Chapter twenty-two
a rotten marionette
Elwyn
S leep refused me the night after the ball. When I tired of pretending, I slid from beneath the covers with a single task on my mind.
“Where’s Darragh?” I asked the guardian outside my room. “Is he with the Cage?”
The guardian glanced down the hall before saying, “I believe the Truth has him.”
That was much worse. The Cage garnered fear through mystery. Once you were given to the Cage, you were never seen again. No one knew what happened; you simply ceased to be. But with the Truth, you knew.
Darragh was already suffering.
“Where is she keeping him?”
“I don’t know. You know how she is.”
Unfortunately, I did.
The Truth hated interruptions. It broke her concentration and ruined the theatrics of torture. She regularly changed locations—sometimes even creating rooms to hide her victims. I had to get Darragh out, but I needed to find him first.
“Thanks for nothing,” I muttered as I left.
I spent hours scouring the mountain. I checked every door in every room. And then I checked again. The smell of spices and roasted meat told me dinner was served. I didn’t attend. I’d suffer the repercussions. Feeling hopeless, my feet carried me along a path my father and I used to walk. I headed to the Hall of Memories; a section of the mountain carved with the faces of our queens, and imbued with their stories. I remembered how father always paused at the final depiction of Queen Aithen, his mother. He would laugh, recalling how he’d told his mother it was closer to a likeness of a bearded wolf than her. Inevitably, his mood darkened. Shortly after my father wed, Aithen went into the woods and never returned. A guardian found her mangled body several weeks later.
Father always missed her terribly.
I rounded the corner to the hall and stopped. At the end, someone admired the carving of Queen Aithen. The slightly stooped stature—and the rich blue robe—was unmistakable. I croaked, “Father?”
I ran.
A foul, rotting stench met my nose. “Father!” I closed the distance between us. Stopping next to him, I whispered, “How did you—”
Teeth gnashed as my father spun around and grabbed for me. “Agh!” I dodged his grasping hands and fell back. I barely recognized this decomposing creature, who wore my father’s clothes, but looked at me through glazed eyes and mottled, purple flesh. Falling to his knees, my father skittered along the rock. I scrambled away, but he caught my foot and dragged me back. He clambered on top of me, his teeth snapping ravenously—
Someone caught the collar of my father’s robe, halting the attack. Suspended a few inches from my face, my father continued to snarl and hiss. From behind him, Ophyr’s smirking face appeared.
“Afternoon!” Ophyr knelt, keeping my father’s frantic corpse just far enough away that he couldn’t bite me. “Have you seen Darragh?” Ophyr asked. “You know, it’s the strangest thing. I swear he was around here somewhere.” Ophyr placed an exasperated hand on his cheek. “But I just can’t seem to find him.”
“I—I—I don’t know,” my voice chugged.
“Are you lying to me?” Ophyr asked, inching my father’s biting corpse closer. “Dishonesty is unbecoming, you know.”
“I don’t know!” My arms buckled as the weight increased. Snapping teeth brushed my nose and I craned my head sideways. “If I knew where he was, I’d be there!”
Ophyr squinted. “You’ve got me there.” He pulled my father away. “Here.” Metal clanked on stone as Ophyr placed a blade beside me.
He released my father.
My arms flattened and I dodged as teeth smashed against the rock. Climbing to my feet, I snatched the dagger. My father ran at me, and I swung the blade, cutting his throat. Still, he did not stop. He pinned me to the wall.
I drove the blade as far as I could into the side of his head.
My father stilled, then fell.
I cowered against the rock as the corpse twitched at my feet. Ophyr clapped and punched a fist in the air. “Fantastic job!” He put a boot on my father’s head and dug the blade out. He wiped the blood on the bottom of my dress and tucked the knife away. I wrapped my scratched, bloody arms around myself to keep from shaking.
Ophyr stood before me and made a pouty face. “Aw.” The rock pressed against my back, I couldn’t escape him. He raised a gloved hand, inches from my face. One by one, Ophyr pulled the glove from his fingers. It fell away, revealing a burned, nearly skeletal hand. Ophyr flexed, and bits of sinew pulled his fingers into a fist. “You know, I can’t feel a thing.” He dragged the bones along my cheek. “I have your friend to thank for this.” Ophyr leaned in, his bones curled around my throat and squeezed. I choked and gasped for air.
Ophyr kissed me, forcing his tongue between my lips. The taste of decay lingered in his mouth. When he pulled away, I gagged.
Ophyr smiled.
“I suggest you find him before I do.”