Page 114 of Foul Days

The macabre décor obviously didn’t faze the guests. The spirits spun in a wild dance: their feet slammed against the floor and their hands clapped in rhythm. Some of them led karakonjuls on long leashes, occasionally losing control of the beasts and letting them climb all over the piles of food on the tables. Here and there, upirs slowly swayed and moaned. A few varkolaks joined the dancing, as far as their chains allowed them.

Kosara couldn’t shake the feeling of déjà vu. She almost expected to spot her younger self running through the crowd, and the Zmey chasing her, both of them giggling.

She clearly remembered the dress she’d worn that night seven years ago. The Zmey had given it to her. It was bright pink and frilly, and absolutely not her. The running around was also not her. The giggling? Not her in the slightest.

You’re nothing without me, the Zmey hissed in her mind.

Perhaps, but I was never myself with you.

She’d only spent a night at the Zmey’s palace back then, but it had felt as if it had lasted months. She’d drunk nothing but moon wine and eaten nothing but the fruits the Zmey had given her, until she could barely remember her friends or family. She could barely remember herself.

She knew now she shouldn’t touch any of the overflowing platters scattered around the bone halls. Every time a monster tried to hand her a glass of moon wine, she shook her head and pushed it away.

She and Asen walked from one hall to the next, their soles clicking against the calcified floor. High above them, the chandeliers clattered. Music echoed between the columns, its source impossible to trace.

Each hall was larger than the last: more monsters caught up in the dance, more tables covered in glistening goblets of moon wine, and fruits so large and plump they looked as if they were made of wax. The ceiling was so tall, it disappeared in the darkness high above. The music got louder.

Kosara walked faster and faster, her breath catching in her throat.

How long had they been here for? Somehow, it simultaneously felt like five minutes and five years. Or fifty. Kosara looked down at her hands, half-expecting to find them wrinkly and frail.

They weren’t. They were still her hands, switching between flesh and shadow.

“We’re walking in circles,” Asen said finally.

Kosara leaned her back against a column, trying to catch her breath. “Impossible. I know the palace.”

“We’ve been in this hall before. I’m certain we have.”

“Impo—” Kosara began, but then she spotted the human skull at the centre of the arch, right above the entrance. They’d gone full circle.

She let herself slide down to the floor, holding her head between her hands. “We’ve been here for ages!”

Around her, the bright lights of the feast spun in a blur. The music grew even louder, the beat pulsating in time with her heart.

Her mouth was so dry, her tongue felt like sandpaper. If only she could reach and grab a glass of wine from the table—

Asen pushed her hand away. “Here.” He handed her a bottle of water from his bag.

Kosara drank, letting the icy liquid run down her chin. Then, she poured some on her palms and used it to wash her face, pressing the balls of her thumbs onto her eyes. The colourful spots that danced in front of her vision looked just like the feast’s bright lights.

But her dizziness started to subside. Her head stopped spinning.

Kosara opened her eyes. Then, she fished for Blackbeard’s compass in her bag. “I think I’m ready to try again. You?”

Asen nodded. This time, Kosara let the compass guide them further and further North, deep into the Zmey’s palace. The air grew hotter. The stench of the Zmey’s magic made Kosara’s heart race.

They walked under a tall arch and entered an unfamiliar hall. A band played on a low stage in one corner: three terrified guitarists, one scared flautist, a petrified bagpiper, and a nervous drummer. Humans. Kosara couldn’t begin to guess how much the Zmey had paid them to play at this particular feast.

“Why did we have to pretend to be spirits?” Asen whispered in Kosara’s ear. “If there are people here.”

“I can guarantee you that everyone knows these people. The Zmey must have warned his subjects that if any harm comes to the band, they’ll have to answer to him. Until the feast is over, at least.”

The song ended, and applause filled the hall. The bagpiper timidly waved at the crowd. The elderly spirit standing next to Kosara leaned on her shoulder.

“A great tune, huh?” he gasped out.

Finally, the applause faded until only the slow clapping of a single pair of hands remained.

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