Chapter 21 #2
I melt into Tristan, so very torn between the desire to stay in his arms and the peace of an empty bed, where I can cover myself completely with comforters and blankets.
Can I hope for even one sleep without nightmares?
I’d love to dream of the time before Gloombane, when I was just a guy frustrated with a shitty boyfriend and that my puppy pissed on the carpet. That was such a different time.
I don’t even notice when Lord Kyran leaves us, but once we’re alone, Tristan picks me up, still wrapped in the cloak. I’m so very tired, and the sense of humiliation I felt exposing my battered form hasn’t yet gone away. I want to be invisible. To cling to Tristan without him perceiving me.
“That’s done now,” he whispers as he carries me out. “You will be back to good health in no time.”
It’s hard to believe that. Right now, it feels as if the pain has been carved into my bones and will never go away.
Tristan once more walks the labyrinth of corridors dotted by the rare guard who lets him pass without issue.
I’m almost dozing off again when the scent of books hits me with such strength I open my eyes.
We pass endless rows of tall bookshelves in what has to be a library.
The vaulted glass ceiling is a window into darkness.
It’s as empty as the rest of the castle, with only a few lanterns on a table here and there.
I struggle to see in the dim light, but the smell of paper and ink is soothing.
It reminds me of sinking into an old leather armchair in the most secluded part of the university library.
When I had loud roommates, I’d go there to read unbothered.
Back then, it was exciting to daydream about being transported to a fantastical realm of castles and dragons.
The reality of it is much bleaker.
I’m startled out of my thoughts when we walk through a door beyond the bookshelves, down a corridor, and eventually Tristan knocks on wood with his elbow.
He has to do it again, and we wait a while, but eventually, the wall shifts to the side and an elven woman with hair as red as Tristan’s peeks out, wrapped in a nightgown.
“I finally got Nathan to sleep. What—”
“I’m sorry, I need the keys to the Book Mausoleum.”
She stalls for a while, golden eyes settling on me with the weight of a whole crate of booze. “Is this… Nate?”
I freeze, terrified of any questions that might fly my way, but Tristan covers me with his cloak more tightly and shows her the palm of his hand. “He’s… very tired right now. The keys? Please?”
I can’t bring myself to exchange any more greetings tonight, so I’m grateful when she steps out, soundlessly closing the door behind her, and walks ahead with a swish of black silk and lace.
The way leads back to the library, and I find myself shrinking under the high ceiling, as if the glass dome above might break and let in sour rain at any moment.
The old me would have hyperventilated out of joy at the sheer chance of seeing a place like this, but right now it looks too vast, and each nook hides shadows I wouldn’t dare touch..
The woman hasn’t been introduced to me, but she holds such a close resemblance to Tristan and takes care of someone called Nathan. Who else could she be if not Tristan’s sister, Sabine, of whom he’s told me about at length, back when the world around me still felt fascinating rather than scary?
“I would have had it dusted if I knew you were coming,” she says, leading the way behind a large counter holding several piles of thick volumes bound in leather.
She then takes us between two tall blocks of shelves, all the way to a compact door decorated with thin pieces of brass arranged into complex floral patterns.
Since Tristan took me away from the tower, I’ve done nothing but traveled. Even the night at the inn was just a stop. My nervous system is shattered after what I’ve been through at Gloombane’s hands, and it’s hard to believe that he’s gone.
“Leave the door open for now,” Tristan says to his sister. “The royal medics will be coming any minute.”
Her expression turns from curious to worried. “Tristan. Your arm. What happened?”
“Tomorrow, Sabine.”
She nods, and we pass through the door onto yet another staircase.
This one is winding, narrow, and leads up, with round glass walls in the middle.
One glance over my shoulder and into the void beneath makes me tuck my face back against Tristan.
I hate that I’m about to land in another tower, but at least not at the bottom of it this time.
All I want is a bit of respite and privacy.
Comfort. Warmth. But as Tristan maneuvers us into the dark space illuminated by a faint glow seeping in through large stained glass windows, I can’t see that well without my glasses.
The one closest to us depicts a dragon spitting fire at a group of knights.
And what is that faint snow-like effect caught by the light?
Ah. Dust. So, so much dust.
Tristan touches the wall, and several green torches come on at the same time, revealing the vast yet cozy space with a slope on one side. Unlike the library below, the Book Mausoleum’s ceiling is low, with the intricately carved support beams hanging so low Tristan needs to duck as we pass.
This is not a room meant for living.
Countless shelves sag under the weight of old tomes.
As we approach, I note that their spines are cracked, the covers—faded or bruised by heavy use.
Some of the old books lean against each other like drunkards on their way from the tavern, others lie in uneven stacks, as if abandoned mid-search by someone who never returned.
But I also see faces.
The statue of a smirking gargoyle with a chipped ear watches us through a gap between the old volumes. A wooden angel whose wings were chopped off lies on the floor, a sentimental smile pasted to its face.
And behind a thick veil of cobwebs are skulls.
Human? Elven?
Does it matter when they’re stacked into a neat pyramid, like the result of some sick game?
“What the heck…” I mumble, pointing their way.
“It’s the mausoleum’s keepers from the past. Most had a wish to stay among the books after death,” Tristan explains, once more ducking as he carries me through a door where the green light is already burning.
This tiny space is a bedroom with a single window casting a yellow glow on the bed through stained glass. It looks just like an attic in some abandoned gothic manor, where a sickly orphan hopes to survive the winter among ghosts.
Tristan sets me down in a leather armchair next to it and gets to work preparing the space for me. He takes off the sheet protecting the bedding from dust, pulls out fresh pillows out of a black leather-bound chest decorated with bones, and surprises me when he strokes my head in passing.
I want to tell him off. Swat his hand away like it’s a mosquito, but the gentle warmth of the brief touch soothes me in ways I can’t describe. It’s as if something warm’s drizzled down my back and stayed that perfect temperature, not causing any discomfort whatsoever.
I feel so pathetic for needing him, but despite his betrayal, made obvious by the gentle tremor of his heartbeat I can now sense through the shadow thread connecting us, I need the solace of his company.
As long as he’s here, no one else is going to hurt me.
“Was that… your sister?”
“Yes, Sabine.” Tristan moves around swiftly, and I’m surprised a prince like him knows how to make a bed at all. “You remember I told you about her? She’s lovely, and kind, and is very interested in humans, so she will certainly want to visit you.”
I stiffen, instantly transported back to Gloombane’s tower where that malevolent elf also had an ‘interest in humans’ and was very keen to test his theories on me.
“I—I don’t know if I wish to see anyone right now,” I mumble, staring at Tristan’s form stretched over the bed.
“Understandable. I will let her know. Just the medics for now. They will take the best care of you, and you’ll be back to your old self in no time. Gloombane will be just a bad dream.”
I doubt that. I’m permanently broken by what he did to me, and what he made me become. There’s no escape from the darkness he implanted in my soul.
“You know nothing about the things he did to me,” I growl, flinching when the gravelly tone escapes my lips.
I don’t even sound like myself anymore, but why would I? I’m no longer the hopeful person who followed a magical knight into another realm just because it was romantic.
I was such an idiot…
Tristan stiffens, as if I’ve hit him, and I hate that it makes me recoil deeper into the armchair. Not only because I hate who I’ve become, that I’m lashing out at the person who saved me, but also because my whole body is afraid of retaliation.
He is an elf. A powerful shadow wielder. A prince.
He could probably do much worse than Gloombane and get away with it.
I bet this castle has a dungeon. And a real torture chamber.
He takes a deep breath as he lays out a black set of soft clothes on the bed. It’s nothing fancy, pants and a long shirt I can see myself sleeping in.
“My apologies, Nate. I… I know that—”
“Where is the patient?” someone exclaims in the other room, and soon, no fewer than seven elves in red uniforms and masks covering half their faces pour into the tiny space with a sense of urgency.
They cause so much chaos, I can’t comprehend what they’re all saying, but Tristan ends up being asked about his arm, and one of the elves leaves with him.
I want him to stay. Every single person in the room is a stranger now, and their questions feel like rocks forming a pile on my shoulders. I know they’re here to help, but I’m like a scared animal forced out of the transporter, only to be poked and prodded.
I want to scratch, bite, crawl under the bed and hide, but I’m too scared to move, and my mind floats up beyond the beams, to the very top of the sloping ceiling. My body remains below.
Silent. Expressionless. Dead.