Chapter 13
XIII.
The End Is the Beginning
It was only a little tin, but tucked into my cloak, it felt like one real thing I could trust. I left the forest hut, somewhat reluctantly, with the old woman’s directions to find my way back to the chateau.
“Beware of bandits and thieves!” she said as I stepped off her threshold. “And return here if you find yourself in need. Come to this grove and light the hearth, I will arrive shortly after.”
“I will!” I promised, though at that moment, I felt sure I would never see her again.
I had the feel of my magic safe in my pocket, and I was eager to show Lord Death my progress.
The thought of a meal and the soft bed that awaited me made my feet light and eager, even as I crossed the border of the grove.
It was near sunset, and I hurried back through the stones and thick spruces, racing shadows that were nearly as purple as my bruise.
The old woman had told me to walk straight, straight as an arrow, and not to question or doubt the path.
The trees were thick, crowding in tight until it felt that I could barely breathe, but between them I could sometimes catch a glimpse of mountains whose roots were in night and peaks that still held on to the last of a brilliant orange day.
The sight of the larger world brought back my awareness, and with it my doubts. The old woman had just appeared out of the forest. She’d never told me her name. I had no idea who she was or why she’d found me. A shiver crawled over me. Why had I gone to her hut so willingly?
This was my mistake, this wandering in my thoughts. I kept my feet straight, but my mind turned circles, and as the shadows grew, the soft sound of something following me in the snow jolted me out of my thoughts.
Maybe it was just a squirrel. Or a rabbit. I stopped, listening with my blood pumping in my ears. Perhaps it had only been my imagination.
These cursed woods. Walk straight and sure, I repeated to myself and turned my face again in the direction of the chateau. I clenched my fists and quickened my pace.
A blur of motion caught my eye, and I cast back over my shoulder, forgetting everything I’d been told. A long, scruffy creature loped through the trees.
A wolf.
“Saints,” I muttered, panic engulfing any lingering pain and exhaustion.
Focus on the path ahead and it would bring me to the chateau. I kept repeating these things to myself, struggling not to turn my head or strain my ears for the wolf. But in my heart, I began to doubt them both. Maybe the old woman had sent me into the woods to be eaten by wolves.
The shadows grew longer, the wolf closer. A shaggy brown rangy creature. A flash of teeth. A tail. My throat tightened.
And then, between the trees ahead of me, a strange light appeared, bright as a small sun. For a moment, it distracted both me and the wolf. I picked up my pace, hoping it was a signal for the chateau. It disappeared in and out of the trees, always ahead of me.
When I finally managed to close the distance, I blinked in surprise.
It was the hellcat, embers lifting off its back and blinking out in the wind as it waited, as if to make sure I was following. I stumbled forward, focused on following the trail of softly drifting embers as the beastie led me through the trees.
The imposing black stone of the chateau loomed into view through the boughs of fir and spruce, and I could have sobbed with relief. In the dense twilight and last remnants of sun, the blackened stones glowed nearly blue. The House of Blue Sleep.
Well, I was no fool. I gave the forest my back and ran as fast as my ribs would allow. Only when I rushed through the spindly hawthorn trees in the courtyard and my foot crossed the stone of the chateau’s threshold did I look back.
A silent forest sat, empty and cold, night collecting under its trees.
No wolves. No spirits. No creatures of any kind, save myself.
Stars pricked in the velvet blue spreading from midheaven, and one brightest and glowing hung over the rough edges of the mountain ridges.
It was only moments before the last light faded.
I took a deep breath of the sharp air, trying to grip on to a world that seemed always to be opening out from under me.
My ribs caught painfully, and I remembered the poultice in my cloak.
I needed to hurry to my room before the house turned dangerous.
As I walked through the silent doors, the hellcat streaked beneath my feet.
On instinct, I reached down and grabbed at the back of the cat as if he were any old mouser.
It’s strange, flamed fur rippled under my hand, but there was no heat, no burning—nothing more than a whisper of warmth, but only if I thought closely.
I picked it up, half surprised when it flopped like a regular cat in my hands.
The cat squirmed and scratched at me, clearly put out.
“Don’t spirit cats want to eat too?” I asked it, and then it surrendered itself to my hip and we headed up the richly carpeted stairs.
Nothing in the house had changed during my absence—the torches wavered cheerily, the hallways stretched long and silent. I rushed, relieved for the silence and that there were no signs of Lord Death having returned. Clutching the cat tight, I reached the top of the stairs and set off.
It was strange to smell myself—the sharp bite of herb and fresh air—move through the halls. I hadn’t noticed the thick floral and myrrh smell of the chateau earlier, but now it seemed almost overpowering compared to the tang of the forest.
The halls seemed on my side, for I reached my room quickly and shut the door with relief.
The hellcat wiggled out of my arms and dropped to the soft carpets, immediately streaking away and disappearing under the bed.
Night had fallen outside my windows and dinner was on my tray where breakfast had been.
The keys were where I left them. I gripped the cold iron tight before replacing the mattress.
I had made it back just in time. My body ached all over, every joint and muscle screaming. I looked at the hearth, wondering how I might summon a bath again. The luxury and absurdity of it almost made me laugh.
None appeared, so instead, I stripped down to my shift and smeared the poultice on my bruise.
It smelled of herb and animal fat, a sharp scent against the close air and dark blues of my room.
No longer in a misty morning cloud, the room had transformed again into the darkest twilight blue.
The poultice eased my pain enough that my appetite returned, and I ate the bread and bit of meat and wine left on the tray.
My thoughts kept wandering—to the wood, listening to the silence.
Dacia and the other girls would be welcoming customers and pouring beer.
Cook would be burning something. Josef would be halfway in his cups.
The night deepened and I sat restlessly checking my injuries, staring into the fire, checking the keys.
What were they saying about me, now that I was no longer there?
Girls came and went all the time. I was probably already forgotten.
I didn’t miss the brothel, not at all. But I missed the bustle and the noise.
I’d never been isolated like this. I’d never slept alone.
Never had a room, let alone a fine house, all to myself.
I hardly knew what to do. The night stretched long and lonely.
There was no robe, no new dress, still no bath.
I looked around the room for anything to do, mending, weaving, anything.
But whatever magic the house offered seemed to believe I had no need of such things.
There was not even the tick of a clock to orient me in time.
I tried to wait it out, staring at the ceiling. Surely, it was close to midnight. I tried to sleep, crawling into bed in my dress, but I only tossed and turned, wide awake … listening.
In the yawning, deep-throated silence there was a sound, a kind of low hum, and once I heard it, I could not unhear it.
I tried to shut my ears. I tried to sing.
But whenever I lifted my voice, it seemed to rebound right back onto me, as tight as if I were still buried in that coffin.
I could not describe why, but it seemed the room grew disturbed whenever I spoke.
In all my life, I had never met myself on these terms. Alone with only my racing thoughts, my fears growing like mold on the walls of my mind.
Death had told me not to leave my room between sunset and sunrise—but he’d also said to test myself.
I’d already lost nearly a full day. Maybe that was why the room had not given me anything else, why the house was driving me mad.
It was waiting for me to complete my tasks.
I knew better—I truly did—but the quiet gnawed at the edges of my mind.
I flung myself from the bed, pacing the room, my thoughts racing faster and further.
Soon it seemed that I’d be trapped endlessly in this night if I did not complete the tasks.
I wiped my sweaty palms on my dress, lifted the mattress, and pulled out the great ring of keys.
Gripping them tightly, I stood at the threshold.
Did you call for a spirit cat the way you called for regular ones?
I turned back to the room and called for the hellcat, clicking my tongue and making pspspspspspsp sounds.
I looked under the bed and in the curtains, but the cat did not appear.
“Here kitty!” I called. Still, nothing. My heart sank.
He must have gone back to whatever realm he originated from, but how I wished for his company.
Ignoring the heavy feeling in my stomach, I stepped into the hall.