12. Chapter 12
Chapter twelve
W illa Darling Fredrik.
The name still lingers over an hour later when I sink into the giant tub, the words a ghostly echo in the dark of the castle. Despite the chill of Niko’s voice in my mind, I let out a moan as the delicious heat of the water sinks into my aching muscles. Exhaustion pulls heavy at every part of my body. It weighs on my limbs and chest, presses against my veins until even my blood feels sluggish. My head is both fuzzy and raw, like I’ve somehow burned my thoughts with acid.
Willa Darling Fredrik.
The name in anyone’s mouth would have startled me. It’s been years since I’ve been called by it as there’s no one left alive to remember my last name, let alone the ridiculous middle name my mother insisted on giving me. A family heirloom that’s lasted longer than the family itself.
Adrenaline pulses through me, as I remember the way it sounded in the king’s mouth. That nimble tongue, that drawling accent. He’d said it like it was wanton; he’d said it like he owned it.
Willa Darling. Not an infuriating nickname, nor a condescending moniker.
The Carrion King knows who I am.
Which means I need to get the fuck out of here before he can figure out the rest.
Despite my exhaustion, I scrub viciously, turning the water a light shade of pink. I stare at the swirls for a long moment, before I work up the courage to examine my shoulder. Though it aches terribly, like a phantom imprint of the tiger’s claws shredding through it, the skin is smoothed over. There’s no resistance when I rotate it, the muscles and tendons strong as ever. Swallowing down a sudden rush of emotion, I tear my gaze away from my body.
Everyone else has their stories written along their skin—one from a fall on their bike when they were twelve; a spill when they’d gone skiing with their families—but I have none. Only an expanse of unmarked skin, a blank canvas. Like I’ve never lived at all.
Blinking away the hot sting in my eyes, I finish washing and climb from the tub.
I tug on another black dress, scowling at the lace fabric and ornate stitching on the sleeves as I weave the silk ribbons together along the back. The attire is the one part of Letum I cannot abide no matter the beauty and details—fighting in a skirt is a pain in the ass. And after surviving the tiger, I’ve a newfound respect for any woman capable of it.
Plucking a gilded comb from one of the many vanity drawers, I begin working through the tangles in my hair. The repetitive motion helps to soothe my unease and sharpen my mind, and after a few moments, I begin to plan.
I have to get out of this castle tonight. I no longer have the luxury of waiting Niko out, of taking my time to learn about him and the world, before making a foolproof escape plan.
The gleam in his eye as he’d leaned over me shook me to my core. It was manic and vicious, but worse than that, it was hopeful.
I’ve seen the extremes a person can be driven to by hope; the atrocities committed in the search of something better, the darkness always justified by the light of the end goal.
I’ll never be anyone’s hope again.
My only saving grace is that Niko’s fervor has kept him from examining me too closely. He believes my family name is the secret, my distant connection to his ridiculous fairytale land, but he has no idea the things I hold far beneath it. In the darkest depths of myself, where no one can ever use them to hurt me again.
I braid my hair loosely down my back and slip on a new pair of the blasted silk shoes before heading back into my chambers. The kingdom is still dark outside the window, though I’ve now come to accept that Letum is always dark, no matter the time of day. Perhaps what the king said was true: this world is truly a twisted version of the stories I heard as a child—the one I’d told over and over only a few months ago, as it had been one of Zenni’s favorites.
The thought isn’t a comforting one. I’ve read enough fairy tales to know the true versions are rarely the ones presented to children. They’re filled with blood and tragedy, violence and heartbreak. And they never end happily.
This version won’t be different, especially with the kingdom under the rule of a villainous king.
My mind whirls as I stare at the world outside; at the gilded black room around me—the dark velvet throws, the silk sheets—even this goddamn dress is dark. Just like Niko’s eyes.
Just like his power. Driven by madness and pain.
By vengeance.
Niko lost control when I mentioned Pan’s name. Zenni had been enamored by the mythical figure—by his mischievousness and penchant for fun, something severely lacking in our own world—but I’d seen him differently as an adult. To me, there’d been an insidious selfishness beneath his charming exterior. A warning as to what happens to those who refuse to grow up.
I won’t be getting between the two of them, no matter the version of the story. I’ll find my own way out of this godforsaken kingdom.
Niko had been reticent to let me out of his sight, but ultimately, it was Sam who’d convinced the king to allow me to bathe before dinner. A slight pang of regret tugs at my chest as I wrap my cloak around my shoulders. As much as I don’t want Sam to be punished for my escape, there’s nothing to be done about it.
If I don’t leave now, I risk the king giving up his thin civility and locking me in his dungeons. The Strayed, the dream creatures that lurk in the shadows, the sirens in the lagoon—all of them are better than being trapped.
I press a hand to my chamber door. When it disappears instantly, my palm brushing through thin air, I release a tight breath of relief that Sam had been telling the truth about the magic being keyed to me.
Slipping silently into the corridor, I grip my sword hilt in anticipation of running into someone. But as I move through the palace, there is no sign of life at all. Only the soft flicker of the candles lining the walls.
Despite the Lunaedon’s enormous size and dark luxury, it doesn’t feel cold like the icy pits of its master’s eyes. Rather, there is a cozy comfort to its spaces, like a winter’s night beside a fire. I follow the same path Sam led me up only an hour or so earlier, through a maze of hallways and down various stairwells. When I reach the grand staircase that leads to the entry hall and the front doors beyond, my heart sinks in my chest.
The doors are thrown open to the night air, and shadowed in the threshold is Sam, staring out at the grounds beyond. I should have known the Corpse King wouldn’t leave me entirely unguarded. I freeze, wondering if it’s too late to find a different way out as I don’t relish hand to hand combat with someone of Sam’s strength.
I’m still determining the best course of action when Sam startles, spinning to face me. His shocked expression gives way to a sheepish smile. “Hey, Willa.”
He clutches his hands behind his back and chews on his bottom lip, eyes skirting around the entrance hall as a distinct awkwardness settles between us. Like I’ve caught him in the middle of something embarrassing.
I hop casually down the remaining few steps. “Nice night out?”
Sam chuckles lightly. “They’re all nice nights in Letum.”
“Do you normally stare out the front door for hours on end? Or are you waiting to tackle me if I so much as step foot outside?”
“I heard a rumor there are wild dream monsters lurking on the grounds. Kinda makes my tackling skills unnecessary,” he replies with a cheeky grin. His gestures to my cloak and raises an amused brow. “Thinking of taking your chances with another one?”
“I’m sure you’ll knock me over the head and drag me back here if I try.”
“Something tells me you wouldn’t go down easily,” Sam laughs. “And I have no intention of missing dessert to chase you across the grounds all evening.” He steps aside with an expectant look, daring me to run.
The palace grounds behind him are tempting, silent and still, but I clench my fingers into a fist at my side and force myself to be patient. If I run now, Sam will immediately alert the king. Which means I’m going to be playing the part of obedient captive until I find a moment to slip out undetected.
“Well,” I huff, smoothing my dress awkwardly, if only to give my hands something to do. “If you’re not waiting for me, what are you doing? I’m sure you have a perfectly good view from one of the thousand windows.”
Sam shrugs, stepping out from the threshold to close the towering doors. “Just listening to the wind, is all.”
“Here we go,” I mutter with a roll of my eyes, annoyance scratching at my skin. “The wind speaks to you?”
“The wind speaks to everyone,” Sam says with a sidelong look that only increases my irritation. “That’s the problem. No one’s business is ever safe, nosey as it is.”
Before I can begin to formulate a response to the idea that the wind is not only sentient, but a gossip, Sam tilts his head and remarks, “You look like you’re feeling much better.”
As soon as the words leave his mouth, I realize he’s right: I do feel better. The tension in my muscles has ebbed, the burning sensation in my skull now little more than a dull throb. I roll my shoulder and find there’s no accompanying tenderness. I furrow my brow. I’ve always healed quickly, but I never feel good. There is always a remnant of my sleepless nights, an edge of anxiety, a slick pulse of fear simmering beneath my surface.
But right now, I feel…rested.
“You must be starving after the day you’ve had,” Sam continues, appearing not to notice my confusion. “Would you like to join us for dinner?”
At my grimace, he hurriedly clarifies, “Marina, Tiernan and I. We usually eat together.”
“You don’t have to…serve the king or something?”
The corner of Sam’s lip quirks like he finds the question ridiculous but is too kind to actually laugh. “After the day Niko’s had, I doubt he’ll emerge from his chambers for the next few days.” He shrugs, not bothering to explain why, when the king had been so fervent about using me, he would now retreat to his bedroom for days on end.
“There will be dessert if you wish it,” Sam promises.
My stomach rumbles and I’m suddenly aware just how ravenous I am. Even before Letum, the stress of insomnia and nightmares had effectively robbed me of my appetite. Now, the pleasant looseness in my muscles, the lack of buzzing in my head—I suddenly feel human again, rather than the echo of one.
If what Sam says is true, Niko is out of my way for the night. And a meal will do me good. I don’t know how long it’ll be before I get the chance to eat again.
“Lead the way, Sammy,” I reply.
Sam grins and ushers me down a long hallway to the right. I expect him to turn into the formal dining room where we’d had breakfast, but instead, he keeps walking until we reach a large set of double doors at the end of the corridor. He places a palm on the nearest one, and they both vanish, revealing a gorgeous courtyard nestled between the towering turrets of the Lunaedon.
Giant trees line the space, carved from the same black stone as the palace, their branches curving over a long table set in the middle like the protective arms of a mother. Ebony leaves and flowered vines hang down in curtain, winding over the trunks and across the floor. Candles litter every available space, their golden wax dripping over the table, spilling over the fallen leaves carpeting the floor, wound between the frozen black ivy and the strong branches overhead.
A fire crackles merrily in a large hearth near the end of the table, casting the entire space in a unique golden light that seems to settle in my veins as I take in the scene before me. It should be tragic to see a forest, a living thing, frozen in time like this—it should feel isolated and cold—but I only feel an abiding warmth.
One so full, I can hardly remember ever being cold.
Sam wanders toward the table where Tiernan and Marina are already seated, giving me a moment to breathe it all in. To allow the last of my unease to slip from me entirely.
“Willie!” Tiernan exclaims excitedly, giving me a bright smile. I’ve never liked that nickname on the rare occasion one of my flings had been brave enough to use it, but with Tiernan’s delight, and the way it sounds more like ‘ Whew-ee’ in his pronunciation, I smile back in spite of myself. “Come sit! It’s been centuries since we’ve had anyone new to share a meal with,” he intones with a dramatic flair.
He signs as he speaks which I realize immediately is for my benefit. Even with his injured tongue, Tiernan speaks well enough to be understood, his vocal cords not having suffered the same trauma as Marina’s. He’s giving me the chance to learn so that when Marina speaks to me, I’ll be able to understand.
Marina herself watches me warily from where she sits beside Sam. Her hair is loose around her face, hanging in a shining curtain to the middle of her back. It would soften anyone else’s features, but in Marina, it only seems to carve them more sharply.
She arches a delicate brow in challenge, and signs something to Sam. Her hands move in front of her too fast for me to understand most of it, but I’m almost positive the last word is stab.
Sam presses his lips together like he’s trying to swallow his laughter. He translates, “Marina is wondering if we should all start arming ourselves for meals, as that seems to be your favorite time to attack.”
Tiernan chokes on his wine, his eyes darting between Marina and me.
“It was only once,” I mutter sheepishly, feeling an uncharacteristic blush creep up my cheeks. “The silverware is safe, I promise.”
It isn’t a hard promise to make. With the smell of the food piled high in serving dishes at the center of the table, and the warmth of the fire, I feel almost—happy. Safe. The thought strikes somewhere deep, somewhere muffled by how relaxed I feel as I sink into the chair beside Tiernan, closest to the fire. Marina shoots Sam a suspicious look, but I don’t bother to examine the reason as I accept a plate from Tiernan filled with fried chicken and buttery mashed potatoes.
The first bite is so good, I make a delighted hum in the back of my throat as the flavor explodes in my mouth. Food is another thing to suffer from the plague, and now, I suppose it makes sense why. There is no one left to dream up new recipes, to imagine new ways to combine flavors.
“This is delicious. Do you cook it all yourself?” I ask Tiernan, as he’d been the one to serve breakfast.
He scoffs amiably. “I can’t cook to save my life. The palace prepares it.” He takes a small bite of his own drumstick with a satisfied noise. “It must have thought you needed some comfort food.”
I halt midbite. “The…the palace is alive?”
Now Marina laughs, a sharp but delicate sound.
“Of course not.” Tiernan chuckles like the idea is ridiculous, even in Letum. I relax slightly. The idea that the very building we’re in is sentient and watching is unsettling, and not only because it probably answers to the king. “Only the kitchen.”
He digs into his food, finishing two of the drumsticks in quick measure, before turning his attention back to me. “Niko said you’re going to be with us for a while. It’ll be nice to have someone new to talk to around here.”
His words slice through my warm calm like ice. I blink, trying to grasp the edge of my thoughts. They’ve gone fuzzy and muted, like trying to make out the details of an old photograph. Niko. I’d wanted to escape him so urgently I’d been willing to risk everything to get out of the Lunaedon tonight. But now, in the womb of this beautiful courtyard, the need doesn’t feel quite so desperate. Why?
Taking another bite, both the question and the answer slip from me like silk. If Niko wanted to hurt me, he’s had plenty of chances to do it. As awful as he is, I’m safe in his home. Aren’t I?
Marina signs, and Tiernan translates, “ Tiernan would talk to a wall if he thought it would listen. ”
He sneers at her, wrinkling his face in a decidedly childlike manner. “Hey! It isn’t my fault you two aren’t cultured enough to enjoy my fabulous company.”
Marina laughs, giving Tiernan a rude gesture of her own.
I settle back into my chair, my unease dissipating once again as I fill my stomach. I can’t remember the last time I ate a meal without the edge of nausea—without the creep of anxiety and sleeplessness. But now, my stomach is stretched and full and my eyelids grow heavy as another wave of peace washes over me.
Tiernan and Marina continue to go back and forth, the rhythm of their good-natured ribbing settling me further into my exhaustion. I lose track of the conversation, nestling into the depths of my cloak with a deep sigh. The warmth of the fire laps against my skin like a soft wave, and my breaths begin to slow.
I’m so warm. Every one of my muscles is pleasantly heavy, like a thick blanket has been laid over my body. My thoughts roll slowly through my mind in soft shades of blue and purple as my eyes fall closed. I teeter on the edge of dreams, a delicious dark pool that beckons me slowly. Come to me, Willa Darling. Drown in me.
The steel wall I normally keep over my mind is nowhere to be found in the silky slip of exhaustion, and without its hindrance, I step toward the edge. Darkness slithers over my thoughts, caressing the jagged edges until I nearly moan at the delicious sensation.
That’s it, Darling.
Darling.
Darling.
The name rends through my calm, and shivers race up my spine like sparks of electricity as my eyes snap open. I blink wildly, the courtyard slowly filtering back into view. The fire still burns in the hearth and the candles flicker all around, but my skin feels like ice. The muscle of my shoulder burns viciously, the skin stretched over it feeling entirely raw once again.
Suspicion prickles at the base of my skull, as I realize Sam and Tiernan are nowhere to be found.
I closed my eyes only for a few moments. Hadn’t I?
Anxiety threads through me, a sharp cold that doesn’t relent, even when I see I haven’t been left entirely alone.
Marina is crouched in front of the hearth, poking at the embers with an iron. Her back is turned, her face half-hidden in the shadows, her white-gold hair now pulled into a messy bun at the top of her head. The fire crackles and blazes in response to her administrations, and as she stands to hang the iron, the sleeve of her gauzy dress slips down one shoulder, revealing an expanse of milky skin—and the most horrific scar I’ve ever seen.
It spans from her spine to near her shoulder, the end hidden somewhere beneath the loose fabric. A gnarled, angry red, the old wound is so vicious, it twists the healthy skin around it. My veins go cold, my mind racing furiously, as Marina adjusts her sleeve, shielding the scar from view.
I’m still attempting to gather my thoughts, to corral my horror and rage into something useful, when she kneels to pluck a piece of wood from the pile and the diaphanous dress slips further.
A furious gasp escapes me. There are two identical scars on either side of her spine.
Marina jumps at the noise, whirling to face me with a guarded expression. Dreaded understanding sinks into my stomach like cold iron as I take her in fully for the first time. Her delicate stature. The unnatural gold of her hair. Her fiery nature.
Marina is a pixie, just like the bartender at the tavern. Except someone has stolen her wings. Brutally.
“Who did that to you?” The question is out of my mouth before I can consider it, but I don’t take it back. Nor do I attempt to calm the fury careening through my veins. My voice trembles with it.
Marina doesn’t reply, only stands frozen, watching me. An absurd part of me wants to go to her, to comfort and shield her, but the thought is ridiculous. I’m a comfort to no one, and about as soothing as a pair of hot pliers to the toes. I don’t know how to be soft or tender.
But I am fucking angry. Always. For as long as I can remember, rage has bubbled inside me like corrosive acid. I can give Marina that. I can give it to Jamie and Marina and Tiernan and everyone else who’s been hurt by the unnatural darkness nurtured inside the Carrion King.
I refuse to let him win, to let him use me for whatever horror he has in store for Letum. Everything he touches falls to ruin—I won’t be one of them.
The chair legs scrape against the stone as I leap upward, charging toward where Marina stands frozen. Though I’m almost a head taller than she is, she raises her chin and plants her feet like she’s readying herself for an attack. And maybe she is. Despite what the king has done to her, Marina has shown her loyalty to him in almost every instance.
Perhaps it’s fear that keeps her compliant, or maybe he’s held her here so long, she believes she loves him. I know what it is to be kept in isolation, the fear of losing yourself in it driving you to latch on to the one thing that reminds you of your humanity—even if it's what hurt you.
Whatever drives Marina’s loyalty, I need to be careful of it. She could just as easily betray me as help me, and I couldn’t even blame her for it.
This would have been easier if I’d never sat down in this damned courtyard. If I’d never gotten comfortable and let my guard down. It’s unsettling, how easily I’d relaxed in the presence of strangers, in the home of the King of Death. A warm smile, a pretty place, a good meal—that’s all it had taken to disarm the years I’ve spent building up the wall around me. One moment, I’d been determined to escape, and the next, I was ready to lay down and expose my throat.
Something near grief washes over me, and though I try to swallow it down, it rises up and lashes against my skin. What was the all the pain for if I’ve learned none of its lessons?
Marina watches the thoughts race across my face, the rare vulnerability of my self-flagellation. She raises her hands and makes a sign, one I recognize: Sam.
I stare at her hands, as Adira’s words from earlier come rushing back to me. The island amplifies your natural power. “His power…it’s—it’s to calm people, isn’t it?”
Marina nods, and I wonder why she told me. Whether it was to ease my regret or compound it.
The sense of safety, of warmth—none of it was real. It was all Sam. The betrayal stings, and I wish it didn’t. I should feel vindicated that I hadn’t been foolish enough to let my guard down willingly, but instead, I only feel violated.
“Is he gone?” I ask. “Tiernan, too?”
Again, she nods. Her expression is indecipherable as her hands form two sharp signs, ones I don’t recognize. I furrow my brow, struggling to determine what they mean. Finally, with a huff of irritation, Marina uses her pointer finger to trace letters in the air. S-t-r-a-y-e-d.
Then she makes the signs again.
“The Strayed? Sam and Tiernan are out dealing with the Strayed now?”
A solemn nod. We stare at each other again, Marina wearing that intense expression I don’t quite understand. Does she want to help me? Does she want to leave with me? Will she run to her king as soon as I try? I think of the gnarled skin on her back and decide to take the chance. If there’s one thing I’m familiar with, it’s pain. How it transforms you, how it warps your decisions and steals your agency. Maybe Marina needs a reminder of who she was before it.
“Marina, I need you to show me the way out of here.”