He couldn’t believe it, his captors had gone and lost Whisper. Rasp would’ve been a little more forgiving had they’d simply misplaced the little cuss, but no, they’d lost-lost his fae mentor. The cult didn’t even know whether or not the sneaky bastard was still under their roof. Not to mention the whole tall tale regarding fae being able to transform into non-living objects. That was probably just some excuse to shift the blame onto Rasp once the finger pointing started.

Gods, he wished Faris was here right now. This seemed like the sort of bargaining chip Faris would use to leverage the situation back in their favor. Without his best friend to elbow him in the gut to keep him from saying something stupid, however, Rasp feared this was a prospective bargaining chip he didn’t know what to do with.

Don’t overcomplicate it. Stick to the plan, his thoughts cut in. Focus on getting everyone healed. And then, when the cult has lowered their guard, you’re gonna book it back to the surface as fast as you can and put all this behind you.

Rasp imagined Faris would have come up with something more eloquent. But Faris wasn’t here and, therefore, this plan was as good as it was going to get.

“Easy-peasy?” Bromm rumbled, repeating Rasp’s words slowly, as though he was saying them for the first time. “I am unfamiliar with that expression.”

“Oh, uh, it’s kinda like ‘piece of cake’.”

“What is like a piece of cake?”

Once more, for what would neither be the first nor last time, Rasp remembered the rest of the mortal world was woefully behind on human phrases. Normally he would have delighted at the opportunity to pass down horrifically incorrect idioms, but now didn’t seem like the best time to spread misinformation.

“I meant finding Whisper would be easy, okay? Sorry for the confusion.” Rasp moved head from side to side, trying to make out something other than the nauseatingly bright glow of the bioluminescent algae. “Are we almost there? Feels like we’ve been walking forever.”

Bromm was like a dog with a bone, unwilling to give it up so easily. “You say locating the Kriegaar will be easy for you, but you do not sound certain.”

Uncertainty, unlike idioms, apparently crossed the cultural barrier without issue. Rasp blew a sigh out of the corner of his mouth, admitting, “You’re asking a blind man to sift through a bag of trinkets to find the one that isn’t an actual trinket. Excuse me for being a little apprehensive about it.”

Such a task would’ve been undeniably easier had Rasp not been looting his way through the realm. He wasn’t sure what sort of hole he’d been trying to fill, but stolen bits and bobs helped soothe the ache, temporarily anyway. The loot went into his bag, the hurt eased, and Rasp swore to never do it again — at least until the next opportunity presented itself. It’d gotten to the point where he no longer paid attention to what he was stealing. His poor decisions, as they were wont to do, had come back to bite him in the ass. Trying to decipher what was stolen goods versus what was an unconscious fae cloaking its magic was going to be interesting.

Priestess Oreword pulled Rasp to a stop without warning, allowing Bromm to shoulder past. The familiar jingle of iron keys echoed along the surrounding stone before another heavy door drew open.

The chamber was unfathomably dark. A fact Rasp never thought he’d be grateful for. The stale air grew colder as he passed through the doorway, noting how the flooring underfoot had shifted from crude rock to set tiles. There was something else about the room too. Something that set his senses on edge. The hairs on his arms raised on end in a manner that felt unrelated to the cold. A familiar sensation buzzed at the tip of each finger as he traveled deeper into the chamber.

His memory flashed back to the night he, Hop, and Whisper had spent within the ghost village, and how it had felt to be near a harmony stone. This was similar, but ten times stronger. He didn’t dare switch to his aura vision for fear of what he might see. The sheer power emitting from within the room would have been too much for his fragile sixth sense to take in.

Father must have felt it too because the superstitious old codger leapt off Rasp’s shoulder and fluttered back out the door, wishing Rasp a painless death.

Un-fucking-believable. Rasp bit back every colorful expletive dancing on his curled tongue and gritted out a question directed at Bromm instead. “Is there a harmony stone in here?”

“Yes. This chamber is a hallowed place of worship,” Bromm said, sealing the heavy door behind them. “Priestess Oreword thought the stone’s presence would help the Kriegaar feel at ease.”

Ease was the last thing Rasp felt. He unlinked arms with the priestess and shuffled sideways until he found the wall with his outstretched hand. It was comprised of polished stone with unidentifiable markings etched along its surface. “Your nameless beastie reached me through one of these stones. What’s to stop it from using this one?”

“The chamber is charmed. The nameless one’s power cannot reach here.”

That made Rasp feel slightly better. He was still tracing the charms etched into the stone walls when Bromm’s heavy footsteps approached from behind. Rasp turned the same moment a familiar pack was shoved into his open arms.

“Retrieve the Kriegaar,” Bromm said.

“You got a table or something I could work at? I mean, I could dump all this on the floor if you want, but that seems a tad unnecessary.”

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Grumbling beneath his breath, the male dwarf took Rasp by the arm and led him to the far side of the room. Rasp made the mistake of not halting when his escort did and slammed his hip into a piece of heavy furniture. Gritting his teeth, he explored the area with his free hand, determining the object in question was a ceremonial table of some sort, fitted with a linen, unlit candles, and a pot of incense.

Rasp set the pack onto the low table and began sorting its contents. He set the known items aside — his extra socks, gloves, and hat all went into a pile beside him, as did the tooth brush and tin cup, bowl, and folding knives. To his dismay, he didn’t find any scraps of food as he rummaged through the remaining items. Maybe that was a good thing. He wouldn’t have put it past Whisper to disguise themself as a piece of jerky. An interesting way to go though, eaten by your errant pupil.

Only a handful of items remained. A smattering of jewelry he’d probably pocketed with the intention of hocking the next time they were in a town; Faris’s coin purse — which he didn’t recall taking but wasn’t out of the realm of possibility; and a bundle wrapped in cloth. Rasp placed the others off to the side as he unraveled the cloth with painstaking care. He felt a spark the moment he touched the object within. Rasp shook his head in disbelief as he ran his fingers from the base of the weighted pommel all the way to the tip of the dagger. Leave it to Whisper to transform into the one object he would grab in the heat of the moment.

Is this really you? Rasp inquired.

The dagger didn’t respond. Either Whisper truly had fallen into a deep state of stasis or Rasp was simply the idiot talking to an inanimate object. He twirled the knife between his fingers, hoping today of all days wasn’t the one he finally lost his pinky by being a show-off. “I think this is it,” he said. “So now what?”

Bromm sounded further away than he’d previously been. Likely due to the fact that Rasp was now openly wielding a weapon. “I will deliver the Kriegaar to Priestess Oreword.”

Bromm still wasn’t making any effort to inch closer. Rasp suspected he knew why. With a sigh, he flipped the knife around and offered it hilt-first.

“I would prefer it if you set it down, actually.” Bromm added, mimicking the phrase Rasp had used earlier that day, “No offense.”

“Offense taken.” Rasp lowered the blade onto the table and stepped away. For being fake, it sure felt like a damn good knife — well honed with a good grip and evenly balanced. If he wasn’t partially convinced that the blade wasn’t a fae trick, he would have considered keeping it. A myriad of intrusive questions flooded Rasp’s thoughts as he sought the wall, giving Bromm space to work.

Could he even kill with a knife that wasn’t actually a knife? He thought back to all of those times when he and Whisper had gotten cornered in and how a decent sword would have made all the difference. Had his trainer been holding out on him all this time? Maybe if they both survived what was to come Rasp would get his chance to ask. Along with all sorts of other intrusive things such as: is it limited just to knives? Could you shapeshift into other inanimate objects? Like money? Could I use you to buy a decent cart? Wait, wait, wait, what if we make you the cart?

Bromm collected the dagger and moved back across the room with it. Rasp heard the strike of a match a split second before a pale yellow light sprang to life. The flame moved downwards, igniting a cluster of candles that had been arranged onto the floor. Priestess Oreword lit a pot of incense as well, filling the chamber with a stifling cloud of sage, yarrow, and mugwort leaves.

The unholy combination of dried herbs and tallow candles caused Rasp’s eyes to water. The stench wormed its way up his nose, into his mouth, and down his throat, filling his lungs until those too burned with irritation. Rasp tugged his shirt over his nose and through his mouth, fighting the sudden urge to dry heave.

If nothing else, at least the light from candles allowed him to make out what was taking place across from him. Sort of, anyway. Priestess Oreword’s hazy shape knelt amongst her collection of candles. Her shadowy head bobbed up and down as she chanted. Her words were soft at first, but grew in volume until the entire chamber echoed with her spell. An icy prickle ran down the back of Rasp’s neck as the priestess’s power filled the room. Her magic was like a vacuum, pulling in every shred of warmth until the chamber was as cold as a root cellar in the dead of winter.

Her chanting crescendoed as the yellow candles danced and flickered around her. An icy wind whipped across Rasp’s face, bringing fresh tears to his eyes. As otherworldly as it was to feel a breeze within a fully enclosed room, he took it as a promising sign. Whisper’s power was returning. Already, Rasp could see the yellow light of the candles had taken on a blue tint. The blue grew, until the entire room danced in its eerie glow.

A burst of magic erupted at the center of the priestess’s circle. Crackling, the electric blue glowed bright as day before it went out with a hiss, extinguishing the candles in a dramatic flourish. Aside from some coughing from the priestess, the area was deathly quiet. Rasp leaned forward, attempting to assess what was going on.

He jumped in surprise when he felt tiny clawed feet scramble up his leg and onto his shoulder. A familiar furry body coiled itself around his neck. What have you done now?

You mean besides saving your miserable life? Gods, you’d think his mentor would be just a little bit more grateful to be alive and restored to good health. But no, straight into the accusations they went.

You didn’t save my life, little bird. She did.

Does it really matter who did what? It was my idea, okay? Relax and let me handle this. Now that you’re back to your old cheery self, we can get the fuck out of here.

Yes! It very much matters!

Rasp, taken aback by Whisper’s unexpected anger, grew quiet. Obviously he’d messed up somewhere. He just failed to see how or when it had happened.

With a heavy sigh, Whisper kindly filled in the missing blanks for him. By removing the hex, little bird, I have now incurred a life debt. A life debt that I do not owe to you, but to the one who saved me.

Oh fuck. He’d forgotten all about the stupid rules fae had to adhere to. Rasp was aware that the dwarfs were watching them. He could feel their eyes locked on him, attempting to decipher what was happening. It was for this reason he continued to communicate through thought. Okay, but does she know that?

It does not matter if she knows or not. My magic is bound to her until the debt is repaid.

“Fuck!”

What did you promise them in exchange for removing the hex?

So, long story, but they think you’re the fabled warrior meant to save them from the nameless monster terrorizing their home.

For fuck’s sake. You brought me back from the dead just to watch me die again? What were you thinking?

I was thinking, ‘gee, it sure would be a shame if the person I am depending upon to teach me things up and dies!’ I mean, you’re alive now, aren’t you? Shouldn’t that be something to celebrate?

In lieu of a reply, Rasp felt a set of needled teeth latch onto his neck. He slapped at the weasel curled around his shoulders, squawking, “Biting is not how we celebrate!”