Bring Me Their Hearts(4)

“You aren’t dead,” the celeon growls—their voices always sound sleek yet rough, like a banner of silk dragged across gravel. His eyes glint golden from the darkness of his hood.

“A master of observation and a master of stabbing young girls walking alone at night!” I force a pained smile. “It’s an honor. I’d bow, but the knife you so graciously gifted me is making that a tad difficult.”

“I hit your heart,” he asserts. “You should be dead.”

“I’d love to tell you you’re the first man to say such romantic things to me.” I stretch enough to grasp the handle of the dagger, and wrench it out with a great pull. The searing pain dulls to a hideous ache. “But alas—I’m a career thief, not a career liar.” I point the bloody dagger at him. “You have ten seconds to tell me who sent you. Celeon assassins aren’t cheap, so it had to have been a noble. Which one did I piss off this time?”

His tail twitches—a sure sign he’s thinking of ways to close the gap between us and end it.

“Nine,” I start.

The triplet moons are full above us, the red twins connected by a spray of stardust and the blue giant bloated like a firefly’s abdomen. They shed gloriously bright light on the woods and the Bone Road cutting through it, and I have all the time in the world to admire it, since the celeon chooses to remain silent.

“Eight,” I count down. “Was it the lady with the gryphon banners and fancy carriage who came by? She should be thanking me for relieving her of that emerald tiara. It clashed hideously with her complexion.”

Still, he says nothing. A flock of white crows flies overhead, settling in the pine trees to watch the showdown with their relentless red eyes. I suppress the urge to throw a fit. The last thing I need right now is a murder of witches watching this. I don’t like an audience when I work.

“Listen, my good celeon.” I toss the dagger from one palm to the other, inspecting the wicked tip. “You stabbed me. But I can forgive that. Lots of people stab me, and half of them I end up being great friends with! I even attend their funerals. Of course, I’m also the one holding their funerals. Alone. In the woods. With just me and their body and a shovel. But those are minor details. Five, by the way. The timer doesn’t stop just for my elegant soliloquies.”

The celeon lowers his hood, his pronounced blue brow wrinkling as he frowns. His ears are long and slender and straight and have no visible holes. The celeon look like big cats, if cats were also lizards and stretched out thin and walked on backward-bent legs.

“I don’t reveal my employers,” he finally rasps.

“Wrong answer!” I chime, throwing the dagger between his legs and pinning his tail to the ground. He howls and collapses on the dirt, the pain of being stabbed in his most sensitive area all but paralyzing him. The celeon might be five times stronger and faster than any human, but they have their weak spots. As he struggles to free himself, I walk over, stepping carefully between his splayed legs and squatting to his eye level. I see my reflection in his fearful gold eyes as big as coins, his slit pupils dilating as I lean in and flick his furry forehead with my fingers.

“And that’s why you should wear tail armor like everyone else, silly.”

“How?” He pants, his muzzle parted, so I can barely see his wicked incisors. “A throw like that—who are you?”

“Your employer didn’t tell you? Tsk-tsk, it’s almost like they want you dead. And I’d just hate to live up to their expectations.”

I reach down and pull the dagger from his tail. Unpinned, the celeon scuttles away from me and down the road faster than I can register, cradling his purple-bleeding appendage.

“I’m Zera!” I call. “Second Heartless of the witch Nightsinger. A bit of life advice: never come to the Bone Road ever again.” I pause. “But if you do, bring a new dress! You owe me one!”

The white crows in the trees start to cackle, a storm of noise. The celeon looks from them to me, his pointed face snarling as he hobbles away. He knows what those crows are, and he hates them as all celeon do. When he’s gone, I wipe the dagger free of mixed red and purple blood, the pain in my back radiating sharply.

“Kavardammit, this hurts!” Every movement is agony now that the adrenaline’s gone.

“What have I said about using the New God’s name in front of me, Zera?” One of the crows alights at my feet, speaking with a human woman’s voice.

“Just heal me,” I gasp. “No lectures. Please.”

“Humor me,” the crow says.

“Don’t I always? That’s why you keep my heart in that awful jar—so I can’t leave you humorless for a single second.”

The crow is patient. She always is. Finally, I exhale.

“Fine. Kavar stinks. Amen.”

“Zera.”

“I will write you a ten-page essay on how much the Old God rules more than him, just after you heal me. Please. I’m dying here.”

“For the third time this week,” the crow drawls.

“And the forty-seventh time overall! Did you know the humans think that number is unlucky? It brings all sorts of nasty diseases to their grain, I guess?”

“Have you been spying on the human village again? I told you not to get too close—”