Ink Blood Sister Scribe by Emma Törzs

Author:Emma Törzs
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2023-05-30T00:00:00+00:00

17

Ever since he first began writing books, Nicholas had made all his ink in one of the two basement kitchens. This was where he’d had his practical lessons as a child. Unlike the newer kitchen, which was the domain of the domestic staff, this kitchen hadn’t been updated since the late nineteenth century, and its wooden walls, pitted flagstone floors, and iron stove were stained with decades of oily smoke. With smoke—and with blood. Nicholas was fairly certain a forensics investigation would light the whole place up like a rave.

As it stood now, the kitchen was lit only by the early-morning sun, and Richard was silhouetted against the window with his back to the door as Nicholas came in.

Nicholas could make the ink by himself, but it was easier, quicker, and less painful with someone to help him, and usually he would have been pleased to have not only Richard’s company but the rare warmth of his full attention. This morning, however, the sight of his uncle provoked only a sick surge of fear deep in his belly.

He’d barely slept the night before, tossing and turning until his sheets were a ropy tangle and Sir Kiwi had left the bed in protest to sleep on the floor. He kept picturing that jar, the eye, those carefully severed veins, the fierce, protective look Richard had worn when he’d promised to keep Nicholas safe, and Tretheway’s mangled body lying in that mirrored room.

Last night he and Collins had left the study immediately, hurrying back through the passageway so Collins could read the spell and get them through the bookshelf. Nicholas had half expected Richard or Maram to be waiting for them on the other side, accusatory, furious. But no one was there. They’d gone back to Nicholas’s chambers without encountering a single soul, and despite the dead body lying in the room right next to Richard’s study, no one had come to speak with them.

“We had nothing to do with Tretheway,” Collins had insisted. “We just happened to be there when it happened. He’d be dead even if we’d never found that passage.”

This was true, yet all night Nicholas had been certain that at any moment Richard was going to burst through the door of his bedroom and accuse him of murder. And what would Nicholas accuse Richard of? The possible charges were too awful for him to articulate.

Now he couldn’t help but tense as Richard turned from the kitchen window toward him, backlit so it was hard to see his expression.

“Good morning,” he said.

“Morning,” Nicholas said, trying to keep his voice even. Surely Richard had found the body by now, hadn’t he? Surely he knew Tretheway was dead. Did he know Nicholas had been there when it happened?

But when Richard stepped out from the glare of sunlight, Nicholas saw he was smiling—a natural, welcoming smile, unstrained and completely normal.

“All right?” he said. His voice, too, was normal. “I know it’s a bit early for you.”

Nicholas forced himself to smile back. “I’ll manage.

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