Page 87 of Lost in the Dark

Six spirits had stood at the end of her bed and told her they’d met a terrible end in this very castle. She would have thought she’d be desperate, crying on his bed for mercy and begging for escape. Yet certainty sat in her heart—heavier than the gold at her throat. She’d been given to trolls, and her fate was sealed. Instead of dying at the hands of those spirits, she would free them before succumbing herself.

There was simplicity in being the rabbit.

Those of the northern moors knew when to accept their doom.

Enulf knew what had happened to the mora—to those women—and she would make him take her to them.

“I’m ready,” he said quietly.

“Good.” She faced him. “Take me to them.”

“Anna,” he said, eyes shrouded in dark. “You do not want to know.”

“Perhaps not.” It felt as if the hold hand of fate wrapped tight around her neck, but she couldn’t turn back now. The necklace pulsed against her throat, and she knew whatever truth lay before her was worse than she’d yet imagined.

But what else was to be done?

She braced herself in the doorway and held out her hand. “I must know.”

Expression drawn, black brows low and furrowed over his nose, he stared at her for a long moment. Such a massive, powerful creature, it thrilled and hurt in equal measure to see him bow before her. His chest seemed to sag and he gave a single nod. His fingers wrapped around hers, enveloping her hand in warmth.

So huge, he could have crushed every bone with a single squeeze, yet he held her gently, almost reverently.

Without another word, he led her into the kitchen.

Her heart warred with her head as they approached the hearth—was his gentleness true, or was he leading her into another betrayal? She tensed, waiting for Gude to lunge from behind the butcher's block and attack them for trespassing in her domain. But there was nothing aside from the soft crackle of the fire.

“Gude attends the market this morning.” Enulf pointed at the cellar door. “Use the smallest key on the ring.”

She held tight to him for a moment.

Oh, Gods.

She didn’t want to enter that cellar. Even from here, two horse-lengths away, she could feel the air change—feel it charged with the same energy she found at her mother’s grave. But she had promised. Sending Enulf a final, searching glance—and finding no answers on his face—she pulled away and carefully removed the ring of keys from their peg on the wall. The metal sat cold in her palms.

Sucking in a breath, she selected the smallest key—a delicate gold filigree completely at odds with the rest of the heavy iron.

It slid into the lock with an ominous snick.

A sick understanding rushed over her, and she leaned against the wall.

The mora were trapped inside that larder. Anna had been forbidden from entering the room, and she had never been allowed any meat…Her stomach twisted and she glanced back at Enulf, praying he would tell her she was wrong. Instead, she found horrible confirmation in his eyes.

“You can leave, Anna,” he said. “You can run. Just run away.”

“I have nowhere to go,” she whispered.

Squaring her shoulders, she pushed open the door and descended a short flight of stairs. Her instinctive scream died in her throat. She’d known she’d find them here, hanging from the walls, hooks pushed through their chests. Organs and flesh removed. The oldest nothing but a pile of bones and scraps of hair upon the floor. The youngest still with a face, her skin tanned from salt, her mouth open in a silent scream.

Sausages hid all manner of sins.

Anna gripped a shelf for dear life, fought back the churning in her belly. Oh, Gods, she’d been such a fool to think she’d die a mundane death from overwork and poor meals. Trolls ate people—women in particular—her grandmother’s books had taught her that. They stole the strength from their victims by consuming their flesh, and used that strength to extend their lives.

To take more tolls.

Toll after toll after toll.

So many women had been taken by Rathbytten. Their lives feeding that which killed them, their spirits bound to the manor, just as their bodies had been in life. She had to set them free—had to release them from his clutches. Her grandmother had taught her everything she knew about monsters, about trolls and their ways.

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