The Tynder Crown Chronicles, Season One: Episode One: The Tynder Crown Chronicles (The Tynder Crown Chronicles, A Novella Series Book 1) (12 page)

“There aren’t very many people you can trust now, Tynder. Josiah trusted him—”

“And look where that got him.”

“Josiah trusted me, too.”

“You know I didn’t mean it about you,” I quickly add.

“I know, but I’m telling you, Nash is one of the good ones,” he continues. “What do you think about Piper, can you trust her?”

“I think so … She seems to be a misfit, like me.” I grin.

“You have Josiah’s instincts, trust them.”

I see Nash turn around; he’s waving his arms.

“They’re coming,” I inform him.

Desmond swallows hard, and, looking at me again, he says, “You need to figure out where the weapon and the poison that killed Josiah came from. Only someone very powerful could get their hands on that kind of poison, do you understand?”

I nod, just as I see a hooded figure enter the room near Nash. With him are two of The Council members. Hanging at the cloaked figure’s sides are his hands, with fingers at least twelve inches in length and suction cup devices on the end of each one.

“I don’t know if I can let them do this,” I groan.

“You have to,” Desmond presses. “You need to be strong now. Josiah needs you to find his killer. He loved the Fae, Tynder. You’re not just doing this to bring a killer to justice; you’re trying to save an entire world. Do you understand me?”

“Yes,” I answer at last, the tears escaping down my cheeks.

I feel Nash’s hand on my shoulder, and Desmond looks up at him. “Get her out of here. She doesn’t need to see this.”

“What? No!” I cry, fighting against Nash’s outreached hands. In a whirlwind of colors, I see the councilmen and the creature that is about to suck all memory of me from Desmond’s mind. Nash takes a firm grip around my hips and throws me over his shoulder. I scream and fight and kick, but I can’t seem to break free. I see the creature lifting its long fingers to Des’s head just before Nash sweeps me out of the room.

“Put me down!” I demand. He does as I ask, and I lunge forward, trying to get back into the room, but Nash matches my every move.

“Let me by,” I command.

“I can’t do that,” he replies.

I can hear whimpers from the other side of the door—Desmond’s whimpers.

“Can’t you hear that? They’re killing him,” I plead.

“No, they’re not. You know he wants this. Let it be.”

“Let it be? Screw you, Nash.”

“Please, I don’t want to fight you.”

“What do you want then?” I snarl.

“I want to help you,” he quickly replies, a tenderness in his voice.

“Help me how?”

“I want to bring Josiah’s killer to justice.” I can see the pain in his eyes—the pain that mirrors my own. For a second I think of letting down that wall, letting Nash be that rock for me to lean on, letting him wrap his arms around me until the pain of losing Josiah and Desmond fades. But I don’t. I can’t.

I turn my back on Nash, and, as I walk away, I yell, “Just stay the hell away from me, Gideon Nash.” All the way back to the transportation portal I’m wondering if he knows I didn’t really mean a word of it.

Wendy Owens was raised in the small college town of Oxford, Ohio. After attending Miami University, Wendy went on to a career in the visual arts. After several years of creating and selling her own artwork, she gave her first love, writing, a try.

Wendy now happily spends her days writing—her loving dachshund, Piper, curled up at her feet. When she’s not writing, she can be found spending time with her tech geek husband and their three amazing kids, exploring the city she loves to call home: Cincinnati, OH.

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