Chapter 21
A Darkness with No Discernible End
Unlike Lev, Baz was wise enough not to call Mauldrene a cunt aloud. But he thought it plenty. Many times a day, in fact, every miserable day they were trapped inside this castle they had no reason to be at except that his father had ordered it.
Though Baz and his companions—save Félix, who had yet to return from his mission—flew onto Ombrash Island on the backs of their sh?dreads like they usually did, Mauldrene reacted as if she were under attack.
What … a … cunt.
The fog that surrounded the castle surged upward, stretching for them like the clawed hand of Death, while lightning crackled and snapped in flashes of violet that electrified every part of his body, making his hair stand on end.
Already an inexplicable dread afflicted him. Mauldrene was only making it worse. He couldn’t shake the sense that something was coming, and whatever it was intended to upend his world.
He had to prepare. But for what? Or for whom?
The only person who could arrive without notice was his father.
Could be his mother too. Either of them would ruin the fragile peace he’d found here.
Yes, he had to endure Mauldrene’s daily tantrums. And also yes, the castle was so cold that it seeped into his bones, no matter how many fireplaces they got roaring.
He and his friends would have preferred to sleep in the wilds beneath an open sky—a hundred times over—than within these frigid, cloying walls that somehow closed in on them without moving.
But at least here they didn’t have to hurt anybody.
He wasn’t adding faces to the thousands upon thousands that already haunted his dreams—one of many reasons he rarely slept well, and hadn’t for a very long time.
Below, shadows swirled and climbed Mauldrene’s somber gray stone, tinting them so dark they could rival the abyss.
Those same shadows crawled along the floors and ceilings so that there was no escaping the castle’s haunting gloom, made worse by the fact that Baz wasn’t certain they weren’t somehow sentient.
There was some undefinable quality about them that reminded him of creatures, perhaps even of people, in the way they moved, like trees swaying, but sometimes striking out like an enraged serpunta; or how they stilled suddenly when Baz or the others spoke in hushed whispers, as if to eavesdrop—the way their attention pricked along his skin as if the shadows themselves had eyes that trailed his every move.
Never once in six months had the Bazrian Seven experienced a reprieve from the maudlin mood on Ombrash Island. The shadows followed them even to the castle’s outbuildings, where they tangled with the shadows that climbed from the abyss, as if they spawned from a single, terrible source.
Inside was always as dark as night. Mauldrene did have windows, but the fog prevented sunlight from entering. Lumoons glowed continuously to illuminate her many rooms, but were never enough to dispel a single shadow.
Lev sidled up to Baz, joining him in surveying the dining room. Much like Baz, Lev crossed his arms and frowned at the scene unfolding before them, the one they—the castle’s actual residents—weren’t part of.
“Can you believe this shit?” Lev said. “’Cause I can’t believe this shit. I knew she was a…” He glanced at Baz with a pointed look that said, A you know what. “But this? That she’d do this for them and never for us? By the Ethers, I’m gonna take this dragonshit personally.”
The dining room was ample enough for a king and queen to host a hundred guests.
Dozens of lumoons glowed so brightly throughout the room it was as if the sun shone indoors.
Music enlivened the atmosphere, the same combination of violin, viola, and cello that often played from nowhere Baz was ever able to pinpoint, as if it seeped from the walls.
Usually, the music was slow and keening, as if the trio wept with each slice of bow against strings.
Never before had the tune been … joyous.
A jaunt. Never had it inclined Baz to dance rather than cry.
Food—so much food—was splayed across the hall’s long table in a riot of glossy color.
There was fruit of all sorts, bread that smelled freshly baked, and a greater variety of cheeses than he’d ever seen in his life.
There were soups in shiny silver tureens; crystalline pitchers beaming with their contents, in hues of violets, pinks, and yellows, some with effervescence bubbling to their surfaces; frosted confits; pastries drizzled with sugar crystals and rich chocolate; meringues artfully arranged in towers; marzipan shaped like a menagerie of woodland creatures—only the pleasant ones, none that would kill a wanderer just for straying.
Not even the emperor, with his endless riches, put out spreads like this.
Around the table, seated on low benches, the whores and feeders, with the young girl and Crute in their midst, were eating and drinking and laughing.
Their smiles were wide, their cheeks pink.
All concern about the Abysmal Fortress and the pall it cast over Galmeen and beyond appeared popped like a bubble in a pitcher of sunrise spirits.
“Scorch it. I’m crashing the damn party,” Lev said, but then remained where he was.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Moncho said from where he stood beside the wall, casting wary looks to the shadows at his back, to the party, to the archway, probably considering a fast getaway.
Beside him stood Night, Zi, and Ed—still no Félix.
“You know you can’t trust Mauldrene,” Moncho said.
“I know,” Lev said on a whine. “But look at all that food! I’m salivating.”
Zi tsked. “You are not.”
“Am too. It smells fucking delicious.”
“Such a drama whore. You don’t need food to survive.”
Lev whipped his head around toward her. “Who said anything about survival? Aren’t we allowed to have a little pleasure around here?”
“No,” Zi said.
“Why the fuck not? What else is life about if not enjoying the dragonshit out of it while we still can?”
No one said a word, so Lev continued: “Every single time we head out, we might die. We’ve got targets on our heads the size of this scorching, asshole island. Everyone hates us.”
“Not Crute,” Night said.
Lev scowled. “No, not Crute. But every-fucking-one else. Junot might wear the crown, but we’re the ones who do his dirty work. Why shouldn’t we live it up while we still can? Huh? Zi, you should be begging me to screw your brains out every damn day we’re stuck here.”
She snorted. “You wish.”
“Yeah, I fucking do, okay? I fucking do. Just surviving ain’t enough for me anymore. Don’t want it to be. Yeah, I don’t need food. But fuck, I want food. I want to savor and lick my fucking lips and taste something other than blood for once.”
“Don’t go putting blood down,” Moncho said. “Baz gets us the best.”
Lev stilled for a moment while he turned to Baz, tipping his head at him in recognition. He ran a hand over his face, then through his hair. “Fuuuuuuck. I think the castle might be getting to me.”
“Really? You think?” Zi said.
“Fuck you, woman. Always riding me hard, and not in the way I want.”
“Stop whining so fucking much and maybe I’ll want to ride you more.” She batted her lashes. “The way you want.”
He scowled, anguish flashing across his face … before he smiled. Baz couldn’t decide if his rebounding was natural or forced.
“See? There’s hope for us yet, woman. Now, let’s get our party on.”
Night and Ed shook their heads. Moncho took a big step toward Lev, but that was to put more distance between himself and the shadows. Zi just smirked.
Lev turned to Baz. “Come on, bro. If anyone’s earned some playtime, it’s you. You never let go. Always carrying the weight of the entire world on your shoulders. Let’s go eat, drink, and be merry.”
“I’m not consuming a thing Mauldrene set out,” Baz said. “Even if she didn’t poison it for them, she will for us.”
“Yup,” Night said, the grips of his two swords looming behind his head, where they crossed his back in a holster.
The castle had plenty of staff. But the servants took orders from Mauldrene, not Baz, and didn’t bother to pretend otherwise. There wasn’t even the guise of staff meetings or subservience to a prince of the entire empire.
He had no idea if the food was the fruit of their hard labor or a flex of faithum.
“Okay,” Lev said. “Then let’s fuck, Baz. You like to fuck.”
While it was true that Baz once had enjoyed fucking—very much—sex was like anything else nowadays: devoid of any real flavor, a way to distract himself from the cries of the dead clamoring for retribution and justice that would never come.
“We got our pick from sixteen of Galmeen’s finest,” Lev said. “Every one of ’em wants your dick, and you know it. Everybody wants to ride your dick.”
“Classy, Lev,” Zi said. “Real classy.”
Lev kept his eyes on Baz. “That Jaeda seems real good, real nice, right? Pretty, too. And she isn’t scared of you, either.”
Baz couldn’t help but be aware of how formidable his physique was. The reminder was in how strangers’ eyes widened when they took him in, how they were quick to avert their gazes, how they stiffened and clutched their loved ones if they were at their side, as if afraid to provoke the beast.
A monster so long in the making Baz didn’t remember when, exactly, he’d first become one.
Was it when Junot rebirthed him into a vampire? Before then? He already had blood on his hands before Junot ever tracked him down, promising him a life so different from his previous one that Baz would forget.
Baz had never forgotten, no matter how many years passed.
He’d just gradually become the very kind of monster he’d so loathed.
“I’ll start with Jaeda and see where it goes,” Baz said, his voice free of the emotion he kept so tightly leashed.
At least she wouldn’t insist on touching him how he didn’t want. Buried inside her and drinking from her Majora, perhaps this time he’d actually forget—at least for a little while.
Lev clapped him on the back. “My man.”
“But after we have our fun, I’m letting them go. So release any pent-up tension. All of it. Go hard. We have to stay sharp. I have one of my feelings. Something’s heading our way.”
“Shit,” Moncho said.
“Uh-huh,” Night said.
Lev’s hand slid from Baz’s back. “What, you’re letting all of them go?”
Baz nodded. “Every single one. They have a month. That’ll get them far enough away from Galmeen that their previous owners won’t track them down.”
“Bet Félix got ’em,” Night said.
“Yeah, he probably did. Either way, they deserve a new life. Far from here. Far from me.”
Ed sighed. “You say that like you’re the problem. You aren’t the problem, Baz.”
His smile was sad. “I know.”
Zi snorted.
Baz shrugged a shoulder. “If we can’t be free, at least they can. Live it up. Then we let them go.”
“Live it up…” Lev said. “Like Mauldrene’ll let us do that.”
“Do your best.”
“Messing around is your wheelhouse, Lev,” Zi said. “I’m sure you’ll find a way.”
Laughter pealed from the table, suggesting that every one of these people would be able to carve out a fresh life for themselves. They’d heal. In time, they’d forget what it felt like to live off of satisfying people’s base instincts.
Baz spun on his heel, stuffed his hands in his pockets, and stalked from the dining hall.
Where he was going, he didn’t know.
There was no escaping himself.