by Anya Allyn
He chuckled under his breath. “You seem to subscribe to the view that life is a production line. Stay in your queue, step off when you become obsolete. But you see, there are those of us who refuse to go gentle into that good night.”
A maid from the dairy brought us warm milk, straight from the cow. She kept her glance away from Henry, knowing he had no use for either drink or food.
Henry made a breezy gesture with his hand. “In any case, today is a cause for celebration. The couplings of the s’emparer will be announced after the feast.”
I sipped the milk, my taste buds protesting at the heavy, unfamiliar taste. “We’ve already been instructed to stay well away. Molly and I were just about to head into the orchards.”
He furrowed his brow. “I see no reason for you two to stay away. You will miss seeing Audette get her fondest wish—a coupling with me. Only should the château will it to be so, of course.” He gave a huffing sigh, inclining his head. “Had we not died so tragically young, would Audette and I have remained together? Perhaps not. But having died together, we are now bound together for eternity.”
“How sad for you,” said Molly.
A smile stretched across his face. “But she is devoted to me—her one saving grace. She’ll stay by my side no matter what kind of grief I give her.”
A question burned at the back of my mind, a question I already knew the answer to. I eyed Henry with a direct gaze. “In the dollhouse, you offered each of us a way out. If any of us had accepted, we would have been brought here to the castle—wouldn’t we?”
“Very astute. Allowing any of you back home was never an option.” He studied my face. “Had I completely understood your abilities in looking into other worlds, I might have brought you here sooner. Of course, had you accepted my offer to leave the dollhouse, you might in time have become my amoureux.”
Despite myself, I blushed, not knowing the exact translation of the word, but knowing exactly what he meant. “I would never have become your mistress. You flatter yourself, especially someone that hasn’t been human for a very long time.”
“I am a spirit on this plane of existence, but the planes are arbitrary." His gaze became remote. "One day soon, I will again have a body of flesh. But not yet. The dead cannot merge with the living with any degree of success—which is unfortunate. We can only merge with other spirits of ourselves. But when we acquire the knowledge of how to live again, there will be no stopping us." Pausing, he seemed to shake himself out of his reverie. He eyed Molly and me fondly. "You two are so fierce in your convictions, so very strong headed. You are both the type of female any man should yearn for, if he knew what was good for him. I have been surrounded by featherhead females my entire existence. My mother, my sisters, Audette....” He gave a lazy shrug. “Well, in any case, I must go—I have matters to attend to this morning. Stay for the ceremony if you wish, ladies. And if they give you any grief, just send them to me. Whilst you’re here, the castle is your home.”
He stepped away with a slight bow of his head. The skin at the back of my neck prickled. Henry always acted so gentlemanly, but he was capable of the worst of things.
I tried to keep my expression steady as I turned to Molly. “Okay, let’s go.”
Aisha stepped past us, dropping her head onto Emerson’s shoulder, not so much as sparing a glance in our direction. She’d seemed happy ever since Emerson’s return to the land of the living, and had returned to her old ways of ignoring Molly and me.
No one at all looked our way as we strolled through the garden. The recently-pruned hedgerow scratched our limbs as we made our way through it. Now it was just a matter of a couple of feet in open space between the hedgerow and the gatehouse. If we crawled, none of the people outside would have a view of us. I craned my neck back toward the castle. Anyone glancing out of an upper window could spot us—although it was possible there was no one left inside.
A shadow shifted in the far tower.
Molly caught my gaze and followed it. “Maybe it’s just a relative who’s gone crazy, and they have to keep him locked up. Maybe it's even someone who died locked up in there. Anyway, I’m still going to go.”
A chill threaded through my spine. For a moment, I couldn’t force myself to move—locked in silent communion with the shadowy being.
“Cassie?”
I turned to Molly, giving her a nod.
We made our escape through the gatehouse. A small tremor ran through me. Ahead, the moors reached in every direction, and we had no choice but to cross them. We ran alongside the outside wall, then headed out. A damp smell rose from the wet, marshy ground. Faint mist curled around the distant trees, claiming them as its own.
I tried to ignore the silent pull of the castle. I ached to leave. I ached to stay.
We ran fast toward the trees.
I caught my breath as the trees encircled us. No one had followed after us, no dogs had been let loose. Or panthers. I swallowed.
We wound through the forest, walking toward the cliff’s edge. If we tried finding our way through the forest, we could easily become lost. But if we followed the perimeter of the cliff, we would have to find our way out sooner or later.
19. THE FOUNTAIN
Neither Molly nor I spoke much as we made our way along the ragged cliff edge. Molly’s determination echoed mine. We moved fast—running without a pause.
I cursed the boots that were too tight for my feet. It seemed we’d been moving for over an hour now, but we hadn’t seen anything except the cliff’s edge and the endless sea—and a scattering of pheasants, partridges and the long-bodied hares that roamed the forest.
I glanced back at Molly. She’d slowed a few minutes ago. Her slender face was pale, sweat dampening her forehead. She needed to stop and rest, but I knew she wouldn’t admit to it.
“Let’s take a break.” I sat myself down on the forest floor and began unlacing my boots.
“We can’t. We have to keep going.”
I gazed up at her. “I have blisters.”
It was true—I could feel the burn and pain at my heels as I tore the boots from my feet. Molly winced at the sight of the red stains inside the boots. I tossed the boots over the edge of the cliff. They were no good to me. I’d rather take my chances with twigs underfoot than those.
Far below in the ocean, something—something hideously large—seemed to move underneath the water. Maybe a large shark or a whale.
I turned to point it out to Molly. She was lying on the ground, collapsed.
“Molly....” I scrambled over and gently touched her shoulder.
She roused, her eyes slightly dazed. “I must have needed a rest, after all.”
“Well, let’s have one.” I wished I could offer her a drink, but we’d taken nothing with us.
We moved into the woods and sat against the cool bark of the trees. Time seemed to storm past, like the dark clouds that were swiftly moving in. We couldn’t stay here long, but Molly didn’t look much better—her face seemed drained.
She leaned her head back, breathing in deeply. Maybe it was worry. She was always the one to take responsibility for everything. If we were caught before we could find our way out, there was no telling what those people might do to us.
She gave me a tight, small smile. “I want you to keep going.”
I frowned. “You don’t mean without you...?”
“I can’t keep running. You’re our best hope of making it out.”
“No. I won’t leave you here. And anyway, I can’t run with no shoes. Let’s go—together—okay?”
Taking a heaving breath, she pulled herself to her feet.
We continued along the cliff’s edge, scanning the sea for any sign of a ship or boat. Twigs cracked and scratched under my feet, but that was better than the boots. The sun moved higher in the sky. It was almost noon, and we were no closer to finding a road, a path—anything that led out of the forest. We’d been out here for over two hours, maybe closer to three.
Mol
ly was struggling just to keep walking. I prayed that someone would come along to help us. In my mind I began constructing a story—a story we could tell a stranger without sounding like we’d lost our sanity.
I watched as the sun moved to the other side of the sky, losing itself behind the storm clouds. The sky grew heavy and the day darkened. Leaves whipped around us, eddying in a last dance over the edge of the cliff before disappearing.
Molly stopped, as though she’d seen something. Her eyebrows knitted together as she mutely stared into the distance. She froze, her lips parting. “No....”
“Molly?”
Her hands reached for her head. “God help us....”
I strained to gain a view of what she was seeing, and just managed to make out the top of a grayish structure.
My breaths grew loud in my chest, so loud I could hear them above the wind. “It can’t be.” I turned my head, shutting out the sight of the castle’s battlement. But I couldn’t erase the sight from my mind. We had faithfully followed the cliff all the way back to where we’d started.
A bitter anger crossed Molly’s face. “There’s no way off here. It’s an island.” Her voice rose. “An island!” She gazed at me, her face pale in the stark light of the storm. “They must be using the shadow to travel to and from here. What else is there?”
“But they’ve only discovered the use of the shadow in recent years. How did they travel before that?” My voice grew fierce. ”There must be another way off la Falaise. We have to go back. Because if there is a way out, it’s not here. We have to find the way.”
A scatter of rain blew through the air, wetting our faces. We continued along the cliff, the wind shifting from blowing behind our backs to howling down on top of us.
* * * *
With wet, bedraggled hair and clothing, we stepped back into the gardens of the castle.
“Let’s hide out on the chair so they don’t see us.” Molly pushed aside the thick vines that hid the huge throne-like chair made of stone.
She was right—if they saw us they’d know where we’d been, as it seemed the storm hadn’t reached the inside of the castle walls.
Curling up on the chair, we watched the festivities from afar. Four long tables had been set up in the square surrounding the fountain. The people were finishing up their feast. Servants played fiddles and violins around them.
At the head of one of the tables, an elderly man stood and walked slowly and deliberately to the fountain. “And now, dear families of the chateau, we come to the time of the couplings.”
A tremendous round of cheers and tinkling of glasses punctuated the air.
The man bowed his head. “It is a day for the young, and now we will stand back... and watch as the night of the s’emparer is revealed!” His voice carried on the breeze, rising in volume on the last of his words.
One of the women stepped to the fountain and sprinkled red rose petals from a wicker basket. The water spouting from the middle of the fountain shot up high in the air—fifty feet or more. I could taste the mist from the water spray—slightly brackish like water from the sea. A rose petal drifted down to earth in front of us.
The people began clapping in slow, rhythmic beats, in tune with the drummers. The unmarrieds of the castle rose and stood around the fountain, facing outward. The woman with the basket handed each of the males a red rose. Sienna swiveled her blonde head around and watched Zach take a rose.
The speaker called Henry’s name first. One of the heads of the stone gargoyles turned with a low grinding sound, coming to a stop as it faced Audette.
“I don’t believe this,” Molly breathed.
With a broad smile on his face, Henry strode up to Audette. “I’ll make an honest woman of you yet.”
Her face shining, Audette accepted Henry’s rose and stepped hand-in-hand with him along the rose galerie. The two of them emerged to riotous clapping.
The drumming and slow clapping continued. The names of two more males were called. Each time, the heads of all four gargoyles turned inward. That seemed to mean that the men were not going to be given a partner, as the men returned to their seats.
“Strangest thing ever.” I shook my head, unable to tear my gaze away.
Clarkson’s name was called next. Again, all four gargoyle heads turned inward. Throwing his rose to the ground, Clarkson strode back to his seat.
Viola stared at Clarkson, then over at the only males left—her brothers and cousin. In a huff, she walked back to sit next to her mother. Her mother patted her arm, seeming to console her.
Emerson bowed his head when his name was called next. The demon’s head turned and faced Aisha. Emerson presented Aisha with a rose, then taking her hand, led her through the galerie.
I shrank a little as Zach’s name was called. I wished I wasn’t here, watching. A small smile played on Sienna’s red lips.
One of the demon’s heads shifted and turned. The scrape of stone-on-stone reverberated through the air as the head turned to a space where no one stood.
People looked behind them in confusion.
Frowning, the speaker called Zach’s name again. The statue didn’t move from its position. The rhythmic claps of the people faltered. Zach’s face remained expressionless.
The speaker called the next name—Parker’s. Parker stood on the opposite side from Zach, facing the castle. The statue’s head twisted completely around, facing the same direction as the other statue. This time, the people were deathly silent, watching as though with their collective breath held. They held their claps. The drumming abruptly stopped.
The speaker took up his walking cane and slowly and stiffly walked in the direction of the gargoyles’ eyes. Molly and I drew back as he made the long walk to the gardens. Using his walking cane, he shifted the ivy aside and peered in.
He fixed anemic blue eyes on us. “This cannot be.” His voice was ice and gravel.
“We did as we were asked. We stayed away from your ceremony,” said Molly pointedly.
“You cannot hide from the ceremony of the s’emparer. Come out of there.”
We stood and reluctantly moved out from the ivy. Shock registered on the faces of the crowd. The women gazed up and down at our windblown hair and damp clothing.
“La Fontaine sur la Falaise Solitaire has spoken,” proclaimed the speaker to the crowd. “These females are to be wedded to the chateau.”
Molly and I stared at each other, not comprehending.
Zach and Parker stepped shoulder-to-shoulder toward us. They held out roses to us, but neither Molly nor I would take them. Tension showed in Zach’s eyes, a strange mix of terror and wonder as the breeze blew his hair around his face.
“Zach, please...” I said in a low voice. “Whatever this is, tell them we’re not any part of it.”
“I can’t do that.” His voice was firm.
Molly stepped back. “Is this some kind of crazy game?”
Parker held his head rigidly. “The château doesn’t play games. But you are right, this is absurd.”
The speaker fixed his almost translucent eyes on Parker. “The decisions of the château are absolute. Parker Baldcott, you are aware of the seriousness of the couplings.”
Molly eyed the speaker with steel hardening the curves of her face. “Cassie and I may be prisoners, but you can’t force us to have any part in this.”
She took my hand and we rushed away to the castle.
Dark rain lashed down as we crossed the drawbridge.
20. FAMILIES OF THE CHTEAU
Lacey swung on one of the swings that were suspended from the ceiling of the Great Hall, eyeing us from under messy wisps of white hair. “You can’t run from them. They always win.” She glanced over her shoulder, peering through the distant arched window. “Oh, and I wouldn’t head back to your room if I were you. They’re all escaping the storm. You’ll be seen if you head for the stairway now.”
Turning my head, I caught sight of people crossing the drawbridge.
&nb
sp; Molly tugged me into the corridor, out of sight of Lacey. “They won’t expect us in the library. It’s right next to the hall and there’s spots in there where we won’t easily be seen.”
Nodding, I hurried with Molly toward the library. Inside, the dim lighting left deep pooling shadows. Curling up on the large, plush chairs of the library, we watched the people swarm into the Great Hall—the lamplight casting them as silhouettes. Fevered, confused excitement electrified the air. Their voices were loud and piercing.
Zach and Parker’s mothers were helped into the hall by their husbands, seeming to be close to fainting. The women struggled into their chairs, their eyes glazed.
One of Parker’s uncles stepped to the center of the room, his arms out wide as though herding sheep. “Ladies, gentlemen... we thank you for your attendance during this time. It is wonderful to have the rest of the Baldcott family here at the chateau.”
A man with broad shoulders and a bushy dark beard knitted his eyebrows together. “Our pleasure. I do hope Parker has gotten over the shock that he is to marry—always a hard thing for a young man.” He gazed over at Parker.
Parker stood in a corner sullenly downing a glass of wine that a waiter had just given him.
I exhaled slowly. They weren’t looking for us—at least, not for the moment.
Parker’s uncle held out his hands in a confused shrug. “The marriage part was pretty much a given, Armand. But the bride-to-be on the other hand....”
Armand cleared his throat. “I admit we were perturbed at the rather... unusual choices of the château at this coupling.”
Henry thumbed his chin. “Perhaps the choices should not have come as so much of a surprise.”
“Shock would be a more apt word than surprise,” stated a purple-haired woman with quick, peering eyes. “This is a shocking departure for the heritage of the chateau.” She clapped a hand over her mouth as though her words had come out unchecked. “All glory to the greatness of Monseigneur Balthazar Batiste.”
Henry smiled thinly. “If you will all forgive me for saying so, it does seem that the heritage has grown rather weak.”
