Chapter Twenty-Three Today When I Was on the Stair, I Saw a Room That Wasn’t There
Chapter Twenty-Three
Today When I Was on the Stair, I Saw a Room That Wasn’t There
I woke up slowly, with a raw ache at the back of my throat. That didn’t bode well. The trek through the frozen forest had taken its toll, and a single night of sleep had not been enough to stave off the effects.
At least I’d slept decently enough. The feather mattress was the most comfortable place I’d had to lay my head since leaving Skalla.
Soft and cozy. Especially cozy since at some point during the night, I’d curled up even closer to the warm body next to mine; my cheek was still nestled in the crook of Sam’s shoulder, but now my arm was flung across his chest as well.
He snored softly and evenly, like a drowsy cat.
In the morning light, his face was just as lovely as it had been at dusk.
Lovelier, in fact, now that I could see it better.
I didn’t want to move. In particular, I didn’t want to move my arm.
I wanted nothing more than to possessively drape my leg over him, too.
There was, I thought, a solid argument to be made that it would be healthiest for me to spend the rest of the day snuggling in bed. Or possibly the rest of the week.
But a bladder is a harsh mistress, and no matter how warm Sam was, no matter how much my throat hurt, and no matter how cold it was outside the nest of blankets—and it was cold enough to sting—the urgent signals my body was sending could not be long ignored.
Repressing a groan, I slid away from Sam and tottered to my feet.
The frigid stone floor stabbed at my toes like a knife until I managed to get my boots on. My ankle was feeling better at least.
Outside, a perfect blanket of unbroken white covered the ground and clung to the limbs of the trees.
It was almost eerily quiet. The snow had stopped, and the wind had died down, which meant I was able to take care of necessary business in relative comfort.
“Relative” being a word doing a lot of heavy lifting in a situation where I risked literally freezing my ass off.
The low morning sun was shining in a cloudless sky, making the snow glitter and glimmer, but it failed to provide much heat.
Sam was sitting up and blinking when I came back in.
He’d just begun to get dressed and looked unfairly chipper considering the arduous journey we would need to resume that day.
I still resented having had to get out of bed.
But when he smiled shyly at me, an answering smile crept onto my own face nonetheless.
He looked down and away. My grin faded.
We were falling into a very deep and difficult place together, weren’t we?
“We should probably get on our way,” he mumbled at the floor as he tied his mask on. “It’ll be hard going even without the snowstorm. The earlier we start, the more likely we are to find the castle before nightfall. I think we both could stand to have a hot meal in front of a roaring fire.”
My stomach made a gurgling noise at the uncomfortable reminder I’d had nothing to eat all day yesterday. And for the month before that, technically.
We had no great reason to believe we were heading toward the castle, though. Following the stream was a reasonable plan, but it didn’t come with any guarantee of success. At least it meant we had a constant source of fresh water, although one so cold it made my teeth throb.
Sam was right that our chances would be better if we got an early start. But still…
“I want to check one thing before we go.” My voice came out as a harsh croak. Sam glanced up at me in surprise. I swallowed, even though it hurt, and tried again. “It shouldn’t take long,” I managed more smoothly.
If I’d been my own patient, I would’ve prescribed a healthy dose of willow bark tea. Perhaps with some elderflower or lemon and honey. Then I’d suggest bed rest. Maybe we’d find a willow in the woods. Tea didn’t seem likely, but I could chew on the bark.
“What did you have in mind?” Sam asked.
I walked over to the grooved stone stairs and looked up through the ragged hole in the ceiling above them.
Through it, I saw only blue sky. “Shouldn’t these stairs be completely covered in snow?
” I asked. “There’s only a little bit on them, near the windows.
Why didn’t any come in through the roof?
” I should have noticed how strange that was last night, but I’d had other things on my mind.
Two furrows appeared on Sam’s forehead. “That is odd. Perhaps it’s some trick of the wind?”
“Perhaps,” I agreed, testing the stairs with my foot. They didn’t feel inclined to collapse under me, so I started trotting up. “But I don’t think it is.” Talking about my imprisonment the night before had reminded me of one of the customary reasons to build a tower in the middle of nowhere.
I kicked my way past the few stray clumps of snow and approached the top. As soon as my head broke the plane of the ceiling, the bright sky overhead disappeared.
In the ensuing dimness, before my eyes adjusted, I was startled by horrific screams and shrieks.
My nose was assaulted by animal smells, fur and musk and carrion flesh.
I almost stumbled backward in fright, which would have been a bad idea on a stairway, but then my vision cleared, and I glimpsed the cages.
I pulled my head back into quiet and light. “There’s a whole invisible floor up here. This is a sorcerer’s tower. Let’s take a look.”
“This is a what?” Sam frowned as he came to join me. “Is it safe to go up there?”
“Well, I wouldn’t call any sorcerer’s tower safe. But it looks like all the monsters are imprisoned.”
“There are monsters.” He sighed and shook his head. “Of course there are. Up we go, I suppose.”
I strode into the hidden upper chamber, Sam at my heels.
It was as ancient and broken as the one below; the stones of the walls were weathered and pitted, and the joints were pocked with holes where the mortar had crumbled, but there was even less snow—only a couple of sparse patches on the floor beneath the two narrow windows, resembling scatterings of spilled flour.
Dozens of cages lined the curving walls, row upon row of padlocks and iron bars, some of the enclosures so small a squirrel would barely fit inside, others stretching so high I could have stood on Sam’s shoulders, and my head still wouldn’t have reached the tops.
More than half were filled with unnatural beasts.
The spider wolves were familiar from my own experience.
Some of the others were ones I’d been told about, like the huge strange birds with serrated beaks and rings of thornlike protrusions sprouting from their heads.
A furred, hooded serpent with feathery spines made a noise halfway between a growl and a hiss.
Close against its body, dozens of tiny sharp claws clenched and unclenched as it slithered closer to the front of its cage.
The rest were ones I’d never seen or heard of before, writhing masses of tentacles, mandibles, and spikes.
They tried to launch themselves at us as we passed, rattling the bars of their cages and howling in rage.
Sam and I looked around warily, but the padlocks held firm.
We didn’t seem to be in immediate danger, as long as we stayed out of reach of any of the grasping limbs that poked through the bars.
These were not the harmless oddities we sometimes came across in the forest. These wanted blood.
“I understand why whoever lives here sleeps downstairs,” I said.
The cages weren’t the only furnishings in the room. A wooden chair sat before an ink-stained writing desk. Papers and quill pens lay scattered across it, along with a jumble of other paraphernalia—black candles, an ornate hand mirror with a silver frame, and what looked like the skull of a goat.
“How much of this tower is an illusion?” Sam asked, close to my ear so I could hear him over the howls. “Is it even as old as it looks?”
“Probably. The big tumble of fallen stone outside might just be set dressing, but I can feel drafts coming through the holes in the wall, so they’re real enough.
The furniture’s in far nicer shape, though.
My guess is that the place was built a long time ago, but a new sorcerer found it and moved in.
They do that sometimes. Like hermit crabs.
Saves the trouble of building one from scratch. ”
Sam put his hand through a window, as if testing whether it was truly there. “I still don’t see why they’d build one in the first place. Is it really in case they ever need to imprison a maiden?”
“No. Well…maybe,” I said, eyeing the cages again. Not every last one was currently occupied, after all. “But the one my stepmom stuck me in wasn’t designed to keep me captive. It was adapted to the purpose. Mostly they’re meant to be secret places—hard to get into or hard to find.”
“Somewhere to experiment with magic,” Sam murmured, lost in thought, “far from any prying eyes.”
I nodded. “And they also”—I approached the desk—“make excellent hiding places for magical artifacts.” I tapped the mirror with my fingernail.
“Hey!” it cried out. “Don’t scratch me up!
” The images on its surface rippled together to form the rough semblance of a face.
Sam’s eyes widened in surprise, and I allowed myself a small smile.
I’d developed a keen sense for spotting enchanted knickknacks over the years.
Admittedly, this one had been blatant enough that any pride was unwarranted.
No one leaves a regular mirror lying around next to their goat skull.
“Sorry,” I said.
“You should be.” The mirror didn’t seem much appeased by the apology. “I don’t go around shoving my finger in your mouth, do I?”
“You don’t have fingers. For that matter, you can’t exactly go around anywhere, can you?”
“Not the point!”