Chapter Twenty-Two - Leigh
I wake up to hushed whispers, which is nothing new for a Lunar Witch whose mind often fills with the chaos of others’ thoughts. The voices flutter like moth wings against my awareness. I briefly wonder if the ghosts are back, but these voices are too loud to be in my head.
I roll over, heart racing, chasing my fading dream and the happy look on Wilder’s face.
Wilder. Wilder was there, giving me that look that makes me feel like I’m the only person in the universe.
That look makes my heart explode with happiness.
We were on the beach. On our honeymoon. The sun shone overhead as he looked irresistible in his beachwear, just like when I dreamwalked with him in Aurora all those years ago.
It was the trip I planned for us after the wedding, after I closed the portal.
The portal. The balloon of desperate yearning bursts in my chest, filling me with a bone-deep chill. Fynn.
I sit up too quickly. The room with its soaring ceilings, rich plasterwork, and four-poster bed spins like a carnival ride gone wrong. What time is it? Gripping my head between my hands, I squeeze my eyes shut, willing the world to go still.
As soon as it does, I’m out of bed and across the room, gray sunlight spilling in through the nearby window.
The door isn’t locked. I open it slowly and peek into the candlelit hallway.
A figure dressed in black disappears around a corner.
Other than them, I’m alone, and I know where I am.
I’ve walked these halls many times since I was a kid.
Traum Castle.
Or at least, the nightmare version of it.
Somehow, after the harpy nest, Wilder contacted me, which might have been a figment of my imagination, and I took a fall, ending up here. How?
Wilder? I try to reach him telepathically, but all I get is static, like he’s out of range.
Maybe he took my advice and left. I need to get Fynn back and get the hell home before it’s time to put on my wedding dress.
I leave the room, not bothering to close my door. I’m not coming back.
Barefoot, I wince with every step my raw feet take. While the layout resembles Traum Castle back in my world, the interior is a throwback to another time. There’s no electricity, and the furniture and paintings are exquisite. They are antiques, but with hardly any wear.
I approach a nearby door. I hold my breath as I twist the brass knob; it still cries like a banshee. There are sheets draped over the furniture as if it were in perpetual mourning. No one has set foot in here in months, maybe years. It’s the last place the Dullahan would hide a little boy.
“Careful,” a voice warns, sending frost crawling up my spine. “You shouldn’t be up walking around. You could be concussed.”
A hooded figure stands behind me. It is backlit by flickering candlelight, and my breath lodges in my throat like claws are crushing my trachea.
“W-who are you?” The question comes out smaller than I intended.
“You wander into my realm, and yet you don’t know my name?” The voice is undeniably masculine. Thick robes cover his body. Even his hands are hidden in the folds.
If this is his realm … “Kosac?”
Even without being able to see his face, I can feel him smile. The temperature plummets, chilling me to the marrow. If this creature has Fynn, I’ll make him tell me where he is with my bare hands if necessary.
“Your Majesty, welcome to Mictlan,” Kosac says. He doesn’t bow.
I stiffen. He knows who I am?
I take an involuntary step back into the guest room behind me, where the air is still, and unease courses through my veins.
Before I can ask how I got here or about Fynn, a woman in black rounds the corner.
She’s carrying a bundle of cloth in her arms. She wears a simple old-fashioned uniform, like palace attendants wore during my great-great-grandfather’s reign, but with a shroud over her face.
I recognize her simple black dress. I saw her when I left my room earlier.
She freezes the moment she spots Kosac, chin dropping to the floor.
Kosac beckons her closer with one hand, and I hold back my gasp. His fingers are skeletal, literal bones without flesh. Is this how the rest of him looks beneath that dark robe? Is he entirely a walking skeleton, or just partially decayed?
“Please escort our guest back to her room, Henrietta.” His chasm-deep voice echoes.
I frown. “Am I a prisoner?”
“On the contrary, you are my guest. I am pleased you are here.”
I hesitate before replying with, “I’m not staying. I’m looking for a boy. One of your rangers stole him. He’s about four years old. I want to take him back to the land of the living with me.”
Kosac begins walking back in the direction I came from. “Let’s continue this conversation inside,” he says.
Inside where? Reluctantly, I follow the Death God and his ghostly servant.
I suspect she might be a ghost. However, here in Mictlan, she appears in flesh and blood, solid beneath her clothing.
Strangely, she is the only ghost I’ve encountered since I arrived.
I know Mictlan has many layers, but I expected there to be more ghosts on this first level.
Have all of them descended to the other levels? Where is Aradia?
“Henrietta,” Kosac addresses the ghost walking behind him, “prepare our guest’s bath. She must be freezing.”
Henrietta performs a small, albeit shaky, curtsy before entering the room I woke up in.
Kosac gestures for me to follow her. I consider disobeying him, but he’s standing between Fynn and me.
With a huff, I step inside. He is right behind me.
“Where is he?” I question.
Kosac shifts. “Who?”
I bristle. “The boy.” He doesn’t answer, and I cross my arms. “Why did you take him? And what do you want from me to get him back?” Maybe I’m wrong and the Dullahan took Fynn without Kosac knowing. I shake off the thought. I doubt anything happens in this realm without their ruler’s knowledge.
Kosac’s laughter is a thundering grumble.
“You want money? Jewels?” I ask, but he says nothing.
“All I want is the pleasure of your company,” Kosac finally says, inadvertently confirming he does have Fynn.
I purse my lips.
“I’m having a party, and I’d like you to attend as my guest,” Kosac says. “Please, it would mean so much to me. It has been so long since we’ve entertained the living in this realm. Your vibrance is such a wonder to us who live in perpetual stagnation.”
A party? “I don’t have time for that.”
“Then you must not care about the child.”
A sinking feeling grips me. “That’s not fair.”
“It’s unfair to deny the ghosts and me your company—the company of the queen.”
Henrietta, whom I’ve determined must be Kosac’s obedient servant, returns from the bathing chamber, still carrying that bundle in her arms. She presents it to me. It’s a red dress. One with a low neckline, a dropped waistline, and a heavy skirt. I stare at the ancient garment through slitted lids.
“I’m not wearing that,” I say.
Henrietta says nothing. Her gray eyes are filled with sorrow behind her lace shroud.
Not gray like mine—gray like they once were a different color but lost all their brightness and cheer.
I look away, my own eyes stinging with tears.
I don’t know her, yet something about her breaks my heart. How long has she been here?
“Is the dress not fine enough for you?” Kosac asks.
“I have my own clothes.”
“Henrietta threw out those filthy rags. So, unless you want to wear your nightgown all day, I suggest you accept my offer.”
I look down at my white nightdress, which is as archaic as everything else here. “I’ll wear the dress.” I reach for it. It feels expensive, like silk.
“I’ll leave you to change.” Kosac turns away. “I look forward to introducing you to the rest of my court and the realm we are in. I promise it isn’t as macabre as the stories suggest.”
Yeah, maybe because it’s worse …
“Wait,” I say. Kosac pauses, twists toward me, face still hidden in shadow. “My ancestor, Aradia Graves, is here. Will she be at the party?” Hope expands like helium in my chest.
Silence stretches like a rubber band about to snap. Then, there’s an otherworldly screech rattling the ancient windows. Kosac straightens. Henrietta glances toward the window.
“No more questions. Be downstairs in an hour.”
Fear seizes my chest. “Wait.”
“Someone is stirring up trouble with my Dullahan,” Kosac replies with an edge to his voice before vanishing like smoke.
Henrietta frowns at me before storming out. I toss the medieval garment on the bed, chasing after her. Maybe she knows where Fynn is.
“Stop! Where is he keeping that little boy?”
Henrietta disappears around another corner.
I stand in the hallway, a restlessness twitching my limbs.
Wilder? I test our connection one more time. He doesn’t respond.
Unease wraps around my throat like cold fingers and squeezes. What if that’s him with the Dullahan?
Henrietta comes back before I can go check, holding a glass bottle. She pushes me toward the bath.