Page 26 of King of Flames and Shadows

I trail after him like a shadow, the chains of my submission heavy around my neck. He doesn’t speak to me, doesn’t even glance in my direction as we ascend through the winding corridors to the upper levels.

He leads me to the East Wing and up past the doors of my chambers, further up the stairs. I suppose now I know who lives above me. When we reach the entrance to his private quarters, he pauses, turning to me with a look of mild disdain.

Briefly, I am certain he’ll take me to his bed.

Then—

“Go,” he says with a tone of quiet danger. “You’re dismissed. But don’t think for a moment that your little interruption has gone unnoticed. You’ll be dealt with, in time.”

In time.I’m living on stolen time. I already knew it, but it’s getting shorter. I can feel the noose tightening.

Unable to summon words, I nod stiffly. His gaze lingers, burning into me, and then he’s gone, disappearing through the heavy wooden doors.

Only once I’m sure he’s left do I let out the breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding.

***

That night, long after the castle has fallen silent, I creep down toward the winding tunnels that snake beneath the keep.

I have tried to interrogate this impulse, the desire to explore, to know. I have no real answer to justify it. I feel I must know this place intimately, that I must now my enemy. Andthe castle itself is certainly my enemy. My footsteps are light, careful, barely disturbing the dust that coats the floor in a fine layer. The darkness is absolute, save for the occasional torch flickering weakly in its bracket. The walls here are lined with strange symbols, ancient carvings that glow faintly in the gloom, casting eerie shadows, and it’s strange, but I swear I feel them watching me.

Yes, I think; the castle is my enemy indeed. And I must know my enemy.

I have no real plan. Only the desperate need to move, to do something, to find something. To find a way out, though I know I wouldn’t be able to pursue it.

When I reach the entrance to the catacombs, I linger for a moment at the mouth of the darkness, where a steep slope descends into the earth. These passages are unfamiliar, but I won’t let that stop me.

I take a deep breath, then set off into the darkness.

There are almost no torches down here. In the darkness, I occasionally see them flickering down the path, around sharp bends and corners. It’s a maze. Deeper and deeper I go, until the air grows thick and stifling, the smell of earth and decay cloying in my nose.

I’m not certain I can even begin to find my way out of here.

And then, in the distance, I see it.

A door, half-hidden in the shadows, its surface etched with runes I can’t decipher. It is bracketed by torches on either side.

I jog to reach it, stumbling on the uneven floor of the catacombs. Even the walls are jagged—sharp outcroppings of rock seem to swing from the gloom at every step.

When I reach the door, I hesitate, a strange dread curling in my gut. But I can’t turn back now.

Swallowing hard, I push it open.

The chamber beyond is vast and echoing. The ceiling is incredibly high. Below, it's a tomb of polished stone and silence. Marble effigies lie upon raised platforms—three in total, then countless more far behind them, covered in far thicker dust and sediment.

The effigies at the front draw my eye and refuse to release it. A man, a woman, and a child.

Their faces are serene, peaceful, though there is something haunting about the way their hands are clasped together, as if in mourning.

A sense of wrongness settles over me, thick as fog.

I was twelve the first time I killed a rabbit. I’m no hunter, but as a trapper, I was always competent—and after my grandmother’s death when I was young, I had to provide for myself alone.

All this to say, I know the smell of death. I know its very spirit. And this place has known such death, such a volume of it.

The realization hits me like a blow to the chest.

This is his family. Arvoren’s parents, and—what? A sister? The thought sends a shiver down my spine. They all have his features. Transfixed, I can’t help but move closer. He has his father’s nose, his mother’s intense, dark eyes. He and the girl I presume was his sister shared their sharp jawlines and thin, expressive lips, their structured cheekbones and low brows.

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