The Scream
Iheard a scream, though before I could question what it was, things fell quiet.
Long. Human.
It was definitely not a nightmare.
I pushed the blankets aside. Yesterday whatever Dali had done left my limbs aching and my muscles trembling but stronger than they had been since I woke up in this place. I had not tried walking since.
Until now.
I swung my feet to the floor. One step. My knees threatened to buckle. Another. Pain shot through my hips and down my legs but they held.
I reached the doorway just as Teorin's voice drifted up from somewhere below.
"And tell the kitchens if they serve her broth and lettuce again I'll feed it to the cook."
I smiled despite myself.
Good. The lettuce had been particularly insulting.
The scream cut through the castle again.
I followed it.
Darkway Palace deserved every story ever told about it.
The corridors twisted back on themselves until they no longer felt built but grown. Mirrors lined the walls, each one fractured differently. My reflection appeared in pieces. An eye here. A hand there. My face divided into six strangers.
A Morrak swept low overhead.
Its claws missed my scalp by inches.
"Rude," I muttered.
It hissed. I hissed back because decorum did not matter in a place like this.
It seemed offended, which pleased me.
The screaming continued.
I reached a staircase.
Asharin. I reminded myself. You have no magic. No weapon. You barely survived walking down the hallway. If you go down these steps how exactly do you intend to climb back up?
I looked toward the sound.
Then I went anyway.
The smell reached me before the room did. Blood. Cooking meat. Something sweet that turned my stomach.
Voices. Laughter. Dice across wood. Then another scream.
The doors stood open.
I stopped in the doorway. The dining hall looked less like a feast and more like a nightmare someone had tried to decorate.
Creatures crowded every chair. Some had wings folded behind them.
Others had horns. One had three mouths currently arguing with each other while another rolled dice with six hands.
At the center sat a woman in a servant's uniform, bound to a chair.
Dark hair plastered to her face. Her breathing came in ragged sobs.
One arm ended at the elbow. The other still had a hand.
Three fingers left. Blood dripped onto the floor.
Another roar of laughter. Dice rolled again.
They were not gambling for money, they were gambling for pieces of her.
Near the hearth a creature squatted and stirred a massive iron pot. Floating in the broth were fingers. It sniffed the soup. Added salt. Someone cheered.
Admittedly, compared to the wilted lettuce and watery broth I had received, it probably was superior in taste.
Something is wrong with you, Asharin, I thought to myself.
I should have turned around, but instead I walked into the room.
The laughter stopped. Every eye in the room turned toward me. One creature blinked all eight of his eyes in sequence. Another lowered his mug with great care. Then the one at the head of the table grinned, slow and wide, the kind of grin that had nothing friendly in it.
"The prince's little pet."
“Which prince?” Another one sneered. Another one with a hand growing out of his forehead stood with his mug raised in the air. “They say the golden princess fucked all four on her wedding night and now she has quadruplets. A bastard for each one.”
The room roared with laughter.
I rolled my eyes. “Twins,” I said.
The room went silent.
The creature narrowed its eyes. “Perhaps you’re missing ears in addition to common sense and a brain. What you are referencing is biologically impossible.” I paused. “And I have twins. Not Quadruplets.” I tilted my head. “I hope you don’t do anything in this palace that requires counting.”
I couldn’t help myself.
“…or attractiveness.”
The whole room roared and jeered.
“You bitch,” the creature shouted.
I looked around the room. My body was beginning to ache from the effort of standing and I desperately needed to cough up more black gunk but refused to do it in front of them. Moreover, if this was to be my new life, then I truly did not have much to lose.
Fuck it.
I cleared my throat. “I have spent time in Veynar taverns, Alarna’s court, and a ship full of Threns and none of it prepared me for how profoundly boring you all are. Is this truly how you spend your leisure hours? Dice and broth? No wonder the gate stays closed. Nothing interesting lives here."
The silence that followed was a different kind than before.
Perhaps it was a dangerous silence.
I found that I didn’t care. “I want the woman released,” I said with an authoritative tone that was likely unfounded given that I could barely stand.
"On what authority?" The creature at the head with skin that was bright red leaned back. “Being the Rathmor's whore?"
Laughter from every corner.
"Word in the lower taverns," another called out, grinning, "is they pass you around like a loaf of bread. Everyone gets a turn."
The room roared. All I could think of was if this was where they ate their meals, the lower taverns must be full of horrors I hope to never see.
I waited for it to die down. "The dice," I said. "I'll win her."
The creature tilted his head. "You'll win her?”
"Unless losing to someone who can barely walk offends your dignity."
He pushed the dice toward me.
I needed to cough. “Is no one to offer me a cup of ale? The next time I’m fucking King Sevrin and Prince Colsar and your new King Teorin I will certainly tell them to keep you locked away forever—”
“Here you go, cunt.” A creature slammed a mug of ale down next to me on the table.
I had to cough. Badly.
I coughed. And coughed. Then began to clear the mucous that had been sitting in my chest for the past several minutes. I leaned over the mug and copious amounts of black poison poured from my lungs into the cup.
Everyone in the room was staring. “This bitch has the plague,” one grumbled in the corner.
They will think you’re weak, I thought to myself.
“You truly have been sheltered from the world, haven’t you?” I smiled and swirled fluid in my cup.
Do not do it Asharin. Do not. You will regret it.
Again. Fuck it.
I picked up the mug and gulped it all down, the poison and the ale combined. Then I let out a belch.
“I am a soul licker,” I said calmly, leaning back in my chair.
“What the fuck kind of freak—”
“Oh please, you have a horn growing out of your ear. Stop,” I said, annoyed.
“Let her talk,” the creature in front of the hearth making finger soup said.
I looked at the human woman. She looked pale but alive. Good.
“I lick souls.”
“Like a Thren?” One shouted.
I threw my legs up on the table.
“Worse. A Thren sucks out the soul and you die, maybe turn into an undead.”
I paused for dramatic effect. “I lick your soul until it lights on fire and your body explodes into ash,” I said calmly.
“Lies,” another one shouted.
I snorted. “They call it lightcraft for a reason,” I said. “The craft part is real. If you are skilled in the dark arts like I am, then it can be done.”
“What you just saw,” I continued. “Was the remnants of—” I sighed. “Is his name Ervakel? Whoever guards the east wing exit in the northwest corridor. He said he wished to bed the Rathmor whore and wanted to give it a go.”
I gave a small laugh. “I tried to explain that the way my magic works, anyone that fucks me that is not a Rathmor will combust into flames.”
The room was dead silent. I let out another belch.
“He did not listen. I tried to hold back but as you know, the body does what it must.”
I twirled my hair in my fingers. “So I licked his soul, then ate the ash.” I paused. “It was delicious, better than that slop you’re making over there,” I said, nodding at the finger-cooker in front of the hearth.
The human woman frowned, almost as though offended I had insulted her fingers.
The room fell quiet again, as though they were trying to ascertain if the story was real.
“You’re a liar.”
“Would someone like me to demonstrate?” I stood. “Don’t be shy, I don’t mind. As you know, I can handle four at once.” I looked around the room. “Do I have four volunteers?”
Go back to bed, Asharin. You have gone too far.
And yet, I did not stop.
The room remained silent. Then a gasp. “Oh shit, she is not lying.”
A man with boils all over his face and a strange piece of metal protruding from his left eye stood. “The story tracks. The new guard, that was his name, goes by Ernie for short.” He paused. “Didn’t come in today and I had to work extra.” He glared at me. “I put him on the schedule for next week.”
I tried not to smile. What were the odds that the name I made up was the name of an actual guard?
And that he guards the east wing of the northeast corridor. It must truly exist. I would need to tell Fiersa that her subjective location has some objectivity after all.
“You should probably take him off,” I said calmly. “He most certainly has been eaten.”
I coughed again. And spat into the cup and lifted it up. “Unless you would like to taste him to confirm his future availability.”
The room stayed silent. I sank back into my seat and reached for the dice. I picked them up and felt them properly before I did anything else. Weighted on one side, dragging left.
I had been playing dice since I was twelve in the servants' quarters beneath the Baron’s estate, with kitchen hands who cheated as naturally as they breathed and assumed a girl had no head for numbers.
In truth, I had an excellent head for numbers and a weighted die still lands true if you know how to compensate for the drag. I rolled.
The dice bounced twice. Stopped.
The room went quiet.
"Impossible," the red-faced creature said.
"She beat him," said another, with something that sounded almost like reluctant respect.
Groans rose around the table. One knocked his cup off the edge.
The creature at the head stared at the dice.
Then clicked his tongue. "A deal's a deal.
" He cut the ropes. The woman collapsed forward and began dragging herself toward the door, her remaining hand flat against the floor, breath coming sharp. Hope crossed her face.
Halfway there, something landed on her back.
She screamed once. Teeth sank into her neck. Blood spread across the floor. The room erupted into applause.
I stared at him. "You lied."
The creature chewing on her shoulder looked up. "We did."
The laughter returned.
I looked around the room slowly.
"You are all pathetic."
The laughter faltered.
"I have met undead with more honor."
Silence.
"I hope every one of you rots inside this shithole forever."
The chair beside me exploded backward. A hand closed around my throat and the red-faced creature slammed me across the table hard enough to scatter the dice. Wood cracked beneath me. His face hovered inches from mine.
"Listen carefully, Rathmor whore." His breath smelled of iron. “Our new king clearly can’t decide whether he wants to fuck you or kill you." His grip tightened. "He should do us all a favor and do both."
Cheers erupted.
"When he's finished," he looked around the room, "I'll take my turn."
More jeers.
I looked at him. “If you’re as terrible at fucking as you are at dice, I’d rather you not waste my time.”
The room exploded in laughter.
He lunged. I rolled off the table. Another reached for me and I ducked beneath his arm. A third charged and I drove my heel into his knee. He stumbled sideways into the creature beside him. For one glorious second I was genuinely proud of myself.
Then pain. White-hot. Something had buried its teeth in my shoulder. Blood ran down my arm. The creature grinned around the mouthful.
Then frowned. Released me. Clutched his throat.
His knees hit the floor. I quickly realized what was happening and decided to capitalize on it.
I wrapped my fingers around his neck and said “Because I already ate your comrade so recently, it is lucky for you I will grant you a merciful death and not have you explode into ash.” He gagged.
I let go of his neck and he fell to the floor. “What was that?” I asked.
He gagged again and began to foam at the mouth. His body spasmed and then went still.
No one moved.
Blood dripped onto the floor. Every creature stared at the body. Then at me. For the first time since I died, I was grateful to have been poisoned.
I pressed one hand against my shoulder. "Does no one else want a taste anymore?"
No one answered.
The room bent. My vision blurred. Darkness swallowed the corners.
Then wingbeats. Dozens. A rush of black. Silence.
Strong hands caught me before I hit the floor.
"You," Teorin said behind me, his voice shaking with something I suspected was anger, "are a fucking idiot."
“Fuck you,” I said, voice hoarse.
“Fuck you too.”
I leaned against him, annoyed with myself that I was relieved to see him, and annoyed with him for smelling good. Like cedar and something spiced. “Where's my soup?” I asked.
He looked toward the hearth. "I should make you eat whatever he was cooking."
I followed his stare. The creature at the pot now lay dead beside the fire. The room had changed entirely. Every one of Teorin's creatures sat perfectly still. Waiting. Watching. Like obedient hunting dogs.
A brief twinge of irritation came over me. I had drunk my own poison-mucous among other things tonight in an attempt to be respected as dangerous only for them all to die.
Part of me had looked forward to watching them avoid me and tremble in fear that I may lick their souls and eat their ashes or whatever preposterous lie I had sown just minutes ago.
I looked at his creatures. He really was a feeder, because these were Morraks. “They're like Sevrin's," I murmured. “Except the eyes are different. And the wings.”
"They are." A corner of his mouth lifted. “But like most things involving my brothers, mine are superior."
I laughed and immediately regretted it. Pain shot through my shoulder. Teorin looked down and his expression vanished.
"What the fuck—"