Chapter 39
Sariem’s walls towered before me in reverence to the crown of corruption. Weak sun skimmed the lands, though the dark morning left us lost in the obscure, no shadows taking form. Frost kissed the realm. Mist wafted in dense clouds, making the horses charge like ghostly steeds.
The Raven Estate followed the beckon of torchlight yonder, where guards of steel armor lined the city’s fortress. Foggy glass continued to hinder my sight as Catriona’s nose pressed against the window.
“Can you believe it?” Catriona pulled herself back, speaking giddily as a child.
“We are actually going to the castle. Sands, the lord’s estate was becoming droll, but this—” she looked at me and Freya with beating bug-eyes.
“Oh, we are going to have so much fun!”
My lips bent in a soft upturn.
The king’s city was quiet this morning. Within the wall, our carriages strode brazenly through the streets, guiding our company uphill to my father’s house. I’d seen it long before we arrived—the castle standing atop the city. Vendors rubbed their eyes with yawning mouths, sundering themselves from sleep. Houseless people curled in corners, shivering beneath their drab cloaks.
A merchant fluffed a bouquet of flowers, and I could smell mead. My stomach twisted. It wasn’t so long ago I’d been here with Vera and Taison, drinking in ritual after the end of the Calhourn house. I used to pray to the gods that Vera was safe, though I did not pray much these days. It was either because I did not want the gods to look upon their Chosen marked by Shadow, or because I did not think they ever looked down at me at all. I could never decide which reason, but regardless—I did not call to them.
I called only one, but he never answered.
A distinct line marked the city, drawn between shabby clothes and noble wears. Silver guards traded for golden armors. Grovelers did not strewn these highborn streets. The air smelled finer—nothing of labor and manure but sweet perfumes and lantern oil. The pale sky was overcome by stone and burgundy as we neared the castle.
With buildings that rose over us like giants, I continued to feel smaller and smaller as we drove nearer to where I’d fled from all those years ago.
I knew the fates would summon me back to the castle. They had before, when the guild had fallen. Only, this was different. My place in the castle was not to change faces and creep through the forgotten crypts. This day, I was an advisor, wrapped in my own skin, dining with the enemy. And I had no god with me.
“Halt,” a guard bellowed at the castle gates.
“State your business.”
“We have been called upon by King Paden, long live the king!” Jones had a chirp to his tone. Parchment crumpled in the distance, Jones offering the king’s invitation.
I would have looked out the windows if Freya and Catriona hadn’t pressed their faces against the glass, those two bathing in ecstasy. My mind filled the voids my eyes could not. The carriage jolted forward, and I envisioned the stone arch above. We entered a clearing. I had never been in this clearing before, but I’d watch my father’s guests arrive, peeking through the window as a little girl.
I always imagined my father’s guests as beasts.
Women often had sharp teeth and slithering tongues, their hair turned to snakes, and spines stretched in a hunch. I would imagine the men were covered in fur with large horns and big snouts. It was a game I played, not only to pass the time, but to lessen the severity of their stay. Deceit would remind me—when others conversed with my father, more of the Chosen died.
As our carriage halted before the castle’s entrance, Catriona leaped out.
The coachman staggered back, his nose nearly taking the door’s impact in Catriona’s excitement. His face was drawn, with puffy eyes and shallow cheeks. I watched his jaw muscles tighten as he fought a yawn. He failed.
“Welcome to King Paden’s castle,” he said in a haggard, tired breath.
The coachman offered his gloved hand to me. I accepted, stepping down the lip of the carriage, and—
I stood before the castle.
The lands spun around me. Men and women gawked at the stronghold while children ran to and fro. A little girl with yellow curls skipped past me with ribbons in both her hair and hands. Her joy was infectious as she ran past others, but I seemed to be immune. Whatever joy could be concocted in this place was misguided.
My heart chiseled to stone, weighing against my stomach.
Deceit? My inner voice was weak. Fearful. Will you not come back to me?
“Rhoswen, why are you just standing there? Let’s go!” Catriona looped her arm through mine and heaved me forward.
Freya was not far behind, her steps skipping in a hurried beat to join us.
“It is beautiful,” Freya said airily.
“I have never seen a structure so… profound.”
“Bloody marvelous, it is,” Catriona yelled.
“Watch your tongue, Cat.” Neil followed, walking like a corpse in the wood at our backs.
“You must hold yourself as a lady here.”
Catriona unwove her arm, trading me for her father. Her lips pressed against Neil’s sunken cheek.
“Of course, Father, do not fret. I will behave.”
Neil neither grinned nor acknowledged his daughter’s submission. Only walked onward.
Guards were golden pillars along the castle’s front entrance. Long-dead florals lined the stone walls where rotten soil refused life. As our party neared the grand oak doors, we fell into the dark beneath the gate-arch. Burgundy tapestries draped down the exterior walls, my father’s crest like a forest around us. Torches offered a slim reprieve from the shadows we now lurked beside, and the golden armor appeared tarnished in the gloom.
I squinted into the dark as our feet tread on decaying stones, scraping at my soles.
While merriment echoed at my back, I felt I was walking into the mouth of a serpent with piercing fangs, never to see the somnolent sun again. For this moment, I was small again, time forgotten. A child destined to quake in dread and dwell forever in the dark.
“To what house do you serve?” A guard asked at my coming.
I shook at the question, accustomed to the castle doors swinging open at my company. Too, I had not realized Freya and I led the estate.
Freya answered where I did not.
“We serve Lord Alistair Raven of the western lands.”
“And where is your lord?”
I glanced back, all of them looking like dour silhouettes against the grey sunrise. Hearty laughter cast at my back. It was there that I caught a glimpse of a fox—cunning and wise, with a sly smile and a circlet of ebony roots around his neck.
“Open the door, you damn fool.” Evandor reproved the golden guard as he stepped in line with Alistair.
His carriage must have arrived only seconds before ours.
“Your Highness.” Armor creaked as the guard bowed alongside others surrounding us. The guard unhinged his hips and shouted.
“Open the entrance for his highness, Prince Evandor!”
“Gods, I hate their mindless reverence,” Evandor uttered to Alistair as he passed and set his hand upon my shoulder in greeting. He glanced at me in the corner of his forest eyes, his pinched nose and caramel hair catching faint light. Releasing his hold, the prince and the lord were swallowed by the serpent, walking through the grand entrance.
I ventured behind.
It was haunting, this place that I’d known so well. As I walked into the grand foyer, it was as though I had never left. As though my mother never died, Deceit had never come to me, and the Chosen never arose in demand for the heads of men.
The velvet aisle stretched far beyond to the great hall, leading our steps.
Above me, chandeliers of a thousand crystals flickered with candlelight. I could not deny—it was beautiful how the crystals adorned the arched ceiling like a starry sky. Servants ran about with gold trays in hand, balancing flutes of wine.
Our company was greeted by a string quartet, playing a familiar melody dedicated to the strength of the crown. The song was in honor of an old war between elves and men. A war man won. A war that ended in bloodlust, misery, and unspeakable loss. An elvish man was forced to thread the tune, and I was sickened by the sight. He bore blackened patches of skin where he’d been burned and bruised.
At the end of the foyer, five steps led to a grand arch, marking the beginning of the grand hall and endless passages and rooms.
“Welcome to my home, House of Ravens!” Prince Knox shouted. He stood at the top of the stairs, like a man upon the stage.
His square jaw, burly shoulders, and massive stature—I could have mistaken Knox’s physique for my father. Though his golden strands came from his mother, the Queen Consort.
“Ah, yes, your home.” Evandor seemed near the end of his patience with Knox. He eyed Knox and the cupbearer beside him, her dress fashioned from translucent silk.
“Gods, are you already indulging in too much wine and too many women?”
“No such thing as too much, little brother!” Knox’s voice roared over us as he clasped her waist.
Her giggle’s pitch was far too high to be sincere.
Knox’s vile grin was pulled down by Evandor’s glare.
“Gods, Evandor, did someone knock over your throne this morning?”
“Do not mock me,” Evandor gnashed.
“While you were here drinking and fucking, I was digging through snow and caverns trying to find the amulet.”
The older prince broadened his shoulders and gulped the last of his chalice’s drink.
“And you’d think my brother might have a better attitude coming home to women and wine.”
“Women and wine will not win the war.”
The eldest prince howled with laughter.
“No, but it makes these days far more pleasing.”
Knox wailed himself against the woman, wine splattering from her pitcher. She disappeared for a moment, trapped in his brawny arms. Her cry quickly altered to a false laugh. Knox’s mouth left her neck, her skin stretching in his bite, fear anchored in her eyes. I grit my teeth.
The heir threw his cupbearer at Evandor, discarding her like old bread.
Before she fell, Evandor reached out and caught her in his arms.
“Enjoy some of the finer things, Evandor,” Knox rumbled.
“I have no interest in enjoying your leftovers,” Evandor said, setting the woman upright and wiping his hands on his jacket.
She frowned with reddened cheeks.
Knox flared his nostrils in a huff.
“My leftovers are all you will ever be offered, little brother.” He then showed us his spine and left for the grand hall.
A vein pulsed on Evandor’s temple.
“Gods, I would prefer to live in the caverns.” He motioned for the cupbearer to pour him a glass. Her hands were trembling.
“Please,” he said to her.
“Go put on thicker clothing. Let our guests use some of their imagination.”
“Of course, Your Highness.” Every piece of her showed in her curtsy.
“Take a moment to collect yourself as well. Drink a glass. After spending time with my brother, one requires a moment of bloody peace.”
“I am honored to serve your family, Your Highness.”
“I’m sure you are.” Evandor raised his hand. “Go.”
Other houses began filing in. I had yet to know their place or station, though they all stood well dressed. From man to child, not one could deny gawking at the architecture of the castle. Women’s fingertips glided along the shimmering gold candlesticks, men bet their knowledge on the origins of strange artifacts situated upon pedestals, and children counted the stars on the ceiling.
Evandor turned towards his guests, taking Knox’s place at the head of the grand foyer. His silhouette struck far more princely than he before him. Like handles of a vase, Evandor lifted his arms with palms raised to the Everlaides.
“Welcome to Castle Torrance,” he spoke in grace.
“We are honored to have your presence as we celebrate the fall of the gods’ guild. My father, your honorable king, is overjoyed by your attendance.” The prince’s lips morphed to the shape of his chalice’s brim, taking a swig before continuing.
“Should you have any needs, any desires, our servants are at your command. Enjoy your stay. Be merry, be welcome. Eat, drink, dance! This is a time of celebration.”
Evandor whisked his hands, summoning servants to fall in line.
“Our help will take you to your rooms. Your belongings will follow shortly behind. We will gather this evening for a welcome banquet. And until then—” The prince tucked his chin—the only bow his station would allow him.
“Explore. Drink. Treat our home as your own. This day, we live as one people. As one family under the crown.”
The tail of Evandor’s jacket whisked as he turned, leaving us with the servants who broke from line and gifted wine. They plucked us away and guided us towards our accommodations.
Our party was divided time and again as we continued weaving through the endless passageways. I was not well acquainted with the wing we ventured. The eastern wing was designated for the king and his bloodline. The southern wing was set aside for guests, the library, and the alchemy workrooms. In the lowest level, apart from the crypts, were the servants’ quarters. I believe I had turned left seven times, climbed three spiral staircases, and pivoted right thrice.
Catriona heaved breaths at my side by the time we’d finally ceased our jaunt.
The servant addressed Catriona, Freya, and me.
“The three of you will be sharing quarters, but please know our beloved king has ensured all guests are given adequate room.”
“I’m sure—” Catriona sucked air.
“I’m sure it’s—” She wheezed another breath.
“I’m sure it’s just wonderful.”
The servant lifted a key, stabbed it into the lock, and opened the door.
Three other keys were then divided equally amongst us and set in our palms.
“Should you have any needs, I will remain in waiting.”
“Thank you,” Freya and I said in unison, our voices overshadowed by Catriona’s wheezing exhale.
With a curtsy, the servant resumed her station at the end of the hall.
Filtered light poured out from the cracked door.
“Thank you,” a low voice hushed at my back, startling the nerves in me.
Alistair stepped beneath the doorframe, the servant departing, his own room across from mine. Before he shut the door, he glanced over his shoulder, as though he knew I was there.
An invisible chord wrapped around us and tugged at each end.
“Go on, love, I need to sit down.” Catriona squeezed between me and the door, Freya following behind.
Alistair angled himself towards me as a thousand thoughts beat against my mind, knowing he was so close. That his quarters were so close. The ache ignited—kindled by thoughts of him. My own mind sank its teeth into me, thoughts festering where Deceit often dwelled, in the unlit sanctions of my mind, buried deep where only a god could find it.
“Miss Fallen.” Alistair did not smile with a gaze burning into me, dark and deliberate, as if stripping me down into something raw. His fingers tensed at his sides.
I bit my lip.
“My lord.” Voice shattered, I sounded as though I might faint.
I left him there to watch me fall into my quarters, and I shut the door.
My ribs fanned out in a long breath.
“What will you wear tonight, Rhoswen?” Catriona had a glass of water in hand and wiped away the sweat of her brow.
My mind was far from what I’d wear, rather far more tempted by thoughts of where my gown might fall.
“I’m not sure. I can’t even remember what I’ve packed,” I said, moseying to the window.
“Oh, distracted, are we?” Catriona’s lips quirked.
Looking out the window, I studied the mist over the sea.
“Distracted?” I asked.
Catriona gave her gossiping giggle.
“Innocent as a babe, you are. I mean you and Lord Alistair, of course. Gods, you two are insufferably charming together! Makes me sick.”
Freya brushed her hair in the wash corner, her golden strands glossed in sheen.
Feeling unease, I moved to the hearth. A tea kettle hovered above embers, and I filled three porcelain cups to the brim. Pedals spiraled in the waters.
Freya gave me a coy look.
Catriona exchanged eyes between Freya and me, lips drawing open.
“Oh gods, I am so sorry!” She groaned to Freya.
“I shouldn’t talk about it. I forget you and the lord were, well…” Her words dawdled.
“Pay no mind.” Freya smiled and came beside me, taking one of the three cups.
“I am glad for Rhoswen,” she said while making my eyes.
“So long as she is happy.”
I traded her honest smile for my own.
Our belongings came shortly after we arrived. Catriona’s bed was an explosion of fabrics sewn in an endless array of colors. She tried on several gowns, each of which was inadequate to her expectations.
Freya had crafted a braid that wrapped her head like a crown, and endowed her form with a dress of icy sapphire. From her hair, silver ribbons draped down her back. She appeared like a queen of winter with eyes as rare and matchless as a snowflake. A flute of wine was pinched between her delicate fingers as she laughed at Catriona’s incessant need to try on each dress twice. This was the first time I’d seen Freya’s cheeks turn rosy.
“And what of you, Rhoswen?” Freya asked.
“What will you dine in?”
I extended my hands from my waist.
“This,” I said flatly.
It was not a gown to turn heads, but it was elegant and comfortable.
Catriona threw down her gowns with a scowl.
“Are you serious? That is what you’re wearing?”
My face flushed.
“There is nothing wrong with my gown.”
“Ah, yes, but there is nothing right with it either,” Catriona marked—Freya snorted—and she looked me up and down.
“Gods, have you ever dressed as though you actually believe you are worth gold and jewels?”
“This is the nicest gown I brought.” I suddenly felt myself lacking.
Catriona drew in a sharp breath with eyes near falling from their sockets.
“I have it,” she whispered and ran to her luggage.
“Have what?” I asked.
“It, Rhoswen, it. The perfect gown for you!”
“I am fine with what I have.”
“You are dining in the castle of the king. Fine is not good enough!”
Catriona pulled a gown from confinement, and it billowed in the air. Deep crimson draped in layers, accented by floral gold stitching. It could have been pulled from a fairytale for all I knew, rich and exquisite.
“I was saving this for the executions, but you must wear this,” Catriona demanded.
My stomach hardened at her words, but I reached for the silk regardless, soft as butter.
“You must wear that gown.” Freya gave her say.
“I—” I nearly refused.
“I will help you put it on.” Catriona set it upon her bed, burying the other dresses.
Freya was at my side only seconds later. Before I could argue, before I could deny, my sights were painted by crimson and gold, and my waist was cinched by the corset. Fighting for breath, the two only yanked harder on the strings, then straightened the train and latched it at my back—the fabrics, a silken waterfall behind me.
“By the gods.” Freya’s hand met her cheek as she eyed me from head to toes.
“Is it terrible?” I asked sheepishly.
Catriona’s voice was hushed and kind.
“Look in the mirror, love.”