Page 6 of Lich's Bride

One long finger traces the line of my jaw, the touch both gentle and perversely proprietary. "In time, I will lead you into the deeper mysteries. But for now..." He smiles, a ghastly rictus. "For now, you must learn. Grow. Ripen."

He takes my arm in an unbreakable grip, steering me back towards the stairs. I go unresisting, suddenly overcome by a bone-deep weariness, a soul-deep despair.

This is my world now, my lot. Malachar's bride, his apprentice, his plaything.

And staring into the abyss of that grim future, I can't imagine any escape that doesn't end in the cold embrace of the grave.

5

KIRA

Iwake to the first tentative brushstrokes of dawn painting the sky outside my window a delicate shade of shell pink. For a moment I simply lie there, watching the light slowly suffuse the room, listening to the gentle susurrus of the breeze in the treetops. It's peaceful, almost eerily so after the tempestuous events of the previous day.

Carefully, I sit up, half-expecting to feel the drag of chains at my wrists, the weight of the collar around my throat. But there's nothing. Malachar must have removed them while I slept. The thought sends a conflicted shiver down my spine - gratitude tangled up with unease at the idea of him touching me in my unconscious state.

I slide out of bed, my bare feet sinking into the plush carpet. Someone - Malachar, I assume - has laid out a dress for me, a froth of emerald silk and gossamer. It's beautiful, and no doubt hideously expensive, but I ignore it in favor of my own jeans and T-shirt, cleaned and folded and ready for me every morning.

I dress quickly and make my way to the window, drawn by the lambent glow of the rising sun. As I watch, the sky transforms, cycling through a palette of pastel hues before finally settling into a brilliant, cloudless blue. It's going to be a beautiful day.

The thought sparks a sudden, desperate yearning in my chest. After the claustrophobic darkness of the castle, the idea of feeling the sun on my face, the wind in my hair, is almost painfully tempting. I know I shouldn't - Malachar warned me of the dangers that lurk beyond the walls. But surely a few minutes couldn't hurt?

Just a quick walk to clear my head, to feel like myself again...

Moving quickly, before I can second-guess myself, I slip out of my room and make my way through the echoing halls. It's early enough that the castle is still slumbering, the silence broken only by the occasional creak of ancient timbers. Even the ever-present aura of power feels muted, drowsy.

I'm halfway across the great hall when I spot the doors – their handles glinting invitingly in the muted light. My heart kicks into a gallop as I approach, half-expecting them to be locked, or warded, or simply immovable. But when I lay my hand on the weathered wood, they swing open soundlessly, as if eager to aid in my escape.

I step out into a courtyard drenched in dew and dawn-light, the chill air stinging my cheeks. The sky arches overhead, the color of a robin's egg. For a moment I simply stand there, breathing deep, savoring the tang of pine and wilderness. Then, before my resolve can waver, I strike out across the frost-limned grass, making for the treeline on the far side of the lawn.

The forest seems to lean in as I approach, branches straining towards me like grasping fingers. A part of me is apprehensive at the sight, remembering Malachar's dire warnings about the dangers that lurk in this place.

But the need for space, for autonomy, overrides my fear.

Squaring my shoulders, I pass beneath the dense canopy and into the glaucous gloom beyond.

At first, it's not so bad. The woods are hushed and still, the only sound the soft crunch of my footfalls on the carpet of pine needles. Slanting bars of sunlight pierce the interwoven branches, dappling the forest floor in gold. It's actually quite beautiful, in a strange, shadowed way.

But as I press on, the atmosphere begins to change. The trees press closer, their trunks bent and twisted like arthritic spines. The air grows thick with the scent of loam and decay, cloying in my throat. And beneath it all, a tingling sense of watchfulness, as if the very woods are aware of my intrusion.

I'm just about to turn back, unnerved, when I hear it - a voice, high and sweet, raised in a wordless song. The melody is unlike anything I've ever heard before, haunting and ethereal, winding through the trees like a skein of silver. Without thinking, I alter course to follow it, drawn onwards by some force beyond my control.

I break into a small clearing and there, perched on a moss-covered log, is the singer. A young man, or something that very closely approximates one. He looks up as I enter and smiles, his eyes the vivid blue of a summer sky. Suddenly I notice all the flowers and the natural beauty of the mire. And of course it doesn’t smell overwhelmingly of death and decay and rot, but of flowers and fresh clippings and the first day of summer.

"Well met, fair wanderer," he calls, lowering his pan flute, his voice carrying a lilting accent I can't quite place. "What brings you to my neck of the woods on such a fine morning?"

"I... I was just walking," I stammer, suddenly self-conscious. What am I doing, talking to a stranger in an enchanted forest? "I didn't mean to disturb you."

"Disturb? Nay, you've brightened my morning considerably." He hops down from his perch with a fluid grace, moving towards me. "Pray, what are you called? I am Lorias, of the Greenwood folk."

"Kira," I answer automatically, before catching myself. Should I be giving my name to this bizarre, if charming, individual? I try to search my mind, Malachar said something about this.

But what was it?

"Lady Kira." He sweeps me an elegant bow. "You seem a touch lost, if you'll forgive my saying. These woods can be treacherous for those who don't know their ways. Perhaps I could guide you? Show you the hidden delights of this place, steer you clear of its dangers?"

I hesitate, torn. The offer is tempting - more than tempting, if I'm honest. The thought of a companion, someone to talk to besides my grim-faced captor, is almost pathetically alluring. And what harm can there be, really, in letting this amiable stranger show me around for a bit?

"That would be wonderful," I say before I can think better of it. "I'd be grateful for the company."

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