Page 55 of Enthralled

“No.” I take another step toward him, careful, like approaching a rabid dog. My heart races, but I keep my voice gentle. “His glamours are stripped away, that is all. But he was always just as he is now: twisted and ugly. Monstrous.”

“You lie!”

“No, Oscar. I’m telling you the truth. If you could just see—”

A growl rumbles from above, in the passage beyond the stair. Oscar chokes on a scream, and I whip my head about, staring up into that darkness. Unless I’m much mistaken, the shadows are living, churning. The Nightmare Realm closes in. I turn to Oscar again, breathing hard. His eyes are wide, white-ringed with terror. “Clara,” he gasps, sounding so young once more. “Clara, it’s not too late. You can still join us.”

“No, Oscar. I can’t. I won’t.”

He bares his teeth as though biting back either a curse or a sob. “I never wanted us to be enemies.”

The heartbreak in his voice tears me apart. “Come with me then,” I say, holding out my hand to him. “Come with me, Oscar. Now.”

“Why? So your husband can put another curse on me?” I withdraw, and he barks a bitter laugh. “Yes, Clara. Ivor told me that little detail as well. And he told me you knew. You watched me suffer in torment for years, the best part of myself stripped away, and you did nothing.”

“I didn’t know—”

“Really? You do now. What will you do with that knowledge? Will you turn from the man who did that to me? Or will you cling to your beloved Prince?”

My heart aches, heavy and throbbing in my breast. But the image of the Hollow Man is too clear, too hideously real in my mind. How can I deny the wisdom of Castien’s decision to block Oscar’s abilities? It was cruel, it was hard. But it was necessary. And can I blame him for not telling me? No, for I would have done exactly as I did—I would have refused to see the truth, would have hated and blamed him instead of placing blame where it belonged: on the shoulders of my brother. My beautiful, beloved, damaged, desecrated, adored brother.

But I am not the woman I was even three days ago.

“I will love Prince Castien until the day I die,” I say. “And when I am dead, I will love him from beyond the grave.”

Oscar sneers even as tears gleam in the corners of his eyes. “So which of us is truly enthralled?”

Another roar echoes across the walls, rippling from stone to stone. Shadows twist and writhe on either side of us. The nightmare will overwhelm us both in another moment. By the look on his face, Oscar knows it as well. “It seems we have both made our choices,” he says, lifting his chin. “When we meet again, it will be as enemies. You must know, Clara, that I will do everything in my power to help Ivor. I will see him ascend where he belongs.”

“And I will stop you,” I answer softly.

“You will fail. Ivor will bring this whole city to ruin before he gives up his dream.”

“And what about the people, Oscar?”

“What people?”

“The families. The fathers and mothers. The children. They are suffering, they are dying, all for the sake of Ivor’s ambition.”

His brow knits. “They’re just trolls, Clara.”

With those words, some last tether—some delicate thread still binding my heart in a snare I once thought impossible to escape—snaps. The pain is so sharp, so unexpected, I nearly stagger, nearly drop to my knees.

Instead I stride forward three paces and slap Oscar across the face. Pain spikes up my palm, my arm, and explodes in my head, but I do not back down. He doubles over, shocked, horrified. Then he whips his head around staring up at me, his mouth open, his eyes wide. I slap him again, harder. He cries out, cupping his cheek with one hand. When he looks at me this time, it’s the same look he used to give our father.

All the wind goes out of my lungs. “Oscar,” I breathe. “Oscar, I—”

“Go,” he snarls, his teeth clenched and bared. “Go now. Before I change my mind.”

Another roar quakes my bones. Darkness thrashes all around us, a nightmare we’ve both shared and never escaped, not in all the years of our life together. But Oscar steps to one side, clearing my path. Though the last thing I ever wanted was to leave him behind, I gather my skirts and flee down the palace steps into the haunted courtyard. Minor wraiths scatter before me, terrified of whatever looms behind me in the palace. I don’t look back to see if my brother watches my flight or if he hastens to make his own escape.

I simply run.

Even with Dasyra’s quill and two books left in my satchel, my frame of mind is so distraught, I’m not sure I could survive a Noswraith if I meet one during my mad flight back through the city. But it’s almost as though the Noswraiths have scattered before me, scurrying away into buildings and alleys. Though I feel their watching eyes, their malevolent stares, feel the intense hunger churning in their twisted hearts, none move to interfere with me.

I don’t try to guess why this is. I simply press on, sticking close to anygubdagogs,trusting they will provide at least some protection. Many of them are torn and damaged, and I wish I understood their workings enough to make repairs. But they are as baffling to me now as they ever were, and any interference on my part will surely only make matters worse.

At one point something enormous passes overhead. I duck beneath the nearestgubdagog, hunched and terrified. I can’t get any solid impression of the nightmare. It’s simply too big, with enormous stalk-legs that support a body hidden in clouds overhead. It could either crush or devour me without once breaking stride, and if it takes notice of me now, there’s nothing I or these flimsy threads of spell-weaving can do to stop it. It continues on its way, however, unhurried and massive, making for some distant destination without particular malice. It may not be hungry just now. But it will grow hungry again soon.

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