The ghost leaned closer to me, whispering in my ear. “Samael will never love you. When he gets what he needs from you, he will kill you.”
The words echoed around in my mind, and I clutched her hair harder, forcing her head down like I was trying to drown her along with me.
And that was when she simply disappeared again.
All the leaves and muck in my throat disappeared along with her. Gasping, I fell onto my hands and knees, the cold stone biting into my skin. I clutched my throat, sucking in air, one glorious breath after another.
I would never take breathing for granted again. Breathing was glorious. Breathing was life. Air was everything.
But what the fuck was she?
Was she, like Oswald thought, a curse from someone who hated me? That could be anyone. Samael, Sourial. The Free Men, if they knew magic. Any of the Fallen. I was not well-loved these days.
Perhaps she was a punishment of sorts.
I crawled to the bath and turned off the water. It had overflowed completely, but I’d deal with that later. I didn’t want a bath now. Nor did I want to stand and risk seeing my reflection in anything. Reflections were bad.
So instead of standing, I crawled, naked, on my hands and knees across the cold bathroom floor.
This night might be some kind of low point for me. My mind flicked back to Finn and Alice—the reason I was locked up here. Anger simmered, and I thought of what Samael had said about betrayal. Their betrayal had cut me open more deeply than anything.
Shivering, I crawled into bed and slid under the covers, finding the silk was soft and welcoming against my bare skin. Considering how hard I was still shaking, I wasn't sure I'd be able to sleep tonight.
I lay in bed for what seemed like ages, staring at the moonlight pouring in through the window.
I’d been so close to freedom.
I woke to morning light streaming into the room. I’d been clutching the blankets up to my chin like a child. Warm, buttery sunlight spilled over the stacks of books, the banners on the wall, the mirror. In the light of day, it seemed safe and cheery in here. Already, I could smell the coffee and food in the dumbwaiter.
I threw off the covers, still naked, and crossed to the bathroom. I snatched my nightgown off the cold floor and pulled it on.
I shivered. I could still smell the rotten scent of the ghost in here—a dank, musty smell, like rotten marsh water.
I wanted to prove the ghost had been here, though. Something concrete …
I crouched down, my gaze homing in on a strand of long brown hair on the stone floor. I picked it up to inspect it. But with a flicker of disappointment, I realized it was my own.
My stomach rumbled, and I rose to cross back into the bedroom. I slid open the dumbwaiter, delighted to find my breakfast. As soon as I pulled everything off—the silver domed tray, the pot of coffee, the mug—and closed the little wooden door, the dumbwaiter started creaking down again.
I narrowed my eyes at it. That didn’t normally happen until after I’d eaten and put the dishes back.
Sighing, I poured myself a cup of steaming black coffee, and set out the tray on the little wooden table by the window. When I pulled off the dome, I found fresh baked bread, melted chocolate, and strawberries. Already, my mouth was watering, and I sat down to start with the bread and chocolate. But as I ate, the dumbwaiter started creaking again. More breakfast?
With my mouth full, I crossed back to the dumbwaiter and lifted the door. This time, I found a stack of clothes—neatly folded dresses in a few colors—deep green, black, grey. When I pulled them out and unfolded them, I found they were long-sleeved, ankle length, made of thin wool. A stack of neatly folded underwear lay beneath them, and a small wooden box.
Quickly, I changed into one of the dresses. The soft material slid down my body. It felt warm and expensive, a thin cashmere. And thank God I had fresh undies to slip into, so I wouldn’t have to keep up my miserable scrubbing routine.
In fresh clothes, I picked up the box and opened it. Inside, I found an acorn that had been fashioned into a simple string necklace.
I smiled at it. In Albia, acorns were ancient symbols of good luck, meant to ward off evil. A little note lay underneath it, and I unfolded it.
I bit my lip as I tried to decode the words. After a moment, I understood what it said: To ward away evil, and then underneath that, To help you sleep. The handwriting was elegant, almost feminine in its beauty.
Who knew? Maybe the acorn would work.
I tied it around my neck.
I needed it to work.
9
Lila
Just as I was finishing breakfast, a knock sounded on my door. I pulled it open to find Oswald standing next to a tall, beautiful woman with enormous hazel eyes and rich brown skin. She wore an ankle-length, sky blue dress, and an enormous cream lace collar encircled her neck. Her curly hair was pulled back into a bun, showcasing two elegant dangling pearl earrings. Rosy-gold makeup shimmered over her high cheekbones.
“Hi. I’m Lila.”
She fluttered her eyelashes. “Pleased to meet you, Lady Lila. I’m Lady Emma Pradham, though there are many here who call me Seneschal.”
Oswald’s nose crinkled. “No one calls you that.”
She straightened. “Well, they should. It is my most impressive title.”
I frowned. “Sorry, what’s a seneschal?”
“I run this castle,” she said. “The finances, overseeing the servants, and so on.” She narrowed her eyes at my neck. “Beautiful acorn.”
I shot Oswald a smile. “Thanks. It’s for good luck.”
She turned into the hallway. “Well, you will certainly need that these days. Evil is everywhere. Come on.” She nodded down the hall. “We’ll show you around.”
I followed them into the hall, toying with the acorn at my neck. Rays of sunlight slanted through the mullioned, peaked windows. So much nicer here during the day.
As we strolled from one room to another, I took in the beauty of the ancient castle. It was a much simpler layout than Castle Hades. In fact, it was basically four wings arranged in a square around a central courtyard. From each of the corners, a tower rose high, piercing the sky,
Oswald and Emma took me past the enormous kitchen, with wide ovens that must have been a thousand years old, and I met the people who’d been putting together my food. Many of the rooms were derelict, the furniture covered in sheets. Cloths covered the paintings. The place had a sense of faded grandeur, its glory lost to time, and a cloud of sadness seemed to pervade the air. We swept through a library—two floors of books, with arched ceilings painted blue and gold.
Despite the beauty all around me, my mind kept sliding back to everything that had happened last night—the hot encounter with Samael, the painful magic, the spectral attack. For some reason, I desperately wanted Samael to believe me about the ghost, but I understood why he wouldn’t. That stupid lie I’d told in Castle Hades.
From the upper floors, I looked out through the old windows, warped with age. The thorny, untamed garden spread out over the courtyard, no longer cared for. I wanted to see it alive again. For just the briefest of moments, I thought I saw something shifting in it—the glimmer of green buds sprouting, coming to life before my eyes in the dead of winter.