Page 163 of Remnants: Disruption
“Did you hear what he said?” I ask, finding her eyes again.
“No,” she says, thin eyebrows furrowing. “We just saw the aftermath of the fight.”
“He sounded like he was talking to someone. Someone only he could see. He’d called someone a king that had ordered him to kill me. And the king hadn’t been Darkrend, because I asked.”
“Disconcerting,” Cass says softly, eyes unfocusing like she does when she’s thinking.
“Varun pretty much confirmed it, too,” I say and Cass’ frown deepens.
“How?”
“I made him do head motions since he seems to be unable to speak. Though he said something really freaky right before I killed him.”
“He—” Cass blinks a few times. “He doesn’t have a tongue. He shouldn’t be able to speak.”
I shrug again. “He said ’In the light of the day, it is easier to believe the ghosts were simply figments of your imagination. These monsters, though, are real and they are boundless.’”
“That’s fucking weird,” Cass says, and I laugh out again.
“Yeah,” I lean into her.
Cass goes still before letting out a breath. “Did you Commune with him?”
I lean back to meet her eyes again, this time wondering if I should ask about the dhampirs. If it’s worth considering the words of a traitor.
“He confirmed that he didn’t know what Gareth was, that he wasn’t a Remnant, and that he probably worked for someone else.”
“That is all?” Cass asks, and I let out a slow breath.
“Is that not enough?” I ask. And the simplest flit of her eyes are enough to know that she knows there’s more.
“We knew Gareth von Kemp was a shapeshifter, but not like that. And certainly not whatever creature we saw.”
I nod and she presses herself against me tighter. Her lips meet my ear, and she kisses the lobe before huffing a little.
“Honesty is hard for me. I have never had someone to confide in, and I am not yet used to it.”
The water splashes down on us, and it feels like the rest of the world has disappeared. Just her against me. Just two people.
“Start by telling me whose shower this is,” I say, and Cass lets out a soft laugh.
“It is mine,” she says quietly. “This is my private home.”
“Where?” I ask, leaning back a little to look into her orange irises.
“In Europe.”
Chapter 57
Offense
November 15th, 1030 A.D., Midnight
Nye Verden—the New World—is a place of shadow and death. Of fate and destiny. Of monsters and villains. A place of opportunity. A place to conquer. To drain. To absorb.
Gareth von Kemp, Recovered Private Journal, November 1030 A.D.
“Europe?” I squeak, standing with her still attached to me like a monkey.
