed to any evidence, other than me seeing something he can't. Do you know why a myling would be haunting them?"
Milcent shook her head with her brow furrowed deeply. "I don't. Children aren't often in the house, all servants are above a specific age and any family are banned from living there. Only his youngest is still a child and he's always been vehemently protective of them so I don't know why a child would've died and hated the Lord Master that much."
I frowned, a little disappointed even though I guessed that would be her answer. She noticed the disheartened glint in my eye and smiled softly, rising onto her feet and held my arms up so she could measure.
"I'm not close to the Lord Master, just a lowly barkeep, but I'll see if someone knows something. Don't think I'll have much luck but I'll keep my ears peeled for any gossip or rumours. This rowdy drunken hoard often enjoys spreading tall tales, some that hold a nugget of truth now and then."
That did give me some hope. Ever since I was told about the myling, I was uncertain how we were going to kill something that was already dead. Grigore had tried to explain it to me, saying that ghosts were either soothed by song or vengeance or the destruction of their bones, an act that would destroy the soul entirely. The singing part didn't quite make sense to me and seemed like it would never work when so far all my song had brought was trouble but he was adamant about it. If we could find out why the boy was dead and deal with its rage, we could soothe it. I was still confused about how it worked and I hoped Grigore would explain a little more clearly later. For now, I knew I had to find out why the boy had died and how.
As I held my arms up, letting Milcent continue with her measuring, as I thought more about the ghost, feeling a little out of my comfort zone. Monsters at least were simple; it just had to die with a sword and some magic.
"There, done." Milcent announced as she shuffled away, jotting down numbers. "I'll make a couple of things for you."
"You don't need to." I said and hopped down from the wooden stool.
"I told you I am making these clothes. I won't have you die from the cold." She said merrily. "Now I plan to make a new dress and heavy trousers for you, one made from mountain hare fur and goat wool, very comfy but also lighter for the warmer days. I'm planning to make you a coat. It'll be very thick and very warm, so save it until you're further north and deeper in winter otherwise you'll cook. Your current cloak should be enough with the new dress for now."
"Thank you." I said warmly.
She waved her large hand in the air, brushing away my thanks. "You're earning this so don't thank me." I nodded and she wrapped her arm around my narrow shoulders. "Well, go eat and rest."
"I will." I said and took a step away.
"And keep Grigore's bed warm." She added.
I turned sharply, my face instantly hot and my eyes wide with denial as my stomach burst from a flurry of butterflies, but I said nothing as she laughed at my expression and waved me away happily. I left the room and entered the warm loud bar, nearly being crushed by a large man as he collapsed beside me. Thankfully his drunken friends managed to catch him and pull him away before he could land on me. They waved me off, laughing, and I sought Grigore in his gloomy corner of the room.
I sat beside him, still red-faced from Milcent's comment, pulse thumping and unable to look at him properly. I felt his eyes flit over my face, curious as to why I was staring so keenly at the table with mild amusement.
"Did the measuring go okay?" He asked, tossing aside the ward.
I nodded stiffly. "It went fine." I paused, trying my hardest to keep the thoughts of lying next to Grigore out of my head and glanced about, making sure everyone was too drunk or busy to pay attention. "I told her about the myling." I admitted softly. "She said she would keep an ear out for any gossip about missing children."
Grigore nodded and hummed in approval much to my surprise. I had expected him to grumble about it darkly at least, not happily accept it. "Milcent will be of use." He added, draining his mug. "But it'll be the servants of the Lord Master who will help you the most. Tomorrow I want you to mingle with them, see if you can pry stories from them. Some may be more willing to open up than others but you keep trying. I'll focus on the family. They'll be the trickiest to get any kind of truth from." His gaze flicked to me. "But use your head and eyes, don't just rely on your magic to tell you something's wrong. I don't want to find your magic screaming for me and to find you strung up for the third time."
My cheeks burned and my defences rose sharply as I scowled at him. "I've learnt, Grigore. I won't get myself eaten by anything nor give myself over."
He smiled roughly. "I've yet to see it." He said deeply, his amusement thickening at my annoyance briefly before steeling, his expression becoming stony. "But, if anything does happen or if Filip ends up getting you alone, sing for me. I'll come to you. You're my priority and the one thing I actually care to keep safe in that manor."
My blush shifted from embarrassment to flustered and my heart fluttered at the determination rising in him and the danger of his magic blanketing me protectively. "I will." I promised softly.
He grunted in acceptance and his attention flicked to Milcent as she waded through the crowd, armed with a tray of food. I thanked her as she shoved the pile of food under my nose and a tankard of strong ale for Grigore, giving me a bright smile before hurrying off. I sat and picked at the food, slowly eating what I could of the fat meats, potatoes and vegetables. At first I watched the people around us, listening to their songs and laughter, but my attention was slowly drawn to Grigore. He leaned heavily back in his chair, arms folded and eyes closed, trying to shut out the world.
He stirred when he felt my gaze on him, his attention slipping to me. "What is it?"
"You don't seem to like the noise much." I blustered, nervous that he'd notice me. That I was looking at him again.
"No. I prefer less people." He muttered. "I was never the social one. That was Sorin's job."
I paused. I'd never heard that name before and curiosity stirred. "Sorin?"
Clearly he'd said something he didn't mean to when I felt anger burn in him and his eyes darkened as he sharply shut down, so I swiftly changed the subject, hoping to soothe him a little.
"Back home, Gabi was the talker while I hung back or avoided the town altogether." I said, tucking a damp strand of hair behind my ear. "But I like this. There's something warm about it."
Grigore was quiet and I thought maybe he'd withdrawn from the conversation until his magic curled, calling to me softly with his honeyed taste. His eyes were fixed on me, glittering with faint hunger and deep interest as he gazed at me, flittering over my features. My magic woke a little, burning the tips of my fingers and filling my mouth, quickening my pulse with nervous excitement. I quickly looked away, focusing on my clasped hands.
"Yes." He eventually agreed deeply, his attention not shifting from me as his magic continued to call to me, making my blood roar in my ears and unbidden thoughts of him kissing me swirl.
Then abruptly his magic and quiet hunger retreated, leaving my skin tingling in the wake of my settling magic, and he rose without a word. He gathered up his sodden cloak and glanced at me questioningly. I quickly pushed the food aside, suddenly not finding my appetite now butterflies filled my stomach.
I trailed after him like a shadow, dodging flailing arms and grasping hands as the drunk tried to pull her into a hug and get me to dance. Grigore would tug me closer though and glower at them, quietly chasing them off with a gruff rejection. Feeling his hand firm about my wrist and his body close to mine as he herded me through the crowd just made my heart flutter nervously and my cheeks burn. My mind was full of Milcent's words of keeping his bed warm and memories of his hunger last night and of his protective embrace this morning kept floating into my vision, making me clumsy and trip over my own feet. Keeping me close to his side, Grigore guided me to our room, warm from the fire Milcent had begun long ago.
I plonked myself on the bed, pulling off my well-worn boots as Grigore locked the door. He moved to me, sitting heavily beside me and pressing his elbows into thighs, pinching his nose and tightening his jaw as his eyes closed. I looked up at him curiously, testing his mind and finding it a hot mix of things; guilt, hunger, frustration, contentment, stubbornness. It swirled sickeningly inside him, worrying me. Just out in the food hall he'd been fine.
"Grigore?" I called softly. When he stiffened and still refused to look at me, I shuffled closer and pressed my hand against his taut arm. "If something's wrong, talk to me. I'll help you."
I wasn't sure he was going to respond until the emotional turmoil stilled and hunger grew hotly in him. His hand snatched at mine, tugging me against his arm roughly and grasping my chin, forcing my face to meet his. I was some inches from him and my whole being was growing hot and flustered by his gaze. His eyes could sometimes be quite intense, I was well aware of it, but not this bad. His eyes were almost black, full of dark need and glittering with deep frustration. His mouth was still etched into a frown but oddly that just made him more attractive to me. I was itching to feel his face, trace his scars, to brush my lips against his. My whole body warmed at the idea of his hands touching my skin and tracing my curves. It craved for it. I craved for him.
My mind stuttered. A floodgate opened, shoving aside all the walls of denial I had put up stubbornly, trying to ignore the heavy attraction that I knew had been building for him. I wanted him. By myself. This was no magic induced feeling. This was all me. I was the one reacting to him like this. I was the one who wanted to feel his skin against mine and have his mouth. I wanted to bed him, to keep him warm and give him pleasure. I wanted to be pleasured by him. I wanted to feel him between my legs and show me the ecstasy of love making.
Flustered and trying my hardest not to fall into his gaze, I pulled free of him and stood, tugging at my hair nervously in an attempt to not panic at the looming realisation that I wanted Grigore in that manner by myself. I was deeply embarrassed and shaken. I had always assumed it was the magic and clung to the idea recently. But it wasn't the magic. It was content in my chest, calm as could be.
"When do we get up? At dawn?" I asked, completely flustered.
"At dawn, as usual." Grigore said in a low tone that sent shivers down my spine and heat to pool between my legs. Quietly I cursed him and wished he was mute. "I'll wake you when Milcent has food for you." He promised, his gaze never leaving me as he rose.
I dared not look at him but I couldn't help myself. I stole a glance and found myself entranced as he approached, his gaze still intense and his movements almost predatory, his body rippling with quiet strength. My heart thudded and I found my eyes flittering all over him, noting every small thing about him that made me want him. The broadness of his shoulders, the power in his hands, the firmness of his jaw, length of his nose and darkness of his eyes.
He reached out to me and I flinched away, scared that if I felt so much as a brush of his fingers I wouldn't be able to help myself. Grigore however became stiff. In one fell swoop, the warmth was gone from his eyes. Whatever thoughts were in that lusting gaze was gone and replaced by a stony, cold resistance, the need burning through him silenced.
"Be careful tomorrow, Lyra." He said darkly and stepped away, lowering his hand and flexing his fingers irritably. "Don't anger the myling and be careful who you choose to speak to."
I nodded, regretting my reaction to him and feeling bereft as he stole away to his chair beside the fire, closed off to me as firmly as he used to be.
With the heat of my body calming and flames of lust dying down, I curled up in bed with my back to Grigore. I didn't know what to do and memories of the elf's and Lillith's warnings kept popping up as I thought about my confused feelings and lust for Grigore. Both had told me the magic would create ties and affections to keep me close to Grigore, a bond of sexual attraction and deep love. What if this desire was nothing but a seed planted by the magic within me and now flourished? What if I hadn't had a choice in this? Most importantly, what do I do about it? Do I pursue him or ignore it and continue to support him? Every inch of me screamed that he didn't return any kind of feelings for me. Like him, he reacted sexually towards me only because of my magic. It sings to him, calls to him to feed, encourages him to touch my skin. None of that was his own will and doing. All of that is instinct.
Either way, I wasn't leaving his side. In love or not, I would keep him strong and safe against anything. I would help him with this myling and, more importantly, I would help in his final quest and keep him away from the terrifying blond mage I had dreamt of.
Sleep came slowly as the fire crackled but when it eventually did, I dreamt of snow, blood, howling wind and black despair that was so dark I couldn't breathe. I knew what it was. I knew what was coming; that mage. Fear filled me. I didn't want to see him again. I didn't want to see Grigore be slain by him, and the terror woke me in a cold sweat just as the snow vanished and scorched stone walls boxed me in. I sat up sharply, my chest fluttering with every sharp breath, and looked across the dark room. Embers still burned in the hearth, lightly up Grigore sat in his chair, his head leaning against the wooden wall and his legs stretched out before him. My heart settled at the sight and the urge to hold him grew, forcing me to steel myself against my screaming instincts curl into his lap. After staring at him and watching him sleep, soothing away my terror, I curled back into a ball and thought back on the dream.
I never had two dreams so close together, normally they were days to weeks apart, but I knew the mage had been waiting for me there, deep inside that dreaded fort. It made me wonder who he was and if was Grigore's prey. A rival? Not his partner, Lillith had warned me he had died, something I never had the chance to confirm. He never did want to talk about it and I never wanted to press. The pain and anger I felt in Grigore at the slightest brush of the subject made me back off instantly. Then I recalled the name he'd spoken of in the food hall. Sorin. Was he his partner? Was he involved somehow? Maybe that mage had slain him. The thought made my heart hurt.
Sleep remained away for hours as I thought to myself, my mind alive with questions I knew I wasn't going to get an answer to and never able to close my eyes for long in fear that Grigore would vanish. Despite Grigore being aware of the dream and comforting me this morning, telling me I had nothing to fear, I knew that the moment we left danger was going to loom. The magic was warning me, trying to talk to me and send me premonitions of the mage, warning me Grigore was going to fight him. That Grigore was going to die.
I squeezed my eyes shut as my chest ached horribly. I couldn't let that happen. I wouldn't.