Page 21 of Blackwarden
I would have avoided him the rest of the day, but when lunch rolled around, I was starving. An apple and part of a roll wasn’t enough to sustain me, no matter how delicious they were. I’d snuck into the dining room a little early thinking I could eat and leave before he arrived, but he never came.
When he hadn’t shown up for dinner, worry settled like a stone in my stomach. Had I truly angered him? Was I doomed to endure the rest of my stay completely alone in this cold black mansion?
When I returned to my suite, I found another stack of books had been left for me. Keres had never stepped foot in my room before. Part of me wondered, maybe even hoped, he’d left a piece of his magic behind. Some scrap of his essence to assure me he didn’t completely hate me.
Most of the books were detailed histories surrounding the war between the Dark Fae and humans. Five hundred years seemed so long ago, and yet, the conclusion of that war still shaped so much of the current world, not the least of which was the sacrifice I was here to fulfill. The other books were a collection of etiquette manuals that Keres must have felt I needed after my apparentlyabysmal curtsey performance—whatever would prepare me for my inevitable journey to the Unseelie Court. He was, after all, the Gatekeeper and nothing more. He would deliver me to my new home, and then I’d likely never see him again.
I shuttered. If all Dark Fae were as prickly as him, the thought of being left alone with another Unseelie was bone chilling. At least with him I had some idea of what to expect––stoic silence, unfiltered broody stares, the occasional smirk and genuine kindness that left me breathless and disoriented.
The hours slipped by faster than I’d anticipated as I thumbed through the books. I rubbed my eyes, glancing at the gilded clock on the wall beside the door. 11:44 pm. I had sixteen minutes, and I’d use every second.
I slipped into the hall and rushed to the library. As long as I was diligent, I could be back in my room before the strike of midnight, not breaking any more of Keres’ precious rules. As I snuck down the hall however, I noticed something new. The brazier at the far end was lit. It had never been before. A strange tingling down my spine drew me to it. I passed the library and crept toward it, my curiosity a living thing clawing its way out of my skin.
A warm light bled from beneath the last door, leaving me standing in a puddle of gold. I stood frozen in place for a long moment, my mind tumbling over all the possible scenarios of what waited behind that door. Was it Keres? Was the Gatehouse trying to draw me closer to something? Or was this some kind of trick to lure me to yet another room I wasn’t supposed to be in?
The Gatehouse had already locked me in one room. How was I to know it wasn’t trying to do the same again? As quietly as I could, I stepped up to the door and pressed, flinching back a bit when it moved. A second later I found myself peeking through a crack into a mostly empty room.
Against the far wall, centered between two windows sat a massive easel. The problem was it faced away from me. I couldn’t see the painting—only the painter’s black loafers. But I knew whoit was. There was only one other person in the Gatehouse. Was Keres an artist? My mind immediately went to the mural, but I pushed the thoughts away, not ready to think about that. When he leaned over to load his brush with paint from a side table, the tips of his black horns and messy midnight hair peeked from around the canvas.
Holding my breath, I eased back from the door and crept as silently as possible down the hall to the library, my heart racing at the prospect of him finding me. And, apparently, at the Gatehouse divulging my spying. It hadn’t been my intention to spy on him. My curiosity had gotten the better of me.
I pulled the library door closed behind me but to my absolute disappointment when I glanced at the clock over the fireplace mantel it was 11:57 pm. Three minutes left? How long had I stood watching the backside of an easel? I grabbed the nearest book and slipped quietly back to my room.
Just when I thought I’d made it, Keres emerged from the shadows in front of my door, freezing me in place. His dark eyes lost in the shadows until that one pesky brazier crackled to life, illuminating his perfect face.
“Cutting your time a little tight, Ms. Greene,” he said, over enunciating the “T”s.
His hands were tucked behind his back, his steps graceful as ever. It wasn’t until he was mere feet from me that I realized he wasn’t wearing a doublet for the first time since I’d come to the Gatehouse. He wore a flowing black shirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows, leaving lean forearms exposed as he placed his hands on his hips. The laces of the shirt lay loose, the open neckline exposing a pale slice of firm muscle.
To see him entirely at ease was...startling. It was as if the pretense of being a terrifying Dark Fae had been stripped away, leaving a beautiful stranger behind. My heart fluttered at the memory of his fingers against my chin. Almost immediately I was drenched with cold uncertainty, washing away any sort of heatthat burned through me. Was he angry? The raw hunger in his gaze said otherwise. I tipped my chin up.
“You’re making a habit of showing up at my door,” I said.
He smirked, glancing toward my suite before returning his treacherous eyes to me.
“Your interest in my library is dangerous.”
“If I’m not mistaken, you gave me permission to visit your library if I wasn’t...I believe the words you used were, ‘too terrified to leave my suite.’”
He nodded slowly, knowing I’d caught him in a technicality of his own rules. It was still before midnight, and I hadn’t forced my way into any rooms.
“Goodnight, Rosalin.” He tipped his head in a tiny bow before he passed me, the shadows of the hall following on his heels.
I pressed my hand over my heart in the hope of stopping it from pounding out of my chest. After a long moment I slipped inside my room, pulling the door closed behind me and not worrying how loud it was as the lock clicked over.
Another day gone, and all I had was a frustrating lack of answers and a stack of books that didn’t seem to have anything additional to offer. I plopped into the chair at my little table, dropping the latest book down on top. I glared at it, finally registering which book I’d grabbed. It was the one from the night before; the Old Fae manuscript with the same symbol on the cover that Keres wore around his neck. I traced the symbol with my fingertip before flipping the book open, hoping maybe I’d been wrong, and it wasn’t written entirely in Old Fae. But the words were the same confusing patterns that flowed in and out of lines on the page. I couldn’t make sense of it.
I turned to another page, finding it was the same. I kept flipping until I came to an illustration that had been added along the outside margin. It looked a lot like the strange beasts that snaked along the walls of the hall and down Keres’ back. Goosebumpsprickled over my arms. I flipped past quickly, as if fearful the monster might leap off the page if I stared too long.
I let my fingers drag over the characters I couldn’t read before flipping through several more pages until I came to another illustration. This one was of a massive mansion that looked a lot like the Gatehouse, except it was missing the distinct dragon sculptures that had been so intimidating when I’d first arrived. I thumbed through more pages, hoping for more illustrations and finding nothing more than the strange flowing writing that didn’t make a single scrap of sense to me. I slammed the book shut with more vigor than I’d intended. A slip of paper that had been tucked into the back cover peeked from between the end pages. It was yellowed from age and torn on one side, as if ripped from a journal.
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I was wrong, and I shall be doomed to give my soul in pieces until I fulfill her punishment. I refuse to submit a maiden to the same fate as my beloved. May the record stand; I have protected forty-three from their suffering. Their faces eternally recorded, that I might be reminded of my mistakes until this curse consumes my shadows entirely.
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The hair rose on the back of my neck.This was confirmation of a curse.
