Ravenswood (Ravenswood Series Book 1)

by Christine Zolendz

  Once again, he became bored and restless.

  Crueler and more savage.

  Hastily, I read more—years of torment and service to a king whose heart had withered to blackness and a world that decayed along with it.

  One day, the king brought forth a young girl with child. She was stolen, enchanted, from the upside, and the baby inside her was still living. She gave her life for him before she could really know him. But the girl couldn’t love him and his cruel ways. This was no longer a place where souls went to rest and wait for their other halves. Each soul that entered, he would capture and collect, holding them apart from their other halves, for eternity. The souls became as lost and restless as him.

  My palms began sweating, and I rubbed them down the legs of my pants. The handwriting on the pages began to fade, and the paper yellowed. I quickly flipped through another page, hoping to find something more.

  Hidden between the next few pages were small bits of coarse paper, my image inked on each one. I froze, heart leaping up from my throat and all the air squeezing out of my lungs. At the nape of my neck, a small tingle burned as if someone had touched an ice cube to my skin and left it there until frostbite set in.

  I flung my hands at the back of my neck and rubbed at the icy fire burning down my spine. “Whoever is touching me, leave me be!” I snapped.

  It had to be Mathias. All of this had to be Mathias.

  Liam said he didn’t like books, so these had to be Mathias’s. Even though he denied it, he watched me, and he drew me with the most exquisitely delicate hand.

  I pushed aside the books and pulled out each paper, making sure not to tear any parts of them. There were dozens of illustrations of me, each one more beautiful than the last. Careful brush strokes capturing the weight of grief on my shoulders, the circular slump of my back while I stacked books in the store, to the unwavering look of euphoria as I sat in front of my keyboard alone in my apartment. Each delicate rendering of my likeness was like a vise squeezing around my heart.

  He had watched over me, for years.

  I spread out the drawings across the desk and looked over them, touching each one with the palm of my hand. I felt a tug deep inside my chest, a quick sharp yank and a slow unraveling. It was like my soul was unwrapping and its warmth and light spreading through my veins. I even looked down at my fingertips, expecting beams of light to shine out of them.

  I swept all the drawings up and shoved them into one of the pockets of my pants. The next time I saw Mathias, I planned to confront him with them. I had so many questions for him, and I was hoping when he saw me holding the drawings, he would feel he had to give me answers.

  The back of my neck became an inferno of unrelenting fire, and I bolted up out of the chair and spun around angrily. The room was empty, holding nothing but dust and an immeasurable amount of hopelessness and despair.

  “Mathias?” I asked the vacant room.

  My cheeks heated as I stood there like a fool, waiting for a ghost to speak back to me. How absurd had my life become? “If you won’t speak to me, stop touching me,” I mumbled angrily, turning my attention back toward the book.

  But it was gone, and only a pile of ash remained.

  “You suck,” I growled, swiping at the dust, sending it spreading over everything. My neck scorched hotter, but I ignored the sensation and wiped the grime from my hands down my pants.

  In three raging strides, I was out of the room, storming through the brothers' quarters, in search of more answers.

  Liam’s private room was filled with wild medieval pornography. Each furnishing was covered in elaborate carvings of naked women in the throes of passion from horned, well-endowed demonic creatures. The patterns of the wallpaper were the same, depictions of creatures ravaging voluptuous woman with different parts of their bodies, some using strange objects. I sighed heavily as I searched over every surface, knowing full well I would find nothing of use there. But those demons though, felt like their eyes followed me around the room as the rest of their bodies remained frozen in some hellish rendering of hardcore bondage-level Kama Sutra, extreme edition.

  Beady little observant eyes that made my skin crawl with invisible filth.

  Exhaustion settled in my bones after a while and I found myself once again in the piano room, standing by the window. The view was lacking; there was nothing but snow and mist and shadows. Eventually I sat at the piano, which oddly looked newer and cleaner than the time before.

  Had someone been polishing it? Not that it would make much of a difference how clean it was, but even the broken keys were fixed.

  Whatever. I played until my fingers ached. I played the sweetest melodies I could think of—songs of hope and prayer. Songs to make even the darkest hearts a little brighter.

  I played until my eyelids dropped like they were weighted with stones and the storm around the castle began to reek havoc through my dreams.

  “Get up.”

  My eyelids were heavy, but the voice wouldn’t let me stay asleep. It hissed in my ears and stung at my skin until my eyes snapped open wide and my head flew back off the piano keys.

  I looked around the room and found myself alone again, though shadows crouched in the corners and some sort of loud chaos seemed to be coming from somewhere in the fog outside. And of course, looking out the window didn’t help a bit—nothing to see but swirls of ashy snow and clouds.

  “You foolish girl,” the voice whispered.

  I rubbed at my eyes and sighed. “Is that my ghostly-make-believe grandmother talking shit to me?” I shook my head and walked to the door. “Nothing I ever did was good enough for you. In life or after. So whatever. You’re just a bunch of stupid-ass dead people who keep calling me stupid. You assholes are stuck here too,” I grumbled as I walked down the steps.

  I lurched blindly through the dark hallways—none of the funky white-flamed torches were lit. “Uh oh.” I laughed darkly. “Somebody didn’t pay the gas bill this month in Hell.” I trailed my hands along the stone walls to find my way down the steps and through the ballroom as dark shadows crept along beside me.

  Stepping out of the doors and into the great gardens, I could see a crowd of people standing at the foot of the cobblestone path that winded through the town. They were huddled together, a strange hum of excitement coursing through them. As I neared, I noticed a small girl watching me. Her face was filthy, and her clothes were covered in soot and seared holes. Her thumb was jammed inside her mouth, even though I thought her age was older than a girl who would still hold on to the habit.

  Quietly, I stepped up to the circle of people and tried to look past their shoulders or in-between the gaps in bodies to see what everyone was looking at.

  Through the space in one woman’s bent arm, I spotted something bright blue. A sudden smile broke out across my face—something blue in this monochrome city? My heart even sped faster at what it could be. Something from my world? Did someone bring back something? Could they tell me the way they came so I could get out of here?

  I knelt down to peek through my legs. The young child smiled at me.

  I smiled back and gave her a little wave, then switched my attention back through the spaces of the crowd to try and see to the other side.

  It was a flower.

  Small and brilliantly blue, growing out of the smallest crack between two stones. Stunned, I pressed my hand to my mouth. A flower was growing in the center of a dead city.

  A sudden yank on my sleeve had me turning around. The small girl looked up at me with washed out eyes. “Can you make more?” she asked, popping her thumb out of her mouth.

  I blinked in confusion. “Make more what?” I whispered.

  Around us, the hum of murmurs quieted and everyone stilled, their heads all slowly turning in my direction. It was the creepiest thing I ever saw—just a crowd of faces turning slowly in my direction. A shudder rocked through my shoulders, and I stepped back, cursing myself for how close I allowed myself to get to the crowd, unknowi
ngly.

  The little girl next to me drifted back alongside me, both hands ungloved, still tugging at the material of my shirt. “The pretty thing right over there, silly. Can you make another one?”

  Backing up another step, I tried to put enough space between us. “I don’t know anything about that.”

  But where did it come from?

  I glanced quickly toward the flower again; this time the crowd had divided around it, letting me see.

  A strong, thick green stem held up delicate blue velvety petals. Its middle was a pale shade of yellow and white, which seemed to give off a small glow of light. I didn’t know anything about flowers or their names, but this one, surrounded by the macabre, took my breath away.

  I looked up at the dead, their faces less creased and pale as before, less burdened in some way. “I don’t understand,” I said fearlessly, looking into each of their faces. “Why would you think it was me?” I focused my attention back on the flower, its radiance intensifying, and I wondered deep in my heart if they were right.

  A sound cut through the thickness of the night, metal unsheathing against metal, and slammed down against the stones covering the ground, reverberating in my bones.

  “What is this?” a voice boomed.

  My gaze quickly scanned the crowd in search of the voice. I pushed past the small girl, and the dead of Ravenswood surged forward, moving forward to stand closer together, blocking my view of the flower.

  In the corner of my eye, I spotted King Hemlock, his hand fisted over the hilt of a long, harsh sword, Liam and Mathias standing behind him. For a moment I didn’t understand—then it came to me swift and hard—they weren’t hiding my view, but the king’s. They didn’t want him to see the flower.

  “Will no one speak?” King Hemlock’s voice was an explosion of fire and made my ears ache sharply. I was stunned momentarily, his voice rumbling through my veins as if he’d sliced open my skin. I stumbled forward from the weight of it.

  He thrust his sword in my direction. “You!” he shouted, his voice amplified in my head, shooting pain down my spine, my nerves into watery waves.

  I breathed in deeply, steeling myself for his wrath. I would not back down though.

  The king stormed forward, pausing in front of me, jaw set, anger heating his face and coiling his muscles. His eyes were stark white with dark black veins crawling through, gruesome and morbid, yet I would not look away.

  Behind him I saw a flash of movement, but I still glared at the king, unwilling to back down. He loomed over me, his gloved hands close enough to grab my throat and crush my windpipe in his fist. He didn’t though; his head cocked sharply to the townspeople, standing uniformly straight, creating a wall between him and one tiny flower.

  I glanced quickly to my left and noticed Mathias had stepped forward, his eyes wide, mouth grim, following closely behind his father. The king spun his back to me and faced his people.

  The standing dead withered under his stare. A kind of brutal despair broke out among the crowd, and each creature of Ravenswood dropped to its knees before him.

  And there, just beyond their bent heads, the small blue flower glittered and gleamed, spreading a warm light from inside its brilliant blue petals.

  Slowly I walked closer to watch, mesmerized and curious. Hemlock’s eyes went wide, his sword dropping from his hand. “What is this?” His voice was no more than a whisper.

  I stopped moving forward and stilled myself, realizing I must get ready to run. I held my breath, waiting.

  In a sudden frenzy, the king pushed through the bodies of the dead, ripped the flower up, crushing it in his hand.

  A pain exploded through my chest, and I dropped hard to the ground. My hands clutched at my breasts, my lungs imploding with the burn of fire and ice.

  “You,” the king pointed to me, the cluster of torn roots and pulverized flower dangling in his grip. “You did this. How are you still here?”

  I couldn’t answer. I had no voice. No breath. I clawed at the stone, trying desperately to climb to my feet, but the pain was sharp and tight, like my heart had been pierced with a hot prod.

  The king advanced on me, but Mathias staggered into his pathway, rubbing at his own chest—the same exact spot as mine.

  Did he feel the pain too?

  I stared at his hands until he noticed and dropped them to his sides.

  I turned my head away, facing the eyes of the crowd, still bowing their heads but slightly tilted in my direction. Their eyes were full of fear, and the small girl who asked me about the flower sobbed silently into her hands.

  Chapter 21

  I woke up reeling, swollen eyes stuck shut with tears, still fighting for air. My temples pounded, and the rest of my body, every inch of my skin, felt bruised and raw. The small blue flower felt like a feverish dream—one I had long ago. For a few moments I lay with my eyes shut tight, thinking of the impossibility of it all, and concentrated on breathing. I swore I could smell the flower’s fragrance, a subtle scent of sugar and dark, rich spices.

  I pressed a hand to my heart and felt the slow, hard beat of it, trying to ease my mind that it still worked and the king hadn’t stopped it with his bare hands. My other hand trailed swiftly up to my eyelids and touched down on puffy sore skin. Both my hands trembled, and I wondered how much more of this insanity I could bear before my own sanity would begin to splinter.

  My eyes opened into narrow slits, and I found myself staring at an unfamiliar gray ceiling, spider webbed with deep cracks and covered with blackened mold. I swallowed back the knot tightening in my throat, and it felt like thousands of tiny razors had infested my saliva. I whirled my head to the side and dry heaved until bile burned my throat and coated my tongue.

  A small rattling breath rasped out, and I pulled myself up quickly to see what sort of thing was breathing in the room with me. I choked back the fire in my throat and wiped at the string of saliva that dripped disgustingly down my chin and dragged my eyes over the room.

  Cement and stone walls packed with dirt and moss encircled me. Burned out candles and white flamed torches stabbed into the crevices of packed earth between the stones. They flickered shadows along the ceiling and lit the room with an eerie, unnerving glow.

  Decomposed flowers and vines littered the floor between flashes of white bones and human-sized piles of slime covered dust.

  “Jesus,” I whispered, backing up against the closest wall.

  Across from me, crouched in the corner, were the two girls from the party who brought the wine. Their emaciated bodies were atrophied into fetal positions, and only their eyes, which were fixed on me, could speak of their insurmountable pain. Other lumps of bodies were scattered along the walls of the room, each in their own different state of decay. Hollow cheeked skeletons with waxy gray skin stretched across ribcages so tight, I could see the slow, hard pumps of their organs as they shuddered and pulsed.

  I’m never getting out of here, am I?

  One of the girls made a terrible weeping sound, and I covered my mouth to stop myself from screaming. My pulse sped frantically. Were they someone’s sister? Someone’s friend? Were people looking for them? They looked so young when they first got here, and now they were more corpse than living. I needed to help them. I needed to get them out of here. I had to find the way back home, and I needed to bring these girls with me.

  “Help,” a small gurgle of a cry rasped out.

  “Do you know how to leave here?” I asked, rushing forward.

  But the shadows in the corners stopped me cold. They darkened and swirled, and from out of the blackness Hemlock and his sons stepped into the room. All around the room, the girls wept in low, wet gasps, but the royal monsters noticed nothing.

  I looked around for a weapon. I wished I had a knife or something sharp to press against his neck, but all that was there wasn't fit to use for protection. The king closed in on me, and I lunged out of the way, making eye contact with Mathias. His expression was flat and empty, and next to
him Liam laughed.

  In my head I saw myself fighting as clear as day, but reality came crashing down on me as I watched the king slip off his gloves and drop them to the floor. His cloak rippled around him, but there was no wind; just a coiling wave of mist that rose from his boots and through his legs.

  A smile broke out across his face. Rotting yellow teeth gleamed as a thick gray tongue slid slowly over the top of them.

  “Oh God,” I breathed, backing away.

  “That’s correct. I’m god down here, child,” his chuckling, harsh voice whispered. “Now come here and worship your new king.” He slid his cloak from his shoulder, and that too dropped to the floor, pooling around his boots.

  I’m so screwed. I was up against the wall with nowhere to run.

  The king lurched forward, hands raised to touch my face, but a shout exploded from behind him and Mathias got to me before he could. “No, Father. Don’t. Don’t touch her,” he roared.

  For a second, relief washed over me. Then Mathias was dragged back, his eyes wide, shouting, and the king’s bare hands were on my throat, slamming my head hard against the wall. Ice and fire lit up my skin, and my hands were instantly up shoving him off me and slapping him hard across his cheek.

  He stumbled back in shock, fury splashing across his face. He growled out words in some strange, harsh language, then righted himself and stalked back toward me. “Tell me who your friend is, Mathias.” His eyes narrowed curiously on mine, like I was a puzzle. “Tell me how she could push me away.”

  “She's no one, Father, just a girl. An insignificant girl.” Mathias’s nose flared, and I realized he'd lied to me the whole time. If he acted like this, helping me twice, I couldn’t be someone insignificant, could I?

  Hemlock’s attention slowly left me and turned toward Mathias. Behind him from out of the shadows, Bain and Rose materialized, devilish smiles on their faces. “She came willing, too. Followed me right into the Hollow, looking for the person who killed her grandmother.”