Chapter twenty-three
the scariest tea-party I ever was at
W e descended upon the stone ruin the next morning. Brana bypassed many of the fallen walls, locating an unassuming wooden door. Inside, we found a passable living space. Two women dressed in black relaxed in a rudimentary den. The first, a slight woman with pin straight black hair, dropped her knitting and greeted us.
Brana started, “We’re here to—”
“The Queen said you’d come!” the woman cried.
The second woman, who looked remarkably like the first, albeit not-so-slight, raised her brow suspiciously. “The Queen said only one would come.” The second woman turned to face us. She wore a roughly fashioned eye patch.
Brana paled. “Well—”
“The poor girl obviously needed a guide,” the first woman said. “I’m sorry about my sister. She gets grumpy out here.”
“It’s a miserable place,” her sister groaned .
“I like it. I can stitch in peace.” The first woman turned back to us. “I’m sorry, we’re being rude. I’m Annwyl, and that’s my sister Anval. Now, can I get you anything? Tea? Are you hungry?”
“They’re not guests!” Anval cried.
“When someone new arrives, that makes them a guest!”
“She’s about to be ripped apart. She doesn’t want tea!”
I didn’t feel so good.
Annwyl looked at me for confirmation. I hated to side with Anval, but I didn’t want anything. “No, thank you.”
Annwyl glared at Anval. “Father would be ashamed of you.” And to me, “Are you certain I can’t get you anything?”
“An Uber home.”
“Pardon?”
“Nothing. I’d like to get this over with if you don’t mind.”
“Very well.” Annwyl frowned. “Follow me.” She paused, pointing at my clothes. “Is that what you’re wearing?”
I looked down. “What else would I wear?”
“You can’t wear that. He’ll be displeased,” Annwyl said, shaking her head. “Here, come with me.” Annwyl led me to a bedroom. Stunning handcrafted robes and gowns hung from the rafters. I bumped a table piled high with neatly folded tops and trousers.
“Wow.”
Annwyl chewed her nail. “We’ve found it’s best to keep our minds, and our hands, busy.” I grazed the soft fabric of a rich burgundy robe. Annwyl continued, “Jorgen’s whispers call to us from below… They’re not very nice things.” She laughed anxiously. “One minute you’re fine, and the next thing you know…” She mimed a stabbing motion. “You’re jabbing your sister in the eye with a knitting needle.”
My stomach turned and I withdrew my hand. “Well, they’re beautiful. ”
Annwyl beamed, pulling down the burgundy robe. “I always loved this one,” she said, examining the floral pattern stitched into the trim.
“It’s just going to get ruined,” Anval called from the doorway. “Let her go with what she’s wearing.”
“I’d want to look nice if I was going to my death,” Annwyl said absent-mindedly. She handed me the robe. “You know what? Hold on.” She snatched the garment away and headed to an old wardrobe in the corner. Inside were a handful of outfits. Annwyl dragged her hand along the clothing. “This is my favourite,” she said, and withdrew a flowing, pale blue gown. “He loves blue.” It looked like the sort of dress a woman might wear as she scoured the halls of her haunted Victorian mansion, candelabra in hand. And I don’t mean that in a bad way. It was stunning, if old-fashioned.
“I can’t,” I protested.
“Please, I have a good feeling about this one,” Annwyl urged, handing me the gown. “I have a good feeling about you.” The dress was weightless. I ran the skirt through my fingers and found a softness I could never imagine. Let alone afford.
“Perhaps you’ll bring it back to me,” Annwyl said.
Her smile was hopeful. Her eyes were not.
I changed, and only tripped on the hem of the skirt once as I rejoined the others. I wondered if I’d be able to run if the occasion called for it.
“Don’t run,” Anval said.
“Wha—”
“Trust me.” Anval gave a tight shake of her head. “It excites him.”
Feeling a bit woozy, I steadied myself with a chair.
Annwyl led Brana and I into the basement, nothing more than a rough room dug into the dirt. Torches sat on either side of a single wooden door. Annwyl strode forward and gripped the doorhandle. She paused and whispered, “I hate this part.” Annwyl turned the knob.
WHOOSH! The door burst open, and Annwyl leapt away as an ear-splitting screech shattered the silence. The door slammed the dirt wall and sent wooden splinters spraying across the room.
Blood and scratches littered the inside of the door.
“Some people almost make it out…” Annwyl’s eyes glazed. “Almost.”
Anval slunk down the stairs. “If we don’t hear from you within the next hour, we’ll assume you’re dead and alert the Queen of your passing.” Annwyl cringed. I opened my mouth to tell Anval that they may as well alert the Queen now, but Brana shot me a dirty look and I refrained.
Annwyl squeezed my arm and gave me a torch. “Just…head down.” The flickering light revealed stairs carved into stone. Hot, humid air pulsed from below. My mind conjured the image of a dragon curled over a mountain of gold. As it dozed peacefully, each rotten breath travelled up to meet me.
A whisper crept up the steps, “I can feeeel your ssshaking body.”
“I told you,” Annwyl murmured. “They’re not very nice things.”
Ugh.
“Any last-minute advice?” I stalled.
“He hates rudeness,” Annwyl started.
“Be polite and hope he kills you quickly,” Anval finished.
Brana fidgeted with her sleeve, unable to look at me. “Thanks for getting me here,” I said.
Brana’s lips compressed, as if she didn’t trust herself to speak. When her eyes finally met mine, they were dewy and tinged pink. “Well, off you go then!” she shooed.
I stepped onto the landing. Behind me, the door latched with a gentle click . The low rumble of laughter carried from below. No turning back now.
I descended.
Intricate drawings covered the walls. I brought my torch closer, examining them. The first scene depicted a figure rubbed with blue pigment. In one hand, the figure held a pair of legs, in the other, a woman’s torso. Whorls of magic floated from the torn body. They swirled into the blue figure’s mouth, it’s jaw wide and unhinged, like a massive snake. I brushed the wall—
“Aughhhhh!” A high-pitched scream shattered my eardrums. Terror shot through me and I stumbled back. I coddled my hand like a child who’d touched a hot stove. I swung the torch around; the scenes of slaughter continued all the way down. The next sketch showed the figure in blue, victoriously mounted on a pile of limbs and corpses. Red dye pooled at the base of the bodies. I stared at my feet as I climbed down the remaining steps. The visceral scream clung to me like an unwelcome bur.
None of this felt real until that scream, the pitched wail of a woman fighting for her life. The reality of my situation set in with stunning clarity.
I’m going to die here.
Tears stung my eyes as I thought about Sasha, and Watney. It hurt my chest, to think of Watney at home, watching the door that I’d never come through again. Back at Shadow Peak, Darragh would be executed, but not before he learned of my brutal demise— stop it!
Pushing the catastrophizing thoughts aside, I stumbled into the dimly lit cavern. These walls were meticulously carved, thousands of depictions of those who came before me. Those who failed. He may be a monster, but he’s certainly talented. I admired the carvings glumly. I suppose he’s got the time. A red glow emanated through three doorways in the cavern, a set of stairs behind each. I rubbed my neck. Red means scary .
Which stairs do I take?
A chilling voice rose from below. “All pathsss lead to me.”
When in doubt, go left. I started down the left-most passage. My boot crushed glass—I yanked it away. Shards of a bottle remained. I lurched over that step and continued. More and more items littered the stairs, overflow from the room below. I carefully avoided a pile of clothing.
Wouldn’t want to fall and break my neck.
I shuffled into a grotto, and skirted mounds of objects strewn about the rocky floor. Each pile was filled with similar items: staffs, lanterns, a cluttered heap of boots. As I picked my way around the piles, I realized it was a maniacal filing system. My guts twisted at the thought of seeing my own boots tossed with the rest. I peeked around an enormous stack of hats. At the far end of the grotto, amongst shinier stacks of loot, a figure sat upon a throne. Shrouded in darkness, I could barely make them out.
A pair of eyes snapped open. Two slitted beacons in the dimly lit cavern.
“Approach.”
I rounded the pile of hats and shuffled to the throne. What I thought were spokes of wrought iron or metal were actually bones. Femurs and tibias jutted behind the throne in a giant half circle.
“Sssstop.”
I paused mid step.
The figure’s face entered my torchlight. Jorgen looked like a person, but he also…didn’t look like a person. His eyes were far too big, his mouth too broad. He grinned; the corners of his mouth touched his ears. Like Alice and the Cheshire Cat, I looked upon Jorgen timidly. His body remained coiled in the darkness, and I worried he might strike out at any moment.
Slowly, Jorgen rose and stepped into the light. He wore a striking cerulean robe, patterned in woven scallops. Jorgen took another step and his robe shimmered, as if covered in delicate scales. Glancing at Jorgen’s feet, my breath caught. Beneath him were several rugs made of skin.
Human skin.
Their mouths open in silent screams, flat, eyeless faces stared up at me. Jorgen followed my gaze as it bounced between the human rugs, and the bone throne. He smiled wickedly, and waved a frail, swishy hand at his throne. “A gem must sssit on a pedestal, and building materials are ssso hard to come by.” Jorgen hissed his S’s; I imagined a forked tongue hidden behind his teeth. He slunk forward and sniffed. “Fassscinating. I’ve never sssmelled anything like you before.” As he spoke, his head swayed from side to side.
It was quite…hypnotic.
Stay vigilant , I reminded myself.
“I-I’m looking for s-something,” I stuttered.
“We’re all looking for ssssomething my dear…” Invisible tendrils prodded me as Jorgen explored my mind. “Eleanor?”
I hesitated, but figured I had nothing to lose. “It’s Nell.”
“You’re not a necromancer, are you?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “Hm, no. You’re not. Disappointing. I’ve never had one before. Would you like a drink?”
“I—what?” I remembered Anval’s warning. Be polite . I reached within, coaxing the version of myself who worked at the café. Forcing my biggest, most genuine smile, I said, “I’d love that. Thank you.”
The red hue that permeated the grotto ebbed. Jorgen looked more human in this light. “Come! Come!” he insisted. His foot caught on the rug, and he stumbled. “Oh! Be careful!” He waved at the rug. “I must move that. It’s so dangerous, but I adore the drama when people come down.” He chuckled and raised his hands like claws. “Ahhh, rawr. Anyway, libation?” Jorgen flourished his fingers, and a table of bones grew up from the ground. He clapped, and a tablecloth of stitched skins appeared in the air. Jorgen raised his hands and brought them down, and the skin cloth fell neatly on the table. Two chairs appeared, one of which Jorgen pulled out for me.
“Thank you kindly,” I murmured, and took a seat. Jorgen sat beside me, scooching his chair enthusiastically to the table. Jorgen clapped and a bone harp appeared behind us. A wave moved across the instrument as an invisible musician plucked the sinewy strings. A tea set made of skulls rose from the table.
Bone china .
I chuckled.
Jorgen’s eyes narrowed.
“I’ve just never seen a table set so gracefully,” I quickly explained, then looked down before realizing that might be rude. I forced eye contact with Jorgen.
Jorgen picked up the skull pot. “Isn’t it interesting how a tea pot represents the pleasures of company?” Jorgen poured steaming red liquid into the tiny bone teacup before me. “I find it terribly lonely down here, especially during teatime. But then I look at this skull pot—oh dear, what was her name?” Jorgen brought one dainty hand to his lips, searching his memory. “Xaria, that was it. I think of lovely Xaria and I’m reminded that I’m not alone, and that company will come along soon.” Jorgen set the pot down. His eager eyes darted between the teacup and my mouth.
I picked up the steaming cup and braced myself. “Uh, cheers?” The coppery liquid burned my throat on the way down. I struggled not to spit it out and coughed. “It’s… It’s nice.”
“It’s blood,” Jorgen replied, his shoulders bouncing with glee.
“Yeah. Yeah, of course it is.” I set the teacup back on the table, far away from me.
Jorgen picked up his cup and saucer, and brought the cup to his mouth. “Mmm!” He smacked his lips in a chef’s kiss. “Mmm, ooh, absolutely miraculous.” The hissing gone, Jorgen had a lovely, articulated tone of voice. With hand gestures that I, again, found mesmerizing, he leaned in and gushed, “Can you taste the sweetness?”
It tasted like a punch in the mouth. Blood filled the crevices in my teeth, and I tried not to run my tongue along them. “It’s kind of…salty?” My stomach lurched. I traced the stitches on the skin tablecloth as a distraction.
Movement above Jorgen caught my eye. A spider rappelled from the ceiling. “Ahh! Hello!” Jorgen stretched out his hand, allowing the spider to land on it. Jorgen brought the spider to his ear. “Mhmm, yes?” He nodded. “I’m so sorry, you’re right. That was quite impolite of me.” Setting the spider on his shoulder, Jorgen reached into his mouth and yanked a tooth from his gums. He ran his tongue along the empty gap. A new tooth grew and filled it. Jorgen turned the extricated tooth upside down. His fingernail grew long and sharp, and he bore into the bone, hollowing it. Jorgen blew bits of dust away before filling the tooth with a drop of blood from the pot. He gave it to the spider, who ascended. With a dismissive flick of the wrist, Jorgen said, “Just Hank,” then picked his saucer up again. “Now, what are you hoping to find down here, Nell?”
“Something that belongs to the Queen.”
Unphased, Jorgen nodded and sipped his tea. He already knew why I was here. “And how is our enchanting Queen?” An image of the decrepit, too-old crone popped into my head. Jorgen smiled; he knew exactly how she was. “I suppose you know she stole something from me?”
“Your ring.”
“The ring didn’t matter!” Jorgen slammed his teacup on the table. It shattered, sending blood and bone everywhere. “The stone mattered!” My body tensed at the outburst. Jorgen calmed himself. “Sorry.” He twirled his fingers. Drops of blood seeped back into the teacup as it repaired itself.
“What was so special about the stone?”
Jorgen’s eyes flared. “It wasn’t just any sssstone,” he hissed. “I made the Screaming Diamond. I squeezed the blood from thousands of women. I crushed it, heated it. Facet by facet, I made the Screaming Diamond.”
“Wow.” I didn’t have to fake the awe in my voice. Jorgen’ s shoulders twitched with pride. “And you called it the Screaming Diamond because—”
“When you look upon the stone, you can hear them.” Jorgen’s eyes grew frenzied. “The ghosts of those I flayed in its creation.” He looked into the distance and put a hand to his heart. “Oh, dear, I miss it.”
The screams of the dead would drive anyone mad.
Jorgen continued. “The Queen came to me, a thief in the dark. She was handsome, amiable, and meek, and far cleverer than I gave her credit for. She may have lacked power but oh, she was cunning. I shouldn’t have underestimated her.” He stared at the steps leading from the cavern. “She’s the only person to leave here unscathed.” A wicked smile curled Jorgen’s cheek. “Well, mostly.”
“Until today,” I said.
Jorgen pulsed his eyebrows. We’ll see . He pointed to my cup. “Your blood is getting cold.” Ugh. Just pretend it’s iced coffee. I downed the remaining liquid, shivering as the lukewarm blood slid down my throat. Jorgen continued. “She may have taken my ring, but I took something from her.” Jorgen parted his robe, revealing a necklace. Invisible hands lifted the necklace over his head and placed it on the table. It didn’t look like much. A pendent with a pressed mauve flower on a simple silver chain. Certainly not fit for a Queen. Jorgen, still listening to my thoughts, replied, “She wasn’t a Queen when she robbed me.”
“Did she take all your magic?”
Jorgen’s lip curled.
Shit. You can’t just ask people about their magic .
Jorgen took his cup, brushing my hand. An electrifying vision of slaughter and screams nearly knocked me off my chair.
“I’m sorry!” My mind raced. “It’s just, I’ve heard so many stories of your magnificence.”
Jorgen raised his chin and puffed his chest. “Oh well, you know. ”
Jorgen exploded.
“Hhh!” I cringed as bits of flesh blasted in all directions. Skin and viscera transformed into a swirling mass of bats. They chirped and circled me before flying to the ceiling. All at once, they fell to the floor, each transforming into their own Jorgen. Hundreds of them filled the grotto—sitting on piles of loot and waltzing in the background. With a chorus of maniacal cackles, they all drifted and joined into one Jorgen. He sat proudly next to me, sipping his tea.
My mouth opened in awe. “How’d the Queen out-magic you?”
Jorgen’s excitement faded. His face was that of a child who’d received 99% on a test, only to come home and have a parent ask what happened to the other 1%. “Are you looking for ideasss?” he hissed.
I was running out of time.
How far would I get if I grabbed the necklace and ran?
The necklace slid to the far side of the table. Jorgen placed his hand over it.
I pushed a hand through my hair, tugging Bowyn’s poison covered pin. Before I could lose my nerve—I leapt up and slammed the pin through Jorgen’s hand.
My entire body shook as adrenaline coursed through it.
Unbothered, Jorgen admired the diamond inlaid fox. “Oh my, that’s lovely.” His eyes narrowed, and he pointed to his hand. “Is this poisoned?” Before I could respond, Jorgen bent forward and slid his wrist between his teeth. Bones crunched and snapped between Jorgen’s powerful jaws. When he righted himself, blood dribbled from his lips, and more spurted from the stump at his wrist. Slowly, a new hand grew in its place. Jorgen tore the pin from the dead hand and tossed it aside. The disembodied hand flipped over, and nails click-clacked against the table as it crawled away. The hand leapt down and disappeared into a murky pool. Jorgen examined a rip in his skin tablecloth, clearly displeased.
“Now that you’ve gotten that out of your system,” Jorgen purred, “maybe we can come to some sort of arrangement?” Again, he placed his hand next to the necklace, toying with the chain. “You see, I’ve been down in this tomb for quite a long time. I’d very much like to leave.”
I didn’t like where this was going.
“I will give you the necklace, out of the sheer goodness of my heart. I simply want one, tiny, insignificant thing in return.”
“I don’t have anything.”
Idiot. I cursed myself for giving such a thoughtless answer.
“Mmm, so modest.” Jorgen replied. “You have two hands, two feet…two eyes.” Jorgen paused; his gaze found the ceiling while he thought. “Well, yes, I suppose after that, you don’t have much to offer. Hardly worth killing at all, really. Though…” He pointed to the instrument in the background. “My harp could use new strings. I imagine you’ve got lovely guts. What’s your diet like? Do you often have inflammation?”
I felt inflamed right now. Filled with blood, it clawed at the back of my throat. “What do you want from me?” Jorgen poured himself another cup of warm blood and sipped it, savouring my discomfort.
“I want your tongue.” He ran his own tongue along his lips.
“…my tongue?”
“Well, your voice.”
What kind of sea witch bullshit is this?
Jorgen held up his hand; the necklace floated above it. “Your voice for the necklace.” I opened my mouth to respond. Nothing came out. I just sat, frozen.
How did it come to this?
Was any of this real?
Jorgen twirled his fingers. The necklace spun slowly .
What would happen if I said no?
Jorgen’s hungry smile grew wider.
He’d eat me. Strip my bones and feed me to the next fool who came down here.
What was Darragh doing now? Was he okay? I recalled the hopeful way he looked at me, the way he pushed his hair behind his ear when he was nervous. He’d saved me, countless times. Now…it was my turn. If I traded my voice, there was a chance, however small, that I could get back to him. I could save him.
Jorgen stopped twirling the necklace. “What will it be?”
“Take it.”
“Oh!” Jorgen’s brows raised. “Oh, good. That was easier than I thought.” He motioned to shake on it. I scooted one hand out from beneath myself, where I’d been sitting on it. Slowly, I shook his hand.
“Ach!” Jorgen’s fingers crushed my knuckles. He yanked me forward, pressing his lips on mine. I squirmed, but his other hand had found the back of my neck. Unable to escape, Jorgen sucked the air from my lungs.
Everything went dark.
***
Drops of water splashed my cheek and I blinked awake. I focused on the wet, rocky ceiling of the grotto. My back ached as I sat up. Jorgen was still at the table, legs crossed leisurely. I tried to ask about the necklace, but only air came out.
My voice was gone.
“Splendid,” Jorgen said in a high, feminine voice.
My voice.
Jorgen touched his throat. “Oooh, ahhh. Why I do declare.” He coughed, stretching his vocal cords. A bloodcurdling shriek left Jorgen’s lips. I slammed my hands over my ears.
What’s he doing?!
Jorgen shrieked again, a horrible, agonizing screech. I’d never made these sounds before, I hadn’t thought myself possible of such anguish. I tried to ask, “What are you doing?” but a garbled choke came out. Climbing to my feet, I backed away.
Jorgen’s arm flew out and my legs seized. Jorgen’s neck swivelled and his feverish eyes locked on me. Easing to his feet, he said, “You didn’t come alone did you, Eleanor?” I struggled against Jorgen’s hold, but my feet wouldn’t move.
I came down here alone!
Jorgen gave me a condescending look. “That’s not what I meant.”
What do you mean?
The clanking of metal chains echoed down the stairs. A familiar, rattling voice called out, “Nell?” With great difficulty, I twisted, peering at the steps that led into the grotto.
Surrounded by a grey cloud of smoke, the Cage stood at the base of the stairs. I’d never been so happy to see anyone in my life—
Jorgen chuckled. Excitement twitched his body as a hungry, victorious smile spread from ear to ear.
The Cage was about to kick Jorgen’s ass. But, why did he look like a child about to rip open a present? Jorgen spent hundreds of years in this prison, shouldn’t he be terrified of the Cage? A creature who creates and destroys personal prisons like its nothing—the breath left my chest.
Oh.
Oh no.
We’d made a devastating mistake.