Page 49 of Greed of Giants

At the very bottom of the chest, wrapped in cloth, was something small. I unwrapped it carefully, revealing a plain wooden box. It sat innocently in the palm of my hand, and I shifted, ensuring Killian had a view from where he slumped against the stone.

I had a feeling this might be what he was looking for,but when I opened the box, there, lying on a bed of velvet, were three large seeds. They looked like beans, and each one was almost the length of my forefinger. They were brown, shriveled, and dried. Apparently, the magic of the chest had not extended to them.

“We’ll need those seeds,” Killian said, something like relief in his tone.

“They look dead,” I objected.

“They look like seeds,” he said. “We’ll need them for the Sky Kingdom.”

Without a word, I set the box down beside him. But the chest wasn’t empty yet. I lifted out a coil of rope, and then clothes fit for a prince. A silk shirt, long pants, and shoes. A dress, a tunic, a skirt. Two pairs of clothes, one for the bride, one for the groom.

“Take what you like,” Killian said. “They are gifts.”

Gifts. The taste of it was bitter in my throat. Months ago, if I’d found such wealth and riches, I would have rejoiced at my good fortune. I would have written a paper about it, settled into my new life as a scholar, purchased land, a home, even funded one of my own research trips. But now it all felt hollow, meaningless. Because wealth couldn’t buy the one thing I wanted most, and I dared not speak the words aloud, lest I give them too much weight and truth.

24

Killian

Two days later, we left the Verdant Maw, or at least what remained of it, behind. Healing had taken a full day’s rest, and Ilaris was quiet, scribbling away in her journal while I dozed in and out of consciousness.

The treasure chest had bothered her—I was aware of that fact even though I didn’t want to examine why. If it were important, perhaps she’d tell me, or perhaps she wanted to be left alone while she sorted out her conflicting thoughts and chose a path. Regardless, I did not press her and put it behind me.

It felt good to be dressed in my princely clothes, the material cool against my skin. The fabric was a unique weave, made for fire giants, meant to withstand the heat, and not burn away completely when I released my fire. It kept me comfortable while normal fabrics held the heat within, making me feel sweaty and itchy.

Ilaris had left the new clothes and all the wealth fromthe treasure chest behind. Instead, she’d donned her armor again, braided her silky black hair, and slung her satchel over her shoulder. She walked out as though the chest had never existed. So I packed a small bag, taking the gems, the box with the seeds, and one gown for Ilaris. I took the moonlight necklace, not pausing to think of what I was doing, nor why.

The cave had been a pleasant respite, but there was no food, and despite the fresh water, hunger gnawed at my insides with increasing insistence. Healing cost magic, and the release of that power left me furiously hungry. I set a quick pace, but what Theron had done to the Verdant Maw had rewritten the landscape.

The forest we’d originally come through had vanished, and we walked across rolling green hills, each one just like the last. At each peak I scanned the horizon for a smudge of smoke or a blur of dark shapes, indicating a village, anything that might grant us food.

At the same time, a worry sat low within me. That Maren would catch up with us again and decimate us with her vines. That she would feed poison into Ilaris’s mind and drive a wedge between us. There was already a rift, and with each step I felt it widening. Why should she trust me when all my claims had come to naught?

And then there were the words of the scroll and its meaning. I didn’t want to think about it, not when my mind was so confused with hunger and need, the desperate need for a break from the question of what it meant to be me. From the loneliness of open space. From the crushing pain of being alone. Theron’s reaction was more than hostility or unfriendliness. It meant I might be wrongabout the future. It was possible that I had no brethren to assist me. I was, indeed, the last giant.

The emptiness stretched on. Jasper trotted ahead, sniffing the ground from time to time, leading the way in a northeastern direction. When I placed my palm to the ground to search for life, I felt a heartbeat in that direction, warmth. But the time it would take to reach it was ambiguous.

Ilaris walked a few paces away, braids swinging with each step. I watched the rhythmic pendulum of them, the way she held her shoulders straight, the determined set of her spine. She hadn’t looked at me properly since before we left the cave. Not since she opened my wedding chest.

I wanted to speak, to bridge the silence that had grown between us. But what could I say? I had no words that wouldn’t sound like excuses, and she deserved better than that. Maren and Theron had proven me to be a fool. They’d broken the fragile trust between us. Ilaris carried one of the gifts of the gods, a treasure she claimed to carry but had not shown me. And then there was the scroll. But all of it was nothing, meant nothing, compared to her silence.

It was sunset when it appeared on the horizon, a low line of buildings catching the last golden light. Jasper barked, sharp and joyful, as though he, too, were relieved to be leaving this desolate paradise behind. Ilaris let out a breath as we pointed our footsteps toward shelter and food.

The closer we drew, the quieter the town became. Odd. A settlement this size at dusk should have been spilling over with life, the laughter of children, the lowing oflivestock, the clatter of work. Instead there was only the wind threading down from the mountain peaks, and the low creak of shop signs swaying.

The village was larger than I expected, tucked into the shelter of low hills, a ring of gray-blue mountains rising to the north. Its buildings rose two, sometimes three stories high, and the architecture was elegant, clearly cared for, the kind of place that was proud of itself. But the upper windows were dark and shuttered, while the warm glow of lamplight came from the lower windows.

The scent of roasted meat and fresh bread drifted on the evening air, so potent I nearly stumbled. But the streets themselves felt scraped clean. A man crossed quickly between two buildings, head low, a short blade at his belt. He did not look up. Boards had been nailed across one doorframe. Long gouges scored the stone face of the building beside it, running the full length of the wall as though something had dragged itself along it.

Ilaris slowed, eyes narrowed as she studied it, her scholarly mind working although she said nothing.

A woman appeared in a doorway, a basket of root vegetables balanced on her hip. She nodded at us and pointed. “An inn’s just ahead if you’re looking for a meal and bed. It’s best not to linger outdoors. Not after dark.”

“Thank you,” Ilaris said, weariness in her voice.

The inn sat at the heart of town, a sturdy timber building with a painted sign showing a mountain peak and a crescent moon. Warm light spilled from every window, yet two men in full armor stood on either side of the door. They stepped aside with a nod when they saw us. I opened the door and led us in.

The sound of conversation and laughter poured into the street. The scent made my mouth water. Roasted fowl, herb-crusted bread, something sweet and rich with cinnamon. My stomach clenched so hard I had to stop. Ilaris glanced back at me, concern flickering across her face. “You need to eat,” she said quietly.