Page 72 of Lady Knight and the Thief

“Yeah, yeah, absolute truth and all that.”

Without further preamble, Torren walked up to the door and entered. Cypress followed, her heart in her throat.

26

The Soul Reach

Theinteriorofthecottage was just as enchanting as the exterior, perhaps more so. Fresh-cut flowers in various stages of drying hung from the rafters, while several candles merrily glowed on tables dotting the room.

In addition to the aroma of the flowers, Cypress could also smell fresh-baked bread and sweets.

“Havanj, are you back there?” Torren shouted into the home, walking through like he owned the place.

She supposed that being Prince…or rather, King…had its advantages.

“Yes, child. In the parlor,” An aged, rough voice answered from the depths of the house.

A sable-furred cat rushed out from underneath one of the many tables and between her legs. Cypress was only able to get a glimpse of the animal before it disappeared once more, but she could have sworn the cat had a pair of ephemeral, iridescent wings on its back.

“I brought a friend for you to meet,” Torren called back, angling down another hall.

Somehow, despite how small and cozy the exterior of the cottage had looked, the interior seemed to go on forever. They passed room after room, each one full of various trinkets.

“Yes, Scathat told me,” the voice answered. Cypress thought they might be a bit closer now, as the voice was marginally clearer, a little louder.

Torren chuckled and glanced back at Cypress over his shoulder.

“What?” She asked, brows furrowed.

“Just making sure you were still behind me, Lass.”

Before Cypress could respond with something equally as irritating, the voice came once more.

“Oh, she’s following, Torren. Don’t ye worry, the Lass has more steel in her spine than you, I’d wager.”

Torren shot her another grin, then opened a cracked door to reveal a room much like the ones they had already passed through.

A table proudly stood in the center of the room, framed by three chairs. Cypress narrowed her eyes at the number.

Candles burned on a great mound of melted wax, as if the remains of one candle held the others up. Wax dripped and pooled on a copper plate, securing the whole mound. Tiny white small moths fluttered around the soft, glowing candlelight.

Dried flowers hung from the rafters here, as well, filling the home with a heady aroma.

“It is nice to see you once more, Torren,” the woman Cypress presumed was Havanj said from the side of the room. She was preparing tea in a porcelain teapot with all manner of greenery painted on it in exceptional detail.

She had dark skin, darker than Torren’s, with a thick riot of right curls in a halo around her face.

Torren crossed the distance between them to pull the woman into a tight hug. “You as well, Havanj.”

When their embrace broke, Torren stepped back and held a hand toward Cypress.

“This is my new friend, Cypress.”

Havanj didn’t say anything immediately, so neither did Cypress; instead, she gave the woman a bow of her head and a smile in return.

“We were hoping you’d be able to tell us where the Lass belongs in Faerie. We recently discovered her heritage by way of Pixie Wine,” Torren explained.

Despite herself, heat bloomed across her cheeks at the mention of Pixie wine.