Finn Ashford's Arc

Chapter 12 of 12

Finn slept under the wyvern and woke to gray light. The woman had not come back yet. He took the chance and climbed. The stair wound up past landings he had not seen the night before. On one landing a thick mat of vines and roses had grown into the wall itself, swallowing a window frame, the canes as wide as his thumb. The blooms were fresh. The wood under them was soft with rot. He pressed a thorn between his fingers and felt the years in it. Two days could not grow this. Two seasons could not. He climbed higher and found a heavy iron gate chained across the upper hall, the brass lock dulled by rain that had blown through some broken pane above. He could not pass it. He went back down. She was waiting at the low table when he reached the wyvern room. Her hair was loose now, long and pale down her back. She wore a light green corset dress under a cream robe trimmed with dark fur. Her eyes met his and did not move. "You saw the vines," she said. He nodded. "How long." "Two years," she said. "You have been gone two years, Finn." He started to speak. She lifted a hand and set a folded paper on the table between them. She opened it carefully at the creases. A drawing. Soft edges, worn thin. A woman with green eyes leaned against a man with a scar above his left eyebrow. They were both smiling. He knew the scar. He did not know the smile. He sat down because his legs would not hold him. "Two years," he said. "I lost two days." "You lost more than that." She kept her hands flat on the table. "The relic did something to you. You carried it longer than you remember. When you put it down you walked out of our life and did not come back. I looked for you. I could not find you the ordinary way." She paused. "So I learned another way. I spent these two years studying witchcraft. The roses. The watcher. The drink. All of it I learned to bring you here." Her voice thinned. "I am sorry. I did not know how else to reach you. I am sorry I drugged you. I am sorry for the snare. I did not know if you would come if I asked." Finn looked at the drawing. He looked at her hands. He believed her, not because he remembered, but because the vines upstairs were older than any lie she could tell. "Tell me your name," he said. "Hannah," she said. "Then tell me where the relic is, Hannah." She breathed out once, long. "North," she said. "Three days walk. I will take you. We leave in the morning." She folded the drawing and slid it across to him. He kept it.