Page 18 of King of Flesh and Bone

The corpse’s skin first turned a speckled green, then blackened before it wrinkled, shrank. A nauseating stench cut through the air but faded a moment later as the flesh writhed and shifted, reducing to nothing but white powder. It dusted the air like a cloud of flour before it, twisting into a funnel, swirled toward the King’s hand. There, on his palm, it shaped into a yellowish-white goblet, the stem embossed with motives of vines slinging around skulls.

Acid, rancid and sour, licked at the back of my throat. It swept onto my tongue, making me want to retch as my heart drummed in my ears. My hand reached for the goblet all on its own, nails digging into the material, forming a notch there as the King let wine gulp into it, seasoning the air with its macabre sweetness.

Not alabaster.

Not stone at all.

I’d walked on the dead, slept on them, had bathed surrounded by—

I swung a hand to my mouth, letting saliva pool underneath my tongue. One swallow. Even a drop of it running down my throat, and I would vomit onto the remnants of… people. Mothers, children, grandfathers, compacted into a bed, a tub…

…a goblet.

A goblet he prodded against my lips, demanding I drink from what had been a corpse only moments ago. “I made it just for you.”

When he shrugged and sipped from it instead, my gaze fell to my dress, all blood leeching from my veins until my limbs numbed. “And what did you use tomakemy dress?”

Another swallow from the goblet. “Take a guess, mortal.”

Skin.

Death covered me from my collarbone to my ankles, safe for where my breast had spilled from a rip in vulgar display. Everything around me spun, and I slipped off his lap, swaying for balance. Out. I needed out of this place.

I staggered down the dais. Blood rushed inside my ears with such force, it drowned out my steps as I hurried to the bridge. Only the King’s laugh overwhelmed it. “Ah, yes, follow the notches back to the safety of your cage.”

Chapter6

Ada

Warm clothes.

Provisions.

Sturdy shoes.

I put on the slippers the King hadmadefor me, perhaps from the hide of a cow, but it might as well have been someone’s son. While far from sturdy, they would have to do. I could still pull some boots off a corpse outside, same with a thick coat to hide from the cold. Provisions, however, proved to be an issue.

Until the door opened and Orlaigh stepped into my cage, as the King had called it. “Breakfast, lass.”

For once, good timing. “I want to bathe.”

With a sigh, she closed the door using one hand while balancing a plate on the other. A plate made of bone—like everything in this crooked kingdom—loaded with slices of bread. It seasoned the air with yeast and the heartiness of butter, the scents strangely familiar in a place this rotten.

One I would escape once and for all.

She lowered it onto my bed, then hooked her hands onto her hips. “Ye dinnae look in need of one to me.”

Yet I had never felt filthier in my life. “Where’s your master?”

“Attending dead beasts.”

Making my chances of escape all the better, no matter how slim it left them. I wouldn’t stay in this kingdom built on death, ruled by a mad… whatever he was. In spite of his determination to keep me prisoner, how likely would he chase after me, leaving a place he hadn’t stepped out of for over a hundred years? Small.

And if he followed…?

All the better.

He would bring rot to Hemdale—if I made it that far. That alone was worth whatever punishment he would come up with if he caught me. What was the worst he could do? Turn me into a chair? Weave me through his throne? He wanted me alive, that much he’d made clear—corpses presumably made poor whores.

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