The Weaver's Source

Chapter 46

I followed Grigore across the muddy road, eyeing the strange sticks Lillith had mentioned. As she had said, the tall sticks were thick and, despite the nonchalant appearance, they were practically drowned in magic. I wondered if many of the townsmen here knew what they were.

I jogged up to Grigore's side and observed his face. His expression was stern from thought but the annoyance from earlier had lifted thankfully.

"Thank you." I said softly as we made our way down the tiny lanes, back towards the inn we had nearly been chased from.

"What for?" He grunted, his mind still distant with thought.

"For offering help to Lillith."

"It wasn't like I could ignore it." He glanced down intently, his stormy eyes searching over my face. "Not with you and your magic basically screaming at me to do it."

I flushed pink, suddenly flustered and nervous I'd cornered him again. "I'm sorry." I stammered softly. "We can leave, Grigore."

"I'm bound now, Lyra. There's no leaving." His tone softened when he saw how terrified I was at the prospect I'd forced him to do something he didn't want to again. "I did this for myself as well, Lyra. If the old woman is a Source as you said, I can't well abandon her to the black dog. It's any Weaver's job to guard a Source, no matter who she's bound to, and these people here have clearly suffered enough."

I hummed, a little soothed by his reassurance, and peeked up at him as he fell into his brooding thoughts. Did he really not hear Lillith's song? Was he deaf to her magic because he was mine? I wanted to ask him but my heart pummelled in my chest and my mouth went dry from nerves. While he hadn't said anything in the hut about Lillith's assumptions of him being my Weaver, I had felt his annoyance bubbling away, and I still didn't feel like we'd made enough progress to address it. So instead, recalling that surge of emotions at the news of a northern Weaver, I foolishly brought that up instead.

"Were you hoping Weaver Tully and Fisk had been someone else?"

Grigore's eyes only briefly fell on my face but it was enough to tell me that the topic wasn't open to discussion by the stony expression of fury etched over his features. I pressed my lips together and fell back a bit, swallowing my deepening curiosity to know what it was he was keeping from me. He was looking for a Weaver from the north, that much I knew now, but why and who?

I was quiet for little while, giving him a little space after stepping so stupidly into such a sensitive subject for him, trying not to dwell too much on his sharp reaction to me, and focused more on the immediate danger ahead. A black dog that was addicted to Sources.

"What are you going to do now?" I asked as we walked into the square.

It looked brighter and less ominous now the dawn mist had lifted. People were milling about, talking quietly, but when their eyes found us, they fell silent and stiffened. They watched us warily as we passed and continued to eye us as we made our way over to the inn.

"I'm going to investigate, as Lillith asked. I need to understand the strength of this black dog to know whether it would be a smart idea to fight it or avoid it all together." Grigore replied lowly.

"And what if you can't?"

"Then I'll do my best to keep these townsmen safe until Leopold appears." Grigore said and pushed open the front door of the inn.

Barely anyone was inside. The numerous tables were left empty bar a couple in the corner. The hearth glowed with a strong fire, filling the long building with a skin tingling warmth. I hadn't realised how cold it was outside until I stepped in here and shivered a little.