Sister of the Dead by E. C. Greaves

Sister of the Dead by E. C. Greaves

Author:E. C. Greaves [Greaves, E. C.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: New, Fantasy
ISBN: 9780473623098
Amazon: B0B55GNKRL
Goodreads: 61483830
Publisher: DieselPunk Creative
Published: 2022-07-15T07:00:00+00:00


vii.

“Make no mistake, Pixie, I do not forgive the beast. Her good intent does not undo her past evils,” he said, and motioned for a bag that sat on the shelf next to Phobos. “Were it not for the severity of the situation, I would sooner see a knife in her heart, than spend even a moment in her presence.”

“I assure you, Prong, she likely feels the same way,” Phobos replied, and passed Xytar the sack.

It was filled with Yanghar only knew what, and along with several others, as well as various items of clothing, was quickly stuffed into a small trunk.

Xytar snapped his bony fingers in my direction.

“Daughter, would you kindly collect my frogs, set them free outside, then take my things to your boat?”

He smiled at me, though the expression did nothing to endear.

I wasn’t going to be able to carry his luggage by myself, and wondered just how much food it would displace. Better that we wouldn’t starve on the next leg of our voyage, than the weird man have his weird trinkets. But I wasn’t going to argue with him. I would probably just throw his things overboard later.

I nodded and set about rounding up the amphibians that lurked amongst the clutter in his creepy antechamber.

Aside from being home to a variety of frogs, it also served as a bedroom. Though how he got any sleep in its cramped confines was anybody’s guess.

It was fairly easy to collect most of the frogs, given how fat and docile they were thanks to the endless mosquito supply, but the last couple were sitting atop a precarious pile of tomes, which was itself balanced—even more precariously—on a crooked chest of drawers. Over the books, and probably to save them from the frog-slime, Xytar had draped a thick sheet of black cloth.

With one foot on some books piled on the man’s bed, and the other planted on top of the drawers, I pulled myself up as high as I could, using the dusty cloth for purchase. But as far as I was stretched, I could only just brush the gormless frog with the tips of my fingers.

Just a little further and I would be able to—

Then I was lying on my back. A stinging heat erupted in my shoulder where my poorly stitched arrow-wound opened anew, and a pile of books and furniture fell painfully on top of me.

“Curses of all the Fae, Daughter! ‘Tis clear that you are more Vulkar than Kimora, but please try not to destroy my belongings. I hope to survive this adventure, and return here!” Xytar snapped from his workshop. But I wasn’t really listening to him.

Despite the pain in my back, and the frog that hopped around me, I was distracted by the cloth that I still gripped in my hand; black cloth, emblazoned with a single image. A banner.

And one which bore the arcing crimson comet of Karthak herself.

I entered the workshop with the banner in one hand, and a cage full of frogs in the other.



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