Persie Merlin and the Witch Hunters - Bella Forrest Page 0,78

food money could buy, and maybe a gift too. And the market had it all: food, drinks, jewelry, clothing, and anything else you didn’t know you were looking for.

“How about this?” Nathan paused beside a stall selling sodas in old-fashioned, pop-cap bottles. “Sugar is good for a fever. They have moon-melon flavor!”

I snorted. “Pardon?”

“Moon-melons. They’re grown in a remote part of Iceland by a tribe of magicals. They’re exposed to the moonlight every night, and kept warm under blankets during the day,” he explained. “Apparently, because of the magic they’re infused with, they never lose their chill, so we don’t have to worry about it getting warm before she can drink it.”

“Sounds perfect!” I encouraged, pleased to see him relaxed and enjoying himself. He’d been even more awkward than usual after the Necromancy, no doubt worrying that we’d suddenly turn on him—or turn him in—because of who his father was. Sure, it had thrown me for a loop, but I understood better than anyone that having a bad relative didn’t make you bad, too. While he hadn’t chosen his father, he had chosen to distance himself from that awful legacy. And he’d saved my best friend’s life, which awarded him a whole deck of forgiveness cards, in my book.

Nathan bought a whole case of the moon-melon bottles and stowed them away in a canvas bag, where they clinked happily. I didn’t say so out loud, but if they came from Nathan, I knew Genie would love them—even if they tasted like garbage.

Continuing our browsing mission, we picked up some samples of South African dried fruit, chewing on the tasty, if somewhat leathery, strips of dried mango as we walked. Swallowing a chunk, I mustered the courage to say some things that I hadn’t been able to say sooner.

I cleared my throat. “Thank you, by the way.”

He turned, a splinter of dried mango sticking out of his mouth. “Hmm?”

“I never got to say thanks for saving Genie. If it hadn’t been for you, I’d be in an asylum somewhere, crazy with grief.” I lowered my gaze, feeling tears prickle. In the days since it had happened, the thought of how differently things could’ve turned out kept bombarding my mind. And every time I dwelled on it, the tears came. “I know you took a massive risk, revealing everything to us. I just wanted to make sure you know how grateful I am. She means the world to me, and a world without her isn’t one I want to live in.”

He chewed discreetly on his mango. “Sometimes, when faced with the worst possible scenario, you have to do things you’d never normally do. She was my exception. I saw her on the ground and I knew I had to do everything in my power to ensure that she lived, even if it went against my ethics.”

“I suppose I chucked a lot of my ethics out of the window, too, when I beat the crap out of that bastard,” I muttered. My knuckles were still bruised, and they ached every time I moved my fingers. But, given the chance again, even knowing that Genie would survive, I’d still have gone to town on him.

Nathan laughed. “I confess, I didn’t know you had a secret boxer hiding in there.”

“Neither did I.” I ripped off another piece of mango and munched on it thoughtfully. “There’s something else I wanted to talk to you about.”

“Go on,” he replied, a hint of tension creeping into his face.

“Do you remember much about your dad?”

He sighed, as though he’d been expecting the question. “Not really. He left when I was three, and he didn’t leave many pictures. I suppose he wanted to cover his tracks. Everything I know about him I’ve learned from my mum or his Grimoire. Neither version is particularly flattering."

“But… you do know what happened to him, right? Or did you mean it when you said you had no idea?” My mom and uncle had told me many a tale about old Davin Doncaster, with my Auntie Ryann chiming in with some stinging sass. And they hadn’t been particularly flattering, either.

He paused. “No, I meant it.”

“Do you want to know?” I tested the waters. He’d given us complete honesty, and if I could help him put any lingering ghosts to rest, then I would. Plus, it had always been my uncle’s favorite story.

He hesitated. “Yes, I think I would.”

“Lux imprisoned him in the center of the Earth,” I said. “Everyone thought he got locked up in