Total pages in book: 151
Estimated words: 147649 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 738(@200wpm)___ 591(@250wpm)___ 492(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 147649 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 738(@200wpm)___ 591(@250wpm)___ 492(@300wpm)
I find a small rod of silver left over from when I forged the bag and a few minutes later, I have a ring.
The book has another poem to decipher, so I go back to the instructions.
Now you have her ring in hand
It’s time to stamp it with your brand.
Give your power to her now
Breath, and words, and voice, and vow.
Well, that’s not creepy. I mean, what are the chances that everyone reading this little book would have breath, and words, and voice power?
Something… is afoot.
Whoever this Pressia is, she wrote these books for me. Maybe Pie, too, since Pie used Pressia’s spells and recipes to make her soaps, and balms, and tonics the other day.
Yeah. I think I need to go up into the hallways and find this Pressia woman.
But first, I need to make a vow and finish the ring. I never did finish the bag—Tomas never gave his fire blessing. But I don’t need anyone’s help to complete this project.
I just need a good vow.
I grab a little notebook and a thin piece of charcoal, then go up to the roof and settle myself on the edge, gazing out in the direction of the lake.
It’s so peaceful. Almost too peaceful. And that’s when I notice that there’s not a single monster or nymph in sight.
“Hmm. Maybe wishes do come true?” Then I catch a bit of light glinting off the polished gold surface of the black tomb’s dome. “Later, tomb. I have a vow to write.”
I think for a while, just relaxing in the sun. I lie back on the hot wooden planks of the roof and let my mind wander in thoughts and images of Pie.
I think of all the things I love about her. She’s very pretty in a fresh-faced sort of way. But she’s also funny, and good, and honest. And powerful. Pie thinks she came here powerless, but that’s not true at all. That’s not how power works. Not innate power, anyway.
It was always there, she just needed a little help turning it on.
Of course, she was always the Bird Whisperer. Then she was an eros lure. She was in Vinca for what, a week? And now look at her. The Magna Ducissa of Spelling. The Regina of Doors. And, let’s not forget, the Tamer of Monsters. She’s my little Package Pleasurer. My Junk Jerker. My Cock Coddler. My… OK, OK, OK. This is a fun distraction, but I need to write a vow.
And it needs to be perfect.
It might as well start with the word A, since Pie says that’s how all the most powerful spellings begin. And it should embody the both of us. Attributes that describe us, maybe. And then, of course, I need to put some feelings in there and a promise about eternity.
I start jotting down words, getting a little lost in my process and feeling pretty good about it.
But then there is a commotion across the sanctuary, over by Pie’s little cottage. I stand up and shade my eyes for a better look, then sigh.
Batty and that outspoken nymph, Isla.
I can’t really hear what’s being said, but I think there’s an argument.
And now I’m angry again. Because this place is called a sanctuary and it’s never been so full of strife.
It’s not meant to be full of strife. It’s meant to be a fucking place of refuge. And these damn monsters aren’t appreciative.
This is what pisses me off. Their careless attitudes. Their contempt for my rules. Their frivolous parties and frat-boy insolence. And the irony is not lost on me. Wasn’t I, just a couple months ago, defending my ways to Pie as something intrinsic? Wasn’t I selling my monstrosity as something she was just supposed to accept?
Well… things have changed.
I’ve changed. This kind of behavior is no longer acceptable and I’m putting my foot down.
I shove the notebook and pencil into my pocket—pants really do come in handy—go back down the stairs, and leave the smithy.
Because I’m sick of these monsters and their interference in my sanctuary time is now over.
CHAPTER SEVEN - PIE
I leave the dungeon using my door and return to Pell’s tomb. And when I get there, I decide I need to have some deep thoughts about rings and doors.
Because I just gave a door away. It even came with a ring and a spelling.
But the scariest part is, even though I was OK with doing that, I didn’t do that.
The spelling just came out! The same way it did for the rubies in the walls.
“Pie…” I’m whispering to myself as I push through the woods and start counting doors. “You need to be careful. You have no idea what you’re doing.”
I agree with myself. Which is why I’m walking these doors. It takes me a while—there is a lot of brush to push through—but when I get to the end, there are only forty-nine doors.