Chapter 22
In Which, in the Space of a Single Afternoon, It All Fell to Shit.
In Which I Am Reminded that This Man Is the Enemy of Humanity and as Such, Probably Isn’t Very Good at Interpersonal Conflict.
In Which Neither Am I, so What Then? In Which I Am Angry and Sad and Cannot See a Way to Fix This, so Why Not Break It Even Further.
Nothing stopped my re-entry to the castle. No constructs gripped me in their terrible curving claws when I stormed the kitchen and desecrated a tray of scones, and no foul scythes landed across my back as I returned to my room, brushing crumbs from my chin.
I walked back and forth across my bedroom, repeatedly, but courage came before I could wear a path in the limestone. Even then, I had only a small amount, fluttering in my chest like a moth.
Each step down the hallway felt like something I couldn’t take back. It made my flight of weeks prior, semi-conscious and impaled by an arrow, pleasantly nostalgic in retrospect; at least then, my mind had been unified on the goal of survival. Now, pieces of me split and argued.
Nobody human could stand me. Gareth had said that. But the sorcerer had been so nice. He’d given me pretzels, for crying out loud! And wasn’t I the solution to his loneliness?
“He won’t let me go,” I said, smiling away my nerves. “That’s all there is to it. He’s had a nice sorcerous tantrum, and now . . . now things will be fine.”
All too soon, the library appeared before me. I considered taking another lap around the castle, or two, or maybe even three, but forced myself to open the door and walk through it.
The sorcerer sat hunched over a book in his usual chair. All spindly and insectoid, he looked like something you might crack over your knee with ease. It gave him a vulnerability I hadn’t noticed before.
My gut twisted. “You want me to leave.”
“Yes,” said the sorcerer.
“Then . . . then, I’m leaving now.”
“Wonderful.” He licked a gaunt finger and turned a page.
I spluttered. “And the prophecy?”
“What about it? Simply refrain from getting killed. I’m sure even you can manage that much.” Merulo’s hair fell into his face, an oily curtain that draped to the stained pages of his ancient book.
I felt ill. Had he not enjoyed my presence here, as a cleaner, a companion, a co-conspirator?
Perhaps he tired of my silent dawdling, for the sorcerer shut his book with a snap. “I have errands to run in town. By the time I return, I expect to find you gone.”
I stood open-mouthed, wanting to protest but not knowing what exactly I was objecting to. He didn’t give me time to gather my thoughts, but stalked from the library without another word, and was gone.
It took me less than an hour to pack. From under my cot, I retrieved the tattered remains of my trusty linen dress, and folded it reverently.
Gareth’s sword, I buckled around my waist. I restored the curtain I’d been using as a blanket to its original wall.
Then, changing my mind, I tore it back down again.
In the kitchen, I loaded it with food and tied it into a little bag to carry over my shoulder. “My curtain now,” I said.
After some consideration, I also packed my spare dress. I could barter it for room and ale, the latter of which would be sorely needed.
Throughout, I hoped to see the flash of construct eyes, the stuttery turning of their heads as they tracked me, but all the castle servants moved past me blindly. Merulo was not even bothering to watch me leave.
With nothing left to do but go, I stood unmoving in the hall that led to the courtyard. We’d had a fight, yes, but we’d fought before.
“I’m objectively hot, and a massive catch!” I shouted in frustration. “And what’s his side of things? That I’m ruining his suicide?”
The bundle over my shoulder already felt heavy. I turned back and forth, indecision spinning me in place like a bottle, until something clicked.
“Too bad. If he wants me gone, he can drag me out himself. And I’ll cling to every wall and doorframe on the way.
” Let him live in a castle with my scratch marks winding through it, the bastard.
When had I ever been obedient? And now I was marching out to, what, humour one of his fits? Absolutely not!
I’d feel a bit stupid unpacking my scarce belongings, but the sorcerer would come back, and we could communicate, properly this time. It would be alright.
Things could still return to how they were.
In the hall ahead, the air split. A circular glyph unfolded, its detailed edges resembling lace. A transport portal. For a single joyous instant, I thought it was Merulo, regretting his words and returning early.
Then the dark blot in its center materialized into a crouching elf, and I felt death close around me.
“Oh. Hello, Glenda.”