A Reflection of Ice

by Katherine McIntyre

  “Is there a secret exit I could take? One where he might not find me?” she asked, running on instinct.

  Out of all the questions surfacing, this was the only one that mattered. If she could find a way to melt the statues, she’d bring whomever she could along with her. At least if she faced the blizzard, she could hope—this tortuous, slow demise made her skin crawl.

  “On the far wall is a tunnel leading to the main floor by the front door. He brought me down that way after I’d tried to run.” The girl shivered, but whether from the cold or memories, Lyra couldn’t tell. She opened her mouth to ask another question when goosebumps prickled across her arms in silent warning. If Moro caught her here, he would chain her up with the rest of them.

  “I have to get back.” Lyra glanced to the steps. “I’ll return.”

  If he happened to wander her hallway to check in on her and found her missing—well, she didn’t have an excuse in the world that would hold up. The idea of the slow, agonizing transition into ice bottomed her stomach out. She nodded in the direction of the girl and headed for the stairs.

  “Remember, the castle protects its own.” Her faint voice followed. Lyra didn’t have time to mull the statement over when she stepped out from the stairwell and returned to the hushed room. As terrifying as below was, the dungeon down there had been the first real thing she’d witnessed in this castle, a glittering palace of charades.

  From down the hallway, the shadows lightened to gray, meaning she needed to return as soon as possible. She closed the iron door, shaking her numbed fingers before rolling the carpeting back over. The entire time, she took care to stay out of view from the mirror on the wall and the one she’d set down. Sneaking around the backside of the tall mirror, she regained her grip on her long, rectangular shield. She opened the door a crack, but apart from the faint, remaining rays of moonlight gliding through the halls, no shadows lurked. Moro was nowhere in sight.

  With each hesitant step forward, Lyra repeated her process to stay out of sight from the mirrors, her pivots taken with utmost care. Whereas before she’d had imagined fears, now that they’d been realized, dread settled deep in her bones at what fate awaited if he caught her. She would be just another statue in the lonely ballroom, imprisoned for eternity in this castle of ice. Not like she had any way of telling, but she hoped and prayed that when the ice infiltrated completely, they were killed outright. The alternative was too horrible.

  The fervor of her thoughts compensated for the vacant silence of the corridor as she bypassed all the mirrors on the way to her room. Her heartbeat pounded at a deafening pace, the throbbing pulse so loud she feared Moro would hear it halfway across the castle. She sucked in a breath, trying to rein in her panic as she edged closer and closer to her room. Upon reaching the door, she glanced in—no sign of him. She backed in through the entrance, keeping the mirror focused on the wall.

  She tiptoed into the room, her legs threatening to shake at this point as she made her way to the space adjacent to the entrance where the mirror had been positioned before. With each step closer, she continued to glance toward the hall. Apart from the still shadows, she caught no signs of anyone. Shaky relief coursed through her as she backed into the wall and repositioned her hands to hang the mirror. Her arms dropped at last, and the shakes began after holding the mirror aloft for so long.

  With a trembling sigh, Lyra walked over to sit on her bed.

  “Up so early?” that silken smooth voice came from the door. Moro stood in the doorframe, arms crossed and golden eyes watching.

  6

  The truth cast Moro in a different light. While the man had classically handsome features, chiseled and symmetrical, their sharpness twisted into cruelty in the wake of her discovery. His skin was pale as the surrounding snow, betraying no emotion he didn’t choose, and his dark hair belonged with the shadows he’d emerged from. What Lyra once mistook for mischief in his eyes, she now understood had been malevolence all along. When she’d first arrived, she thought his smiles were strained due to loneliness or deep sadness. However, now she knew the truth. His black hole of a gaze consumed.

  And here stood the man who’d snuffed out hundreds of human lives at a whim. What terrified her the most as he stood in the doorway was the subtlety of his sadism. The monstrous side of him bubbled beneath the surface, and she could have believed him good and kind until he shackled her to the wall in the basement.

  Despite the discoveries she’d made, Lyra Greystone had a part to play.

  “I slept through the night,” she said, tucking back strands of her hair and hoping he didn’t notice the sweat glistening on her palms. “But once I woke up a little bit ago, I had a hard time falling asleep again. I was going to go search for you—but it looks like you were already awake?”

  “Plagued by insomnia, dear lady. I tend to roam the halls at night when trying to quiet my mind.” He leaned against the doorframe, the picture of effortless grace.

  Lyra nodded as if she digested the bullshit he sought to spoon-feed her. Either he didn’t sleep or he wouldn’t sleep while she stayed here in order to protect his secrets. Now that she knew his true aim—someone to take his place in the castle prison—she’d have to choose her words with caution. One small slip and she might become the new monster of this castle, never getting to see her own world again.

  “Since we’re both up for the morning, can we explore?” she asked, hoping to distract him from further questioning. “I remember mention of a treasure room.”

  Going anywhere with this creature made her skin crawl, but if she opted to spend the day locked in her room, she’d draw his suspicion for sure. Besides, she’d never find a chance to escape while he knew she was awake and could stumble onto the rooms he kept secret. Night was her chance to roam, and even with minimal sleep, exhaustion only claimed her when she ate his meals—more of the magic of this castle.

  “Trust me, you could spend an entire lifetime in this place and never finish exploring.” He stepped into the hallway, his movements silent as he swept his hand out to gesture for her to follow. The odd comments of his that had sawed at her intuition now made sense—he fished for exclamations of longing to live there forever.

  “That sounds rather daunting,” she murmured, scratching the nape of her neck as she stepped to the doorway. “I’ll be content with whatever excursion you have planned.”

  “To the treasure room we’ll go—trust me, you’ve never seen the like of the wonders contained there.” He took off at once, strolling in the same direction they always went. Never to the room with the hidden passage filled with all his vile secrets.

  As they stepped out of the bedroom, the chill from that direction and the memories from a mere hour ago demanded her attention. Despite the urge, she forced herself to keep her eyes on him, even if the sight made her stomach bottom out. One glance toward the corridor and he might notice. Moro hadn’t ensnared this many people through negligence. The creature wove his web like a spider, slowly, patiently waiting until the right time to snap upon his prey. His precise movements resembled an arachnid’s with a careful crawl and premeditated approach. His patience made him far more dangerous than a monster on the chase.

  Even though the bright sunlight beamed on her, cold penetrated her from the inside out like the dozens of ice statues she’d seen below. Those had been innocents who’d stumbled here unaware, folks who just wanted to get away from bad situations and ended up encased in ice. Her heart twisted into knots as she sucked in a sharp breath.

  Moro didn’t bother with as much casual conversation this time, instead setting a fast pace as they maneuvered the twisting hallways. While they walked, she marked her surroundings. Even though they’d never passed the front door, Lyra could make an educated guess as to where it might be. Trying to escape through the main door without attracting his attention seemed a fool’s errand, but she needed to find a way soon. After a while he’d grow impatient of her noncommittal responses, and when she gave him the firm and
final no—well, she’d seen that fate.

  The girl’s last words echoed in her mind, over and over.

  The castle protects its own.

  Before she could speculate any longer, Moro stopped in front of another door, this one’s silver veneer glowing in the sunlight.

  The charming smile that flourished on his face never reached his eyes. “Now, I warn you once you’ve seen the wonders in here, you may never want to return home.”

  As she’d been doing, Lyra deflected. “I can’t imagine anything more spectacular than the gardens from yesterday.” She hadn’t been paying attention enough to notice before, but his smile froze. Though almost imperceptible, now the cues leapt out at her. All his attempts to sway her to stay and she’d been averting them without realizing. Her throat tightened. She had walked one slippery rope from the moment she arrived.

  Moro swept the door open with the same ridiculous flourishes he’d been using from the start. Maybe some ladies found his extravagance charming, but each time her gaze slipped his way, she could only see the girl chained up in the dungeon, slowly turning to ice. Compared to the hellish future she faced, she’d take her harmless stepmother or the jerks at school any day.

  “This, my dear, is the treasure room.” He led the way inside.

  Despite the paranoia running through her veins, Lyra couldn’t help but gape. Like every main room in this castle, everything from the finished floors to the décor was flawless. She would never find anything so grandiose back home, but at this point, she’d give anything for a bowl of microwaved mac and cheese in her cluttered, mildew-scented bedroom.

  The multi-level space spanned so far back she couldn’t quite distinguish the end. Yet, unlike the open, tiled floors where they’d danced, jewels, gold trinkets, and statues cluttered every inch, a veritable dragon’s hoard. Ice arches cast shadows over the piles of treasure, and in each alcove on the second floor, more lacquered chests and carved stone fountains held the sort of iridescent crystals she’d never seen in her life. Opals the size of fists and other gems glowed like fire under the massive chandelier lighting. Gold coins lay strewn across the floor as if they were idle pennies.

  Moro strolled through the room with the same blasé look he reserved for every splendor he showed her. After all, not only had he seen these rooms a thousand times, but based on all the ice sculptures here, he had done this song and dance for more unwitting humans than she could count. The castle wasn’t a home for him, but a prison.

  Despite her hesitation, she reached forward and began rummaging through some of the open chests. If she’d only get to see these once, she might as well explore rather than watching her host so intently. Her fingertips glided over necklaces beaded with enough rubies to buy the whole trailer park she lived in. She skimmed over a large silver vase with carved filigree rosebuds lining the base and an opalescent rim. What better way to secure these unique treasures than leave them in a prison?

  Lyra dug through a pile of gems, the surfaces glittering under the light of the chandelier. She stopped when she came upon one—round, smooth, and dark as midnight. Pinpricks of light danced within the depths like a thousand stars, and if she squinted, she could almost see a faint glow like moonlight. When Moro strode ahead of her with the least bit of interest and nudged aside a toppling statue in his path, she pocketed the stone. Something about it beckoned to her.

  “Tell me,” his voice broke through the hush of the room, almost making her jump. “What made you so lonely back home?”

  Since his ploys of baiting her with wonders weren’t working, he’d switched tactics. Of course. She’d play along.

  “My stepmother, mostly. She’d always made it clear she’d rather I wasn’t around, and when my father married her, he started working long trucking routes. He’s gone for weeks at a time while I’m left with a woman who hates me.” She let out a shaky sigh, airing her issues under the false pretense. “Doesn’t make the place feel much like a home.”

  “Well, you’ve always got a home here,” he offered, turning to face her. Clever, clever man.

  She gave him a half-smile. “I don’t deserve that sort of kindness.”

  Again, his grin tightened for a second. He pivoted around again to peer into another archway. Sooner rather than later, he’d grow tired of her deflections, and based on the strain of his responses, she neared the end of his rope. Lyra hoped his patience didn’t dry up today because tonight she would seize the chance to escape this realm.

  “While we could sort through this room all day long, why don’t we enjoy a cup of tea?” Moro suggested, the smoothness in his voice crawling across her skin like bugs. She didn’t trust ingesting anything he offered.

  “Or if I might impose?” she asked, regretting her quickness as she interjected. Her mind raced for any diversion, any way to keep from drinking anything too early that might ensure she’d sleep through the night. Sweat pricked across her temple as his gaze flicked her way, whip-quick.

  “Nothing’s an imposition.” Moro feigned interest as he flipped a coin in his hand. She couldn’t try to appeal to his empathy, so she tried his narcissism instead.

  “When I first arrived here, you played the flute. That song was so beautiful, and I don’t think I’ve ever heard anything quite like it, or will again. Would you be willing to play for me?” She stumbled over her words, praying they came out as hesitation to ask rather than the spur of the moment whim to distract. Moro crossed his arms as he appeared to mull over her request.

  “Follow me to the throne room. I think I can indulge you,” Moro said, a smile as sharp as a razor blade returning to his face. “Though you do put an awful lot of pressure on me to match up to my first performance.”

  Good. Better he think her entranced than suspicious. Like she’d learned with Melinda, if she faked ignorance, she could avoid the fury.

  They left the glittering contents of the treasure room behind and stepped into the sunlit halls of the castle. She kept her hands in her pockets as she walked, and she couldn’t help but brush her fingers over the glossy stone weighting down her one side. Lyra remained at least three paces away from him the entire way over. Even though she pretended to be oblivious to the goings on in the castle, standing too close to him made her throat seize. If she could put at least a couple of inches between them, she would.

  “Do you miss your parents, Lyra?” he asked.

  The question came out of nowhere, but she hadn’t missed the edge to his voice. Another veiled question where the wrong answer could land her below with the others, freezing from the inside out.

  “I miss my mother, sure,” she said, her tone growing bitter as she tried to focus on anything but the countless mirrors watching her. “She passed away years ago, so it’s not like I can do anything to get her back. As for my father, given the choice, he’d pick Melinda over his own flesh and blood.”

  Voicing her worries out loud, the ones that had eaten her apart from the moment she’d witnessed Melinda cheating on her dad, cleared all the confusion. The answer had been simple all along. Lyra worried if she told her father, he’d choose his relationship over her, but she now realized how dumb those worries had been. Even though the time they’d gone camping was a distant memory, when he was home, he still took her to grab strawberry ice cream because of a bad day. He’d even gone on an impromptu hike while bone-tired from his last shift. Though she rarely saw him due to work, he pulled those long hours because of love too. Her father cared for her, and no matter who came into their lives, that wouldn’t change.

  Moro stopped mid-stride to turn her way, his face twisted in a farce of compassion. Those pale eyes were devoid of real, human emotion. “I’ve seen so many cases of neglect. Humans can be quite cruel to one another. No wonder you want a reprieve from it all.”

  She didn’t trust herself to respond, so she nodded, her tongue dry. Like he had room to talk of human cruelty. To Moro, humans were a means to an end to be used and discarded when they refused to live out the rest o
f his sentence in this immaculate prison.

  “I would understand if you never wanted to return,” he said, his voice carefully light. His gaze pierced right through her, and ice traveled through her veins.

  That was the direct question, the one to shoehorn her into the response he’d been trying get from her this entire time. Sweat beaded her temple, and any quick or clever reply abandoned her in the wake of fear. His eyes sharpened—jagged as broken glass.

  “Here I am weighing you down with my tales of woe, when you’ve been nothing but a gracious host. Why don’t we ignore my melancholy and get to the song you promised,” she forced a smile to her face and faked the lightness in her voice, hoping he didn’t detect the slight tremble.

  Something dark and ugly flashed beneath his features at her response. Nothing detectable to the average observer, but Lyra’s life depended on gauging this man’s moods. The temper he’d restrained thus far had begun to peek out, and what lay beneath terrified her.

  “How could I forget my promise?” Even his tone of voice held an impatience that hadn’t been there. The spider had bound her in his web, snared her to the castle, and after waiting days to devour, he prepared to strike. He crossed the final steps to the throne room doors and flung them open.

  Marching inside, he snapped his flute from the gilt holder he kept beside the throne. These movements revealed the violent temper brewing behind the facade. She stood there, hands clasped behind her back to keep her trembling fingers from sight. Lyra didn’t dare make another comment or push his temper any further because she knew what he was capable of.

  Moro sucked in a deep breath before placing his lips on the flute, and with the motion, the mask snapped into place. All the elegance, loneliness, and despair returned to his features as if he’d never abandoned them. Lyra donned her own mask of wonder, offering a false smile so different from the knots in her stomach or the beads of sweat on her brow.