Free Feast of Fates (Four Feasts Till Darkness Book 1) by Christian A. Brown

walkway, whose long face was even more afflicted from slack-jawedness. Morigan smoothed back her hair, checked that her breasts were in place, and made her way over to the young man.
    “Good morning to you, sir,” she said, and checked the sky to make certain. “Yes, it is morning. I was wondering if you had the time.”
    With shaky hands, the young man extracted a chronex: a small tempered hourglass tied to a pocket chain that was marked with larger and smaller lines. Regardless of how it was carried, it wouldn’t tip over or otherwise shift the pale sands inside beyond its prescribed loop, as these devices were synchronized by magik. Which meant from reading the glass that Morigan was well past tardy for her master.
    Fuk! Fuk! Fuk! I’m late for work!
“Thank you!” she shouted, startling the man, and ran to hail the nearest coach.
    A speck later, she was jostling against the interior of a carriage, without any coin to pay for it. Not that any of that was important. Grinning like a simpleton, she pressed her face to the window of the coach and watched the sun rise with the joy of witnessing it for the first time. She watched its red and gold fire light up the cloudless sky as if it were the most profound experience of her life. It wasn’t, however, and she laughed and sometimes giggled maniacally all the way to Master Thule’s district. For she knew what a
true
mystery was. A wolf…a man…a race on a living wind through the night. Grief, loss, passion. For the most incredible thing that had ever happened to anyone, had just happened to her.

III
    AWAKE AND DREAMING
    I
    T hule’s unadorned white tower was as much of an eyesore as you could find in King’s Crown, and the neighbors were always filing futile complaints with the Crown. The disrepair and neglect manifested clearly when compared to the flowered lattices or ever-flowing fountains of fire that could be spotted in adjoining properties. No grand metal gate did Thule have to fence his holdings, just a rock footstep that seemed pulled right out of Kor’Keth, and a plain but heavy iron door. This simplicity spoke to his lack of pretension.
    Thule seemed fine when Morigan whisked into his study, out of breath and asking for her day’s wages in advance to pay the coachman waiting outside. He maintained a chilling silence as the young woman threw a hasty meal at him and saw little of her after that. Once done with her master, Morigan hurried about his tower from floor to floor, trying to make up for the hourglasses she had missed with an industriousness exceptional even for her hardworking self. Thule had a large tower with many unused rooms in need of a good airing out, which gave Morigan plenty to keep herself busy with as far as chores went. While she scrubbed, fluffed, and polished, her mind was a million spans away, running through the incredible adventureshe had been on last night. She could still taste the smokiness of Caenith on her teeth, and when she was finished with each room, she thrust herself out the window, wondering if somewhere he was catching her scent.
    A wolf. A man. A man who is not a man. I don’t know who I met. I can’t say what you are or what you mean, but I like it. I want it. I count the sands until I see you again
.
    Caenith consumed her thoughts. She saw his sharp smile flash in every wet sweep of the mop, his dark hair in every shadow; she heard his whisper in every breeze; she caressed his hard chest with every stone tile she washed. And yet, she felt alert, in great control of her faculties, brimming with mental energy, and as much as she accomplished, she never tired. The strange salutation that began last night circled often in Morigan’s head.
    “A toast,” said Caenith
.
    “To?”
    “To awakenings.”
    Awakenings. She would ask him tonight what he meant. She would ask him many questions, she decided, and tried to reel some sense back to into her body. Later in the afternoon, when it was time for Thule’s tea and