Send Me Their Souls (Bring Me Their Hearts #3) - Sara Wolf Page 0,102

But that’s like…a valkerax. Did he…

“You…” I gulp, stepping closer to see him better. “Wait, how did you get a—” I stop, mulling over the strangeness. “Blood promise?”

Muro’s smile is more approving than Yorl’s. “A blood promise. Correct.”

“How?”

“The same way you did: I befriended a valkerax. Not as effectively as you did, I’ll admit. You, it seems, were much more skilled at it. You could simply talk! I, on the other hand, had to spend years in the Dark Below watching, baiting, cajoling, getting bitten.”

“Hey!” I protest. “I got bit, too.”

Muro’s laugh is louder this time, so loud it scares a frog from a nearby tree.

“That you did. Many times. And terribly.”

My mind churns. How does he know that?

“I’ve been watching,” he admits. “Not you, though you are very interesting. Yorl. I’ve been watching over him. I saw it all—his journey to replicate my research, the way he helped Varia and worked with you and that valkerax.”

“Wait, you were watching us that whole time?” I swallow. “Are you…dead? Yorl said you were. And if you’ve drank a blood promise, then—”

“Yes,” he agrees, but his expression never changes from its mildly pleased state. “I died an old man, when Yorl was young. My age finally caught me in some sickness. But I’d held on to the blood promise my valkerax friend gave me all those years ago, during my research. And in the name of polymathematics, and with little life left, I took it.”

Muro motions down to his finely silvered fur. “It wasn’t a blood promise given under sanity, so it wasn’t as effective as yours. But it was effective enough.”

I frown. “You’re worse than Yorl! Haven’t either of you ever heard of the expression curiosity killed the cat?”

At this, Muro’s laughter echoed. “That it does. Quite literally. He takes after me so fiercely, the silly thing.”

Muro. This is Muro Farspear-Ashwalker, the brightest celeon polymath to ever live. Or die. Lucien’s parents called on him years ago to try to heal Varia’s habitual nightmares of the Bone Tree. His research helped make the white mercury blades during the Sunless War. He was the one who brought the Hymn of the Forest to Gavik’s attention, an act that kickstarted Gavik’s vendetta against Varia, trying so hard to kill her before she could get the Bone Tree and destroy the kingdom.

With a cold chill in my spine, I realize she succeeded in that one.

And Muro knew. He knew she was chosen by the Bone Tree. He knew about valkerax, more about them than anyone. I walk up to the balcony tentatively, my frame dwarfed by Muro’s sheer height. Even old, he’s tall as sin. Was. I still can’t decide if this is some sleepwalking dream of mine or not, but the way Muro’s outline shivers each time he blinks makes me think it has to be.

“Is this…a dream?” I ask.

The celeon thinks hard on this, and then holds his paw up lightly. “I’m not sure. Perhaps, and perhaps not. I know very little and can explain even less. Time is a fickle thing, in my state.”

“How can I see you, if you’re dead?” I blurt.

“Because of our blood promise—we are connected. A blood promise is a conversation, forever. Surely Yorl told you that. The Tree of Souls connects us all, and the valkerax understand this best.”

I wrinkle my nose. “I can see who Yorl got the ‘talk frustratingly cryptically’ trait from.”

“Indeed.” Muro chuckles, tail thrashing. “He’s a good boy, and a strong one. Even stronger now, in no small part because of meeting you. I thank you for that.”

“I didn’t—”

“Please,” he interrupts kindly. “Spare me the modesty. I’ve seen enough of it from you for a lifetime. Or a deathtime.”

I knit my lips, and it twists into a smile. “Okay. You got me.”

“For a while, yes,” he agrees mysteriously. We watch the sea together for a second, and then, “Do you know what a soul is, Zera?”

“Uh.” I glance at him. “You? Shimmery, kind of here, kind of not?”

“Possibly. I’m not sure what a soul is, myself. Here in Arathess, we talk of the ‘afterlife,’ but rarely do we speak of what part of us goes there. Is it our bodies? Our minds? Or something else? Our feelings, our essence, our memories, a great mishmash of our lived experiences—it could be any of these, or all of them.”

The ocean laps below us, the sound soothing against his cryptic words.

“I may not know what a soul is, Zera, but I may be able to