by Emma Hamm
“I’d imagine it is. But I am a very different man.”
“What was it like?”
His shoulders stiffened at the question. She watched the strangest occurrence fold over him like a shadow. The relaxed stature of his body suddenly disappeared. His fists closed over the edges of the book so tightly she worried he would rip the pages. The aggressive expression and huffing breaths she associated with him returned tenfold.
A snarl ripped between his lips, pushed through the fangs in his mouth. She didn’t know if the sound was a word or merely an expression of anger.
“I don’t remember,” he growled.
Amicia shrank back in her chair, pressing her novel against her chest. She turned away from him, staring out the window until the bright snow burned her vision away. “I apologize. I should not have asked.”
He stood, pushing the chair back so violently it screeched back several feet. “Such curiosity is dangerous, petite souris.”
A vision of the man in the catacombs, beautiful in a bed of white feathers, flashed in her mind’s eye. “In a place such as this, I agree.”
She could feel his eyes on her. Searching for something? Or perhaps arguing with himself on whether he should kill her now. The King stalked away and slammed the library door behind him.
Amicia didn’t realize she had been holding her breath until she blew it out in a great rush. She hadn’t wanted to anger him. For a moment, she’d forgotten that she was afraid of him. They could sit and read together in silence. Perhaps that might have been… all right. At least she hadn’t been afraid when they had sat together.
Hands shaking, she set aside her book. She’d put it back where she found it and head back to the kitchen where she didn’t have to worry about a king who would find her. She would tuck herself back into the place where she belonged.
A peasant woman in the kitchens. People like her didn’t belong in the libraries of rich, noble men.
Crutches firmly under her arms, she turned toward the door only to see the King had left the tiny journal on the chair where he’d sat. The pale blue cover and golden edges called out to her, making her fingers itch.
“Curiosity has no place here,” she reminded herself. “You’ll get yourself killed if you keep pushing, Amicia.”
And yet, it was right there. So easy for her to lean down, smooth her palm over the supple cover, and to pick up.
She held it up to the light, reading the golden pressed words. “The Celestials,” she murmured.
The word was unfamiliar. She’d never heard of such beings, not in her life and nor had she heard the word whispered in the city. Celestials. What did that mean?
As they had in the catacombs, a strange phantom hand touched her back. “Read the book,” it whispered in her ear. “Discover all you wish to know.”
The last time she’d listened to this voice, the entire chateau had almost come down around her ears. The Dread had hunted her, she’d been thrown off the roof of the building, and found herself trapped here for the length of her healing process.
Her hand moved of its own accord, tucking the book into the waistband of her borrowed pants and shifting the wrapping of her shirt so it was hidden. Apparently, her mind would struggle while her body decided for her. She would keep the book and read it later on.
Somehow, it felt important.
The doors to the library slammed open once again, shaking the bookshelves beside it. Amicia gasped, snapping her attention back to the doors as if the King had stalked in to tear her to pieces.
Instead, it was Bernard who ran toward her, wings spread wide behind him and flapping to give him the extra speed. Out of breath, he skidded to a stop in front of her. “You need to get back to the kitchens.”
“What?” She took a step back, shaking her head. “Why? What’s the matter?”
“The alchemists are here.” Bernard reached for her. His hand slid underneath her back and swept her legs up into his other arm, ignoring her gasp of pain and the crutches that fell to the floor. “We have to hide you.”
“Who are the alchemists?”
He stared down at her, yellow eyes wide in what she had to assume was fear. “They gave him the ability to make monsters, mademoiselle. They started all this.”
Chapter 17
The King of the Dread lounged upon his throne, projecting for all intents and purposes that he was at ease. And why shouldn’t he be? He was in his own home, surrounded by his army of monsters, and no one would ever unseat him.
Yet, the beings who walked through the door and stalked toward him were the few creatures who could destroy him if they wished.
The alchemists were clad in red robes; the hoods pulled over their heads. When he’d first seen them, he’d been struck by how little the fabric shifted with their movements. Unaffected by the wind, their robes appeared to glisten in the light, like blood pouring over their bodies rather than velvet.
The only part of the alchemists bodies that could be seen were their hands. Demurely folded in front of them as they walked, the robes were so stiff nothing past their wrists were ever bared.
Each hand held different markings tattooed on their fingertips and knuckles. Marks that indicated what they studied and what they should be feared for.
A single alchemist walked in front of the others. This was the one the King knew far better than any of the others. The one who could cause unimaginable pain with just a flick of his fingers.
The King tapped his claws against the arm of the throne, impatiently waiting for them to reach him. They liked to make a display of their arrival the few times when they did come to his chateau.
He didn’t like it when they were here. Sometimes they stayed for weeks, leaving a slick oil on the floor wherever they walked. Their shadows remained in his halls for too long, and the King always felt as though their eyes remained. Then, sometimes, they stayed only for a few hours.
He hoped this time would be the latter.
The leader of the alchemists bowed before his throne, hood touching the ground before he straightened. “Great King of the Dread. Thank you for welcoming us into your home.”
The King inclined his head. “You are always welcome in these walls, my trusted advisors.”
“It has been a long journey, but we cannot stay long.”
Relief eased the tension at the base of the King’s spine. He shifted forward, leaning his elbows onto his knees and staring down at the alchemist. “May I ask why you are here? It has been a long time since I have needed your council.”
“It is about the curse, great king.”
When was it not? The first time they had waltzed through those doors, he had tried to kill them. This alchemist was the one who had put him on his knees, tattooed hand raised to make the King’s blood boil within his body.
They had told him that he was cursed. But there was a way to break it, although it was not a good way for the people of this land. He must turn all the humans into beasts like him. He would bring about a new age for the kingdom, and in doing so, break the curse upon himself.
They had never told him what curse was laid upon him. He did not know if this form was the curse, his anger, or the ever present desire to kill. But he did know they hadn’t given him much of a choice. Try to break his own curse, or die.
He had chosen to live.
“I have completed the tasks you set,” he replied. “What else could you tell me?”
“That you have been careless in your tasks and missed many opportunities.” The alchemists voice was chiding, like a father whose son hadn’t realized life was so much harder than he thought. “We are here to help you rectify that.”
The King didn’t know what they meant. There was only one human left, the girl, and he had her in the chateau. He could turn her whenever he wanted.
He leaned back in the throne, staring at the alchemists as if one of them would give him a clue. Instead, they all stood silent. Their red robes undulated and, for a moment, he thought he saw a
dark red stain eking out from underneath the edges. Spreading out over the cracked marble floor, turning the stone from white to blood red.
He blinked, and the vision disappeared. Magic had always been a talent of these creatures. He didn’t know what they were or who they had sold their souls to for such power. Nor did he wish to know.
A memory whispered to life in his mind. A memory of a woman walking through the doors in a blood red dress.
“I seek sanctuary,” she had begged, the words dripping from ruby lips. “Please, help me.”
He had refused, and then her dress had slid from her body like a river pouring from her veins. She hadn’t been a woman after all, but an alchemist who had desired something from him.
Something… but he couldn’t remember what.
The alchemist before him was speaking, and the King had no idea what the other man had said. He snapped his jaws, adjusted his wings, and interrupted the creature. “Repeat it all again.”
“What?” The alchemist asked. “Your majesty—”
“Again, alchemist.”
The long and sudden silence did not bode well for the King, but he knew better than to agree to anything the alchemists asked without knowing the details. These creatures were tricksters at heart. They would try to bind him to a fate worse than death if they could.
The alchemist began again. “The conditions of your curse were that you change the entirety of this kingdom into the same beast as yourself. In doing so, you would change the course of the kingdom. Remaking it in your own image.”
“I remember.”
“You have sent your army instead of yourself, and as such, have received sloppy results. Do you believe you’ve changed all the humans?”
He thought of the girl with her big brown eyes staring at him with so much hatred and fear. The chocolate color had reminded him of something he’d once… not loved, but thought of with fondness. He wanted to know what more secrets she could pull out of his mind.
“I have found all the humans,” he replied. “I’ve completed your task.”
Movement in the back corner of the room caught his eye. None of the Dread would dare to budge an inch. The last time one of them had caught the attention of an alchemist, their blood had splattered the wall.
The Dread who watched the woman, Bernard, would know better than to go against his orders. He was to keep the woman hidden away from sight until their unwelcome guests had departed. The alchemists would kill her and be done with the whole situation. He knew they grew tired of his anger and dealing with the King of the Dread.
He trusted his army to do what was right. He trusted them to not make foolish mistakes because they knew what his wrath tasted like.
And yet, he saw a subtle flash of dark hair behind a marble statue of a woman pouring water, only to see her disappear back into her hiding place once again.
He would kill Bernard for putting his king in a position like this. The woman wasn’t important in the long run. She would die. But he wanted to know what other memories she revealed in his mind, and he couldn’t do that if she was killed before he had the chance to learn what she could show him.
Snarling, he leaned forward to catch the attention of the alchemists completely and utterly. “All the humans,” he repeated, giving them no opportunity to look to the corner where the King could hear the distinct sound of a crutch creaking.
The leader of the alchemists tsked. “Not all of them. We’ve gathered them up to assist you, however. We left them outside the chateau with a few of your monsters watching them. I’m certain you know what to do.”
They’d found more humans? But the King had been so thorough, his army had been… He waved a dismissive hand. “Yes, yes, I know what to do. And then?”
“We’ll return when we feel the magic and curse has been fulfilled.” The alchemists turned to leave as one. The leader tossed one parting shot over his shoulder as his people filtered out of the Great Hall. “Do not disappoint us again, King of the Dread. I’m certain you remember what it feels like to know my touch.”
A phantom pain raked down the King’s back. He arched away from it, certain the alchemist had sent a spike of power his way.
He remembered the pain. How could he forget the feeling of blood boiling in his veins?
The alchemists left the Great Hall, but he didn’t move until he felt them exit the front door. All the darkness seemed to seep out of the room through the floor. The wet stains on the marble disappeared as though they evaporated.
Only then did he look toward the corner where the girl was hiding. She had no right to sneak through his castle like some stowaway. The secrets he kept were his own. Hadn’t she already tried to discover too much? The last time had been in the catacombs, a secret even he hadn’t mustered the courage to look upon.
And now, she wanted to see what the alchemists were. He vowed to frighten her out of her wits so she wouldn’t push anymore. Never again would this girl seek answers when she answered his questions.
The King pushed himself out of the throne and strode across the floor to the statue she’d snuck behind. The statue had always been his favorite. Every inch of it had been lovingly crafted by a master artisan who knew how to create such subtle folds in the fabric he often wondered if the wind could blow it.
Clearing his throat, he stood in front of it for a few minutes before leaning around the corner when she didn’t reveal herself. Tongue ready to provide the lashing she deserved, the King froze when he saw nothing at all behind the marble.
Had he imagined it? Was he seeing her in every corner of his chateau when she wasn’t even there?
He was losing his mind.
“Master?” a voice interrupted his thoughts.
“Bernard,” he snarled. “I thought I told you to watch the woman.”
“You did, master.” Clicking nails approached, followed by the awkward rustling of wings. “I lost her in the confusion. She said she would rest a few moments, and when I turned, she was gone.”
“She’s an injured woman on crutches, Bernard. You are one of the Dread. How did you lose her?” He turned around to cast a glare that threatened death upon the creature. Soon.
Bernard met his gaze with worry and not fear. A strange thing, considering the beast would have cowered before him only a few days before. “I will gladly have this conversation with you soon enough, master. But I think we both have a larger problem.”
“Which is?”
“Did—did the alchemists mention where the new prisoners were waiting your judgement?” Bernard nervously glanced toward the door. “And do the other Dread know what she looks like if she attempts to—ahem—free said prisoners?”
The beast had a point. Sudden anxiety rose over the King’s head and broke down like a crashing wave that sent his heart beating rapidly.
He didn’t answer the Dread. Instead, he opened his wings wide and sent himself careening toward the front door with a burst of air.
The woman was in grave danger.
Chapter 18
Amicia pulled herself on her belly through the snow, one arm over the other as her useless leg dragged behind her. The ache of the broken bone grew worse with each movement, but she could survive this.
There were other humans here. Those creatures had brought them, whatever the strange robed figures were. They had taken humans from their homes, just like her. They had brought them here to be sacrificed to the beasts, and she couldn’t let that happen.
But she needed to be careful. The Dread watching the humans would recognize her. The moment they saw her, they would know what she was trying to do.
She had strapped her crutches onto her back, laid down in the frozen drifts, and crawled her way to the humans. It had taken longer than she thought there was time for, but no one had come to take the humans away.
There were no guards but the two Dread who stood with their backs to the group huddled at the rear entrance to the chateau. An entrance that was very near the servants’ kitche
ns, an exit the humans could escape through.
Three men and two women huddled together for warmth. They wore furs that had seen better days, and their hair was all a matching set of muddy brown. Amicia could hardly tell what they looked like under the grime.
Had she looked like that when she arrived? No wonder the Dread had hunted her like an animal. She must have looked like nothing less than one.
Finally, she made it near the door. She waited for the Dread to turn the other way one last time before she rolled her body up and over the snow drift nearest to the humans and down into the gulley where they awaited their fate.
One of the men pulled a wicked blade from his waistband. He lunged toward her only to pause at the last second to stare down at her in shock.
He had blue eyes. Eyes like ice and a chiseled jaw that had been chipped from a glacier. He was lovely. Far more handsome than any of the men she’d ever seen in Little Marsh. But he wasn’t from Little Marsh.
“Who are you?” he asked.
“Amicia.”
“What are you doing here?”
She cleared her throat, leaning into the knife pressed against her neck to remind him he still held a blade to her. “I’m here to save you,” she whispered.
“You?” he asked, his voice a little too loud.
“Shh,” Amicia scolded. She rolled once more, ignoring the pain in her leg to confirm the Dread were still looking in the other direction. They appeared to be conversing, something she couldn’t remember any of them ever doing.
One of them she recognized. It had come into the kitchens to bother Bernard, refusing to talk when she was in the room. There was a tear in its wing that appeared to prevent it from flying. She hadn’t been able to tell if it was male or female then, and still couldn’t.
Sliding back into the gulley with the other humans, she gestured for them to come closer to her. “Through the door behind you is the servants’ quarters. If you take a right and then another right, you’ll be back outside without the guards to stop you. Once there, run across the lake into the forest. As fast you can.”
