Chapter Twenty
We inch down with careful steps.
“I should not hold your hand,” he says in apology as I struggle down the rocky sides, trying not to slip. It’s far wilder here than the beach at our cottage. He adds, “In case someone is watching.”
“I understand.” I ask him in a barely audible whisper, “You promise that you’ll try not to leave me alone with her?”
We step onto a sliver of beach, rocks all around.
His black eyes meet mine. “I promise.”
I roll my shoulders back and take a steadying breath, inhaling the fresh, wet air as ocean spray splashes at my ankles and new boots.
The sun lowers over the horizon, casting its glow over the water.
It’s so beautiful I could stare at it for hours.
But there’s no time. I push the gift of beauty aside. “I’m ready.”
“Good.” He jerks his head past me to what I now recognize as the mouth of a cave. “Because we’re here.”
I follow him into the shadows, my sixth sense screaming not to.
After a few steps, my skin prickles with the chill of the air as the temperature drops several degrees.
I steady myself by placing one hand against the damp, cool wall, and my heart whispers another prayer.
I could be holding Aven in mere hours. I feel the echo of the ocean waves through the stone.
Mixed with the sea salt is something sweet and slightly rotten, like grave dirt, like the dead mice my sisters and I used to find in the walls of one of the houses we stayed at as children. Death.
As I stumble over a crack in the stone, Orrin reaches out to help.
I give him a quick frown and he drops his hand.
We keep going further into the cave, and the sounds of music and voices grow louder.
I remind myself to breathe. This place feels unending, but the flicker of light ahead promises that we are almost where we need to be.
I rearrange my face into a mask of polite interest as we wander in, weaving around the candles laid out in clusters on the floor, dripping out in puddles of wax.
I step cautiously, so as not to catch my dress on fire.
The cave itself is too dark for me to make out more than a pulsating mass of shapes, yet the flames reflect in pools of saltwater on the stone floor.
Then, we enter an open area. A room, I suppose I should call it.
There’s even furniture in it. But it’s not the increase of light by even more candles and lanterns that catches my attention.
It’s the dozens of people who draw my eye. No, not people. Demons. Beings.
Whatever you call them. A lack of souls. That feeling of nails down my spine when their black as ink eyes meet mine.
I find myself scanning the room anxiously for any humans at all.
Here. There. A shirtless man with goosebumps dotting his skin, his lips gone blue, balances a tray full of golden goblets.
When he comes to us, Orrin takes a goblet, but I don’t.
I’m not even the least bit tempted. I already know it’s full of wine—deep-red, and old.
Very old. I am too afraid to eat or drink a thing in this court, let alone something that might make me drop my guard.
I need all my senses working this evening.
“No, thank you,” I tell him before I recall I’m not supposed to speak unless it’s unavoidable. Not even to the servants, Orrin had said. Still, the young man doesn’t open his mouth to reply. I am not sure he heard me.
I turn my uneasy eyes to Orrin. He takes a long draw from his goblet, licks his lips. He mutters, “You’re not my equal here. Stay behind me.” I flush and nod at his regretful correction. I should know this already.
He turns from me, and I trail him as we make our way through the room.
I walk with cautious steps to avoid slipping on the smooth stone floor, shining wet in the spots not covered with thick, ancient rugs reeking of mildew.
There are even more candles in here, hundreds of them scattered around.
The chandelier affixed to the stone ceiling above holds dozens of tapers, whose flames wink and sputter with the cool bursts of air.
And all through the cave, the stench of rot, desolation, and desperation mingles like the worst perfume on earth.
Still, I catch the scents of flowers too, actual perfume, good food, wine.
It’s not all terrible. This place is thick with power, with magic.
With lust. I could imagine losing myself here, finding a deliciously dark new self.
If you ignored all the bad, the temptations could draw you in.
Enfold you. They would stroke you from the inside out.
I follow Orrin meekly as we pass throngs of demons.
I’m grateful for the black dress I wear, as it allows me to blend into the shadows.
Though it’s nothing grand. I certainly don’t fit in among most members of the court.
To my side, twin women clad in gold and silver wear rich skirts so voluminous they take up the space of four people.
Their eyes are fully black—though they each only have one, the right and left, paired up, a matched set.
They open their mouths, but no words come out, only a harsh, guttural croaking.
Perhaps you can take his tongue, Elisavet once said to Orrin about her valet.
Their empty sockets seem to search me through.
I turn hastily from their sharp gazes, feeling sick with pity for what’s happened to them—though they don’t seem to mind.
I scurry to catch up to Orrin as he moves in a fluid motion through the crowd.
In this horrible, unknown space, I cling to him as my only safety.
Whenever he stops to speak to someone, I pause a few paces behind.
I turn halfway to assess the room while keeping him nearby.
The room is awash in carnal pleasure and other, more twisted things.
Some of it benign, all of it is fascinating, in a disturbing, haunting sort of way.
In front of me is a human, her midriff and legs bare, gold chains roping up her ankles and wrists.
Her movements are slow and seductive as she dances to the music playing—a harp is plucked by a bare-chested man with cool-black skin and a dull smile, and a frail-looking young woman with no hair at all plays the lyre, skin so white it’s nearly see-through.
A wave of remorse pours over me at the three of them.
If we could take you too, I think in their direction.
But we can’t. The mission is clear: get Aven. Don’t get caught.
Scattered around the cave, on cushions and low, dark benches, are the rest of the crowd.
Mostly the soulless, wearing suits, robes, and gowns in all lengths and volume, from eras long past or those I suspect have yet to be, in the colors of shadows and rotted fruits.
There are several other humans besides the dancer and musicians; the servants are easy to pick out—hungry, wan, gazes cast downward, shabby clothing.
Then the others, those in the process of trading, those who are close to becoming demons.
They even move in a desperate way, thirsty looks in their eyes, so emotional in a sea of all-black stares.
They mostly wear simple dresses or trousers, although some wear no clothing whatsoever.
A demon in an impeccable black suit with a blue-silk square and a gold monocle blows smoke rings as he lounges on top of a bearskin rug, flicking the ashes of his skinny, dark cigarette onto the lap of a human man sitting at his side, who is tenderly stroking his ginger hair.
Another someone empties their bladder in the next room—I can smell the urine and hear it spattering against the stone.
More moans further away, a rhythmic slapping. Raucous laughter.
Far below, deeper into the cave, someone screams—not in a good way. I can’t help but shudder at the desperate sound.
It feels at once tawdrier and more beautiful than I expected.
The Court of Death is a perfect description.
It’s gorgeous and horrifying simultaneously—as are the beings.
I feel disgusted, and a little intrigued.
Because there’s a power here. I can feel it tugging at me, just like the red shoes.
What would I give to take away all my pain?
To forget all the worst parts of being human?
The thought frightens me, and I tighten my smile as I look over at Orrin, who is glancing back at me.
He’s speaking to a demon with a sharp jawline, black eyes with lashes so long I can even see them from here, bracelets stacked up on their long, wiry arms. The two chat like good friends, shoulders at ease, smiles on both their faces.
When they say good-bye, Orrin claps them on the back in a friendly gesture, and moves on, jerking his head toward me.
A demon woman intercepts him, a fine fringe cut short on her pale unlined forehead. She leans her lush figure into his side, whispering something into his ear so low even I miss it. I watch, already disliking her.
Orrin raises a brow, tells her, “Perhaps we can arrange something for another time.” His lips tilt up in a rakish smile. “Tell your friend to come too. I haven’t seen him in ages.”
“Keep moving,” he mouths, returning to my side and leaving her behind. I try to lose that momentary flash of jealousy. It’s not like he’s mine. My skin tingles as we get further into the room. Elisavet finally comes into view. She was his lover once, wasn’t she? More than once, I’m sure.
You can’t help but notice her. She sits on a throne carved right into the stone wall.
Tall iron candleholders flank either side, standing nearly as tall as the high seat, the flames dancing, tinting the air with smoke and vetiver.
There’s something crudely beautiful about it, this spot meant for her.
Their queen. She wears a diadem, glinting gold in the low light.