The Fallen (Hades Castle Trilogy Book 1)

by C. N. Crawford

  “Excuse me, Sourial. I’m falling asleep.”

  He started to cross to the door. My blood was pounding as I thought of sneaking out.

  But as he stood in the doorway, he turned to me. “Do take care not to let your curiosity get the better of you. You’re in a world you can hardly begin to understand. You are here because of the count’s dreams. You have some little role to play, to help him get what he wants. You will be playing a part; that’s all. But do not trespass on things you were never meant to see. You will only lose your mind.”

  I wasn’t going to continue with the charade anymore. “I know what you are. Most people in Dovren know what you are. You’re a fallen angel. I can see that your eyes turn dark, and Samael’s turn to flames. Maybe you were never meant to mix with mortals.”

  His gaze was piercing right through me, and he went inhumanly still. “Well, Zahra. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time I heard that opinion.”

  “Do you all live forever?”

  “I don’t give away that sort of information without a price.”

  “Fine, then.” I rose, my heart speeding up already. This was important information—did they have any weaknesses? I tilted down my chin, then looked up at him from under my eyelashes. A shy smile, like the real Zahra would give. I toyed with my hair. “Another kiss for a little answer to my question?”

  A seductive smile curled his lips, and his eyes started growing dark once more.

  “Fine.” He leaned against the doorway, his cloak falling open over his bare chest. “Are you making up questions to ask me just to give yourself an excuse?”

  He would think that, wouldn’t he?

  “Maybe.” I crossed the flagstones toward him. As I moved closer, his eyes were darkening again, and the air seemed to crackle with his sexual magnetism.

  “Do you know the most obvious sign that you’re not one of us?” I asked. “Angels have an allure that mortals don’t have.”

  He flashed me a wicked smile. “Not from my perspective,” he murmured.

  When I was standing close to him, his seductive power snaked around me, enveloping me. My breath shallowed as I stared a little at the moons on his chest. They were starting to glow with a pale, blue light. Up close it was hard to resist his aphrodisiac powers. I was picturing myself brushing my lips over that muscled chest.

  He cupped a hand around the back of my neck, then turned me, so it was my back pressed against the door. Dominating me.

  “I’m not sure this is a good idea,” he purred, leaning down. “But maybe just a taste before I leave. Just one."

  I slid my arms around his neck, breathing in the scent of oak that rippled off him. Pure darkness pooled in his eyes, and he shuddered with pleasure. Oh God—his hand around my neck felt sinfully good, and I could feel the heat blazing off him.

  He leaned in and brushed his lips over mine. Immediately, naked heat skimmed over my skin. I opened my mouth, welcoming the kiss. Bloody hell, he tasted delicious, like an exotic wine.

  The magic pouring off him was a sensual caress slipping over my collarbone, warming me up and making my thighs clench.

  As the kiss deepened, his tongue brushed against mine. Images blazed in my mind—of a night sky over a desert, the moon hanging like a jewel, and the rush of wind over my body. The feel of his soft lips was transporting me.

  With a nip of my lower lip, he let out a low noise from deep in his throat—a sound of pleasure and agony in one. Then, he pulled away from the kiss, his black eyes piercing me.

  I stared at him, catching my breath. “Tell me. Do angels have a weakness?” Specifically, how did an angel end up murdered in a river?

  “Of course we do. Everyone has a weakness.” He leaned down, his mouth close to my ear as he whispered, “mortal women.”

  I shivered at his answer, trying to gather my thoughts, but it was hard because my mind was still beaming with moonlight in a night sky. I loosed a long, slow breath. “I meant a literal weakness.”

  “So did I.”

  I was still confused. But it seemed like he was drunk on our kiss; this was maybe the best time to get information from him.

  So I ran my hand up his chest. His eyes closed, and he tilted back his head. “Mmmm.”

  “What does that mean?” I whispered against his chest. “Can you become… mortal?”

  He threaded his fingers into my hair. “Seduction,” he murmured. “Seduction by women makes us mortal, for a time.”

  My fingers tensed on his chest. That seemed to snap him out of his lustful daze, and his body went tense.

  His eyes narrowed, returning to their usual hazel hue. I felt a chill return to the air. “It occurs to me that this conversation may not be good for my health.” He pressed his palms against the door on either side of my head, boxing me in. “What are you planning, Zahra?”

  “Nothing. I was just curious.”

  A dark chuckle. “Curious?” He unscrewed the top of his flask, then took a sip, eyes sharp. “No, I think you’re dangerous. Goodnight, Zahra. The guards will be watching you.”

  18

  Lila

  I’d gotten the information I wanted. Seduction. Now that was a hell of a task, wasn’t it?

  I’d heard the rumors before, that angels had a taste for mortal women. That we were their weakness. I hadn’t known it was literal.

  My mind churned as I crossed back to the wardrobe. So if I ever wanted Samael dead—I’d have to seduce him first? That was … terrifying.

  Outside, the storm had picked up again, and rain pelted the windows. If it weren’t for my spy mission this evening, I’d want nothing more than to curl up in the warm bed and fall asleep to the sound, surrounded by books I could not yet read.

  But first, I had some poisoning and espionage to undertake. I pulled open the wardrobe and snatched the herbs from the bottom.

  On the table, I found a spoon and bowl to use as a makeshift mortar and pestle. The nightshade berries were sweet, and they would blend into the wine well enough. When I’d mashed up a dark, juicy paste, I scooped it into one of the wine bottles.

  I swirled it up until I was sure it had dissolved. Then, with a breezy smile, I opened the door to find the two soldiers stationed outside.

  “Hello, gentlemen. This wine is really not up to my standards. Will you send it off, please? Please return with something better.”

  One of them snorted. “Is she joking?”

  “ Of course not,” I said. “I’d like something a bit dryer, please. It’s too sweet for me.”

  With a smirk, one of them grabbed it from my hand. “Of course, we will get right on it.” He nodded back at the door. “But you must go back into your room.”

  “Okay, fine. I’ll be waiting.”

  I slipped back inside and shut the door again. Outside, lightning rent the sky, and the wind howled through cracks in the windows. The candles around the room were burning down to their wicks now, the light growing dimmer.

  I paced the floor, my thoughts roiling like the storm outside.

  Most of the servants were murdered.

  I wondered if Sourial knew more than he was letting on. Samael had been cutting off people’s heads outside the castle. Wasn’t he the most likely culprit? Someone who just lost control? The man had corpses hanging from his castle walls. Clearly, he didn’t feel bad about murdering mortals.

  A sharp tendril of guilt curled through me. Alice had never told us where she was going. If she’d come here, maybe she felt like she had to keep it a secret. She always called herself a patriot—a true Albian woman. She’d once broken a boy’s nose for suggesting the Raven King was just a legend.

  If she got the chance to escape the slums where we lived, maybe she took it without uttering a word. There weren’t many opportunities for us. Either you were a prostitute, or a thief, and either way you’d likely end up in the clink. Who could blame her for seeking a better life? But maybe she thought I’d judge her. I wished she’d confided in me.

  I gla
nced at the door. I needed to wait just a little while longer before the sleeping potion took hold. And I still had to figure out how to get to the Tower of Bones.

  I wasn’t quite sure what I was looking for—I supposed clues that Alice had been there. I hoped not to find any.

  Mentally, I tried to bring up a picture of the entire complex—the central castle, the two sets of outer walls. But the Tower of Bones could be any one of the twenty-one towers.

  I needed to know where I was going before I left here. Pivoting, I surveyed the stacks of books that surrounded my bed. I couldn’t read words, but I could manage a map. I snatched my little children’s alphabet book off the table, then crossed to the bed.

  In the dimming light, I climbed onto the mattress, and scanned the rows of books.

  Some of them had no titles on the sides. Some had words I couldn’t read, others little silver or gold engraved pictures. I traced my fingertip over the spines, looking at them one by one, until I got to a crimson volume with a gold-embossed picture on the side. Four impossibly high towers, stretching upward. Looked like Castle Hades.

  I pulled it out and cracked it open, blowing dust off the page. At the start of the book was a map of the entire place. Each tower, each building had been labelled.

  It took me a few minutes to figure out the letters I needed to find—but the first letters sounded like a B in ball, and an O like oak, an N like night. And without Sourial here, there was actually something deeply satisfying about decoding the words. I wanted to know how to read all of them, but I would start with Bones.

  So I scanned the little map until I found what I was looking for. B O N seemed enough to know I’d got to the right place. There it was—the Tower of Bones, looming over the Dark River. It stretched up into the sky at the end of one of the outer walls.

  The map was clearly old, because it showed twenty-three towers. It seemed at one point, the river had been narrower, but the waters had consumed two of the towers in the distant past.

  Unfortunately, I’d have to go outside the castle to investigate. And while I didn’t love the idea of having to cross out into the courtyard in the open, tonight was probably the best night to do it. Clouds completely hid the moon and stars, giving wonderful darkness. Tonight of all nights, it would be easy to go unnoticed.

  The hard part would be getting out of this castle, with the soldiers guarding the front door. My best bet would be to sneak down to the lowest level, then scale the wall from a secluded window.

  Dovren was a city of walls, especially around the East End. In the ancient days, when the Blessed Raven King had ruled the kingdom, he’d set up enormous stone boundaries around the city to keep out invaders. Soldiers had protected Dovren from the towers in the walls. And while much of the walls had crumbled into ruins, in many places the towers still stretched to the skies.

  Some of the rich built great homes against the ancient stone. So if you knew how to scale it, you could nip in to pinch a few silver spoons or fancy bits of china. If you were that sort of a person.

  Long story short, I was good at climbing stone.

  I slid the book back onto the shelf, then plucked a long candle from the table, along with a little box of matches. I slipped them into my pocket.

  And as for my dagger, I sheathed it around my thigh.

  Given that they hadn’t provided me with knickers and I was wearing a long dress, I’d absolutely need to murder anyone who saw me getting the dagger out.

  With everything ready, I crossed to the door. I turned the knob, opening it just a little. Instantly, a smile came to my lips. The nightshade had worked, and the two guards lay slumped against the wall. I dumped out the rest of the wine on them, and I left the empty bottle between them. Now, they looked like a pair of wine-soaked drunks.

  I glanced down the hall, left, then right. Nothing but shadows and stone.

  Now or never.

  I hurried to the stairwell and rushed down the stairs, one hand on the wall to steady myself as I took one turn after another. When I got to the first floor, I poked my head out.

  I found myself in the armory—a large wooden hall with beams of oak arching above me. Most importantly, it had a window I could use.

  I crept through the room, swift and stealthy.

  Orange light flickered over the displays of swords, axes, the old armor hanging on the walls. I jumped when I saw movement in the corner of my eye, then realized it was my own reflection. Mirrors hung behind some of the suits of armor, making the room look bigger than it was.

  I opened the window outward, pulled myself up, then swung one of my legs over. For a moment, my foot got caught in the hem of my long dress, but I was able to disentangle myself. That was exactly why I normally wore trousers.

  As I lowered myself down, I found a toe hold. It wasn’t much, just a little crack between the stones, but I could use it. Once I was out the window, I closed it nearly all the way. From there, I found small cracks, spaces in the stones where I could grip with my fingers and rest my toes. I only needed to go down a few feet or so until I could jump.

  I landed with a soft thud in the grass, and I breathed in deeply.

  The rain had gone softer now, but clouds still covered the sky. I loved being out here in the night, where I felt free. As I hurried over the grass, my eyes picked out the darkest route.

  When I reached the Tower of Bones, I looked up at it. Numerous royals had been murdered in this very tower. Long ago a king had kept his wives in there, before he grew bored with them and cut off their heads.

  But it had first been named for a tragedy a thousand years ago, when a mad king slaughtered two princes and stuffed their bodies under a stairwell. The evil pretender king from the west had wanted to clear his own way to the throne.

  Ernald said all kings were tyrants. Alice would say, at least they were our tyrants.

  And with that thought, I crossed through the damp grass, and slipped into a dark stairwell. Dark and silent as a grave in here. I pressed my ear to the stone, listening for the sound of movement. I didn’t hear a thing.

  I pulled the candle from my pocket, along with the matches. I lit the candle, and the little flame cast a wavering glow up the winding staircase

  As I moved up the stairs, cold air rushed over me. It smelled of moss and stone. Had Alice climbed this same stairwell once?

  I pictured her as Finn had seen her: carrying red silk, her pale hair gleaming. Maybe she’d made it out … She could scale walls as well as I could.

  Wind whistled through faint cracks in the walls. I shivered. This was the very stairwell where the dead princes were hidden—somewhere beneath my feet.

  Everyone in Dovren said this place was haunted. And right now, it felt like they were right.

  19

  Lila

  On the left side of the hall stood six wooden doors. On the right side, tall windows let in dim light. The rain was picking up again, and a spear of lightning cracked the sky. For a moment, I thought I saw a figure moving across the courtyard. I stood before the window, searching for it. It was gone again in the shadows.

  I let out a shaky breath. I thought I’d just imagined someone, fear getting to me.

  I turned and opened the first door, revealing a small room. Two sets of bunk beds stood on each side, and an empty hearth was inset into one wall.

  Definitely a servant room. Across from the door where I stood, a window looked out over the Dark River. I crossed to it, pressing my hands against the cold panes. The rain rattled the glass. In the storm, the river seemed wild, seething.

  From here, I had a perfect view of its serpentine path, flowing from west to east. Bodies dumped from here might have been carried all the way out to the sea.

  I knelt down, searching under the beds. My heart stuttered when I saw dried blood on the floor.

  I flipped the mattresses and found a long string of red hair, a button. A bit of a fingernail. Nothing I could recognize as Alice’s.

  But it was when I pulled open t
he wardrobe that I felt my heart kick up a notch.

  The clothes were still here—the servant’s uniforms—black dresses with white skirts, white lace collars. And between them were casual clothes: flowered dresses, simple cotton sheaths. A few personal belongings lay strewn on the bottom, a compact mirror, part of a lipstick tube, scarves. Nothing stood out as Alice’s.

  When I’d finished scouring that room, I ran to the next one and flung open the wardrobe. I flicked through the clothes for signs of her. I searched each inch of the drawers on the bottom.

  With the candle in my hand, I ransacked one wardrobe after another, in every room. Maid’s clothes, simple dresses, a few pieces of jewelry, handkerchiefs.

  All these poor mortals had been murdered for reasons no one was letting on, and the little trinkets left of their lives filled me with a sharp sadness.

  By the time I got to the last room, I was starting to wonder if Finn had been wrong. Maybe someone else had been carrying the red cloth into the castle. A little relief was unclenching my chest. Alice might never have been here at all.

  Among the dresses, I found a simple brown one I thought could have been hers, but nothing for certain. Could be anyone’s.

  I turned to the window, and my stomach dropped. Here, the glass was cracked a little, and brown blood spatters had dried on it.

  Someone must have gone from one room to another, slaughtering them.

  When I looked out the window, I saw the remains of an old bridge jutting out into the air to my right—about twenty feet long, three feet wide. At one point, it would have connected to one of the lost towers. Now, the stony promontory hung over the river like an enormous thorn on the stem of a dark flower.

  I turned back to the room with the growing certainty that Alice hadn’t been here in the first place.

  Except, just as I was starting to walk out, a little gleam of yellow in the corner caught my eye. A crackle of fear skittered up my spine, because I knew—I knew that yellow. Gripping the candle, I got down on my knees.