21
Celyn left early the next morning, instructing Thomas to stay put, which suited him fine. The weather was still foul, matching his mood. But being alone was not ideal. The story of the Nephilim and his place in it—that he was one of them, one of the Fey—it all jumbled together in his mind as he paced back and forth in Celyn’s small house.
By midmorning he was ready to face both the rain and other people. Both were preferable to being stuck by himself with only his disorderly thoughts for company. And besides, if he went to the hall, he might find Nona.
He lifted his cloak from the hook at the same time a knock sounded on the door.
“My Lord Celyn, are you there?” It was a child’s voice, high and thin. He opened the door and saw a young boy, whose eyes widened as he looked at Thomas.
