Chapter 27 Saskia #2
My hand skates along the banister, the cool, dense wood smooth beneath my palm.
It curves up high above my head without any indication of what lies on the next level.
And the one above that. And the one above that.
.. I’d never wondered before how many stories the palace has or how many rooms. There are countless doors, the first of which I knock on before I try the handle.
Locked.
But there’s no shortage of doors to try. One after the other, they remind me of the doors of the complexes but fancier, like rows of polished teeth ready to snap at me.
I guess this is as good a path as any, I say, and odds are I get lost anyway.
I got you, baby. Just like the catacombs. You walk, I map. And when you get lost, I’ll guide you back to your room.
I scoff. You make it sound so simple.
‘How hard can it be?’ Lucan mimics me.
Has anyone ever told you that you’re insufferable?
He hums in defiance. Wasn’t so insufferable last night, was I?
I don’t even have time to register excitement at the first unlocked door I find. Heat rushes through my cheeks, down my spine, as I open it only to find a mundane linen closet.
Am I ever going to be good enough at this to read your thoughts and see through your eyes? I blurt out distractedly.
His voice drops low. Want to watch me?
No, I stammer. That’s not what I meant, but immediately, I know my response is a lie. And, of course, Lucan knows too. Two more locked doors later, I reply, I meant I’m curious what’s on the other side of the Wall. What your house looks like… what you look like.
My mind keeps trying to stifle, don’t think about him naked, don’t think about him naked unsuccessfully. But I have no concrete image to work with here—just my vivid imagination.
Trees, he chuckles. Just so many trees. And what was once a lively town on the outskirts of the main city. He pauses. Time is a bitch.
A female dog? I laugh.
No. In this context, more like something that’s difficult. He pauses, as if preparing to broach a tentative subject. Are there a lot of dogs within the Wall?
What? I try another door to no avail. No, not many. The rehab portion of the Healing Center keeps a regulated breed for occupational therapy. Why?
Well, I—
“Oh,” I gasp, almost toppling over when a man throws open his door and runs right smack into me. “I’m sorry.”
The man peers down at me, confusion sitting between his bushy eyebrows. I don’t recognize him as one of the twelve—now eleven—I was Chosen with.
“Who are you?” he drawls, each syllable stretching out lazily.
I raise my chin to meet his leveled gaze. “Who are you?”
“Tristan.” His bemused expression muddles into some kind of sick satisfaction when his eyes drop to the neckline of my dress.
“New Chosen One then? Who knew the palace was like this, huh? Not a bad deal. Give up some blood and you no longer have to live in that wretched city.” He cocks his head in the general direction of the rest of Xantera.
This asshole, Lucan mutters.
A useful asshole, I reply.
“Right,” I tell Tristan slyly. “For just a little blood”—figuratively and literally, then throw in your pesky little ethics and morals on top, I don’t add—“you get all this. How long ago did you get Chosen?”
He crosses his arms and leans against the doorframe. “Four blood moons ago.”
“I was beginning to wonder where everyone was. You’re the first person I’ve seen who wasn’t Chosen with me.”
“Not surprising,” he laughs, although it sounds as languid and lazy as his drawl, “and actually, I’m impressed. Usually, the newcomers are too scared to come out at first. Takes a couple of months for them to realize we don’t all bite.”
“So, you all socialize with each other?” I ask curiously.
“Well, yeah. There’s not much else to do.”
“Do you know Maribel?”
My heart squeezes as the words slip out. I haven’t said my mother’s name in years. I used to whisper it to myself sometimes before falling asleep, like I was reminding myself that she existed, that she hadn’t been a figment of my distant imagination.
But no recognition crosses Tristan’s face. He only chews on his thoughts and shrugs. “Can’t say that I do.”
The hope building in my chest deflates. One whole year seems like too long to be allowed to freely move about the castle every day and not know everyone in passing.
“Is she one of the older Chosen Ones?” he asks with disdain.
“I guess,” I answer, hesitating. I don’t know if that’s what he wants to hear. “She’s lived here for eight years now.”
He snorts. “Figures. Those Chosen Ones are too good for everyone else. Most of them just sleep all day. If you ask me, they should throw them back out onto the street, into their housing complex. Let them trade places with someone who appreciates this.” The pause ticks in the air between us, until Tristan exhales between his grinning lips and slips his arm around my shoulders.
“At least, they’re up on the highest floors in the smallest rooms, away from everyone else.
Now come on, stick with me and you can’t go wrong. I never got your name.”
I duck out of his grip, my heart pounding wildly. “I just remembered… I need to pee! In my room!”
Smooth, Lucan comments, amused.
Tristan blinks, then laughs awkwardly as he backpedals.
“We’ll be in the billiard room playing poker.
Just ask your servant to bring you. And don’t forget to bring something to bet with.
” His eyes drop to the neckline of my dress again, tracing it, lingering down to my hips. “That’s always the best part.”
I stand rooted in my spot until he rounds the corner completely. Then I slowly count, one, two, three, before I take off running to the nearest staircase in sight.
Did I say I loved stairs before? I huff, gathering the skirt of my dress and dragging my legs up the seventh flight.
My butt burns, my thighs ache, and I can barely breathe.
The first three were quick. The last four have gotten progressively slower.
Never mind. They’re torture devices. No wonder no one comes up here. Who would willingly climb all this?
I gaze longingly at the last stretch of steps, wishing there was some necklace that could magically transport me to the top.
One more, Lucan encourages me as I let out a breath and climb. If I were there, I’d carry you. Then work out all those knots in your muscles after.
Too bad you’re not here, I breathe, unattractively.
And uncontrollably, his claws make an appearance in my daydream. I imagine my skin denting from the slight pressure. The sting of pain lighting up my nervous system. His enormous hands leaving scratch marks along my inner thighs—
Focus, Lucan says hoarsely, like he can’t take it anymore.
I clear my head when I stop at the top and look to the right down the long hallway, refocusing on the task ahead of me.
After knocking softly on the first door, I try the handle, only to be met with a deadbolted door.
Lucan, I sigh. What if these are all just more locked doors? We get freedom to move about the palace, but it’s not like they’re going to let us just see anything they don’t want us to see.
The only thing we can do is keep trying.
I nod to myself and push on. The next is locked, and the next, until the sound of door hinges squeaks across the hallway.
I stop dead in my tracks and press my back against the nearest door, sucking in as much of my body as I can behind the wide door frame. Thankfully, the footsteps recede, and I poke my head out just as a servant enters another room at the far end of the hall.
Before I can think twice, I’m beelining for the room she just exited.
I can sense Lucan’s hesitation, how much he wants to tell me to turn around, but instead he says, Quickly, Saskia.
Slipping inside, I blink against the darkness. Tristan was right. These rooms are much smaller, with minimal furniture and a small bed in the center of the room.
It eerily reminds me of the patient rooms in the Healing Center. Sterile. Cold.
The human-sized lump under the covers looks unnatural. Holding my own, I wait to see the rise and fall of a breath, proof that they’re alive.
Finally, a slow drag shatters the unnatural stillness. They’re alive. Just sleeping.
I creep toward them, a face coming into view. And though it’s not my mother, relief still washes over me.
They’re only sleeping, I reiterate to Lucan. But it’s not my mom. I’m going to keep looking.
Careful, he says, despite how much I can sense he wants me to return to my room and never leave again.
I peek out into the hallway to find it empty once more. The next two rooms I find unlocked are more of the same—a bed, a sleeping body, and a chill in the air that feels like stone.
After hearing the servant’s footsteps retreating now down the stairs, I slip into the last room of the dead-end that she left unlocked.
This one is a little brighter from the sun peeking through the curtains of the only window I’ve seen so far.
I can already see the peaceful face of a woman lying on the bed, sleeping. Maybe caught in a dream from the faint smile on her lips.
I watch her for a minute, unnerved by how still she seems—and how familiar, too. She’s not my mom, either, but there’s something about her features that rings a bell in the back of my head.
Taking a step forward to reassure myself I’m not seeing things, the floorboard underneath my foot creaks.
And her eyes fly open.