Chapter 34

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

MAEVYTH

“ I diot.” Still sat on the bed, I held my face in my palms, chiding myself for the ridiculous outburst from earlier. While I had been known to spout off at the mouth on occasion, I’d never lost my temper quite so abruptly as I had with Zevander. What a complete fool. If there was an inkling of hope that he might’ve returned me to Aleysia, my little tantrum had certainly crushed any chance of it.

The weight of everything had pressed down on me, and in that moment, I’d crumbled. Of course, his comment certainly hadn’t helped.

Freedom seemed twice as far as before.

At a clanking sound, I looked up to find Rykaia at the door of my cell, holding up a key. I hadn’t even heard her approach. “You’re letting me go?”

“Not exactly.” She opened the cell door on a click and waved me out.

Frowning, I pushed to my feet, padding toward her with cautious steps. “What’s going on?”

“A bath. A bath is what’s going on.”

As guilt-ridden as I may have felt accepting food and comfort while tormented by thoughts of my sister, a bath sounded heavenly right then. I followed after her, down a dark corridor and up a stone stairwell that spat us out into yet another corridor, and on into a massive room with ornate stone floors and tapestries that hung from stone walls. A staircase, illuminated by the warm flicker of sconces, led to an upper level.

I’d never been inside a castle before.

In Vonkovya, King Alaric served as the monarch, but was nothing more than a face of tradition. Most of the country was ruled by the Lord of Parliament and his Vonkovyan Army in the capital. A place I’d never visited but had heard was opulent and brimming with modern amenities not found in the rural parts, where I’d lived my whole life. As we made our way through what appeared to be a grand foyer, I caught sight of the towering entry doors to the right of me, not remembering a single moment of having been brought through them when I’d first arrived.

Rykaia led me up the staircase and down another hallway, to a room with a heavy wooden door and black, iron hinges. The moment she pushed it open, a familiar masculine scent hit me, and I glanced around a vast room with beautiful stone archways and gorgeous stained glass. Multiple candelabras flickered from the mantle over a stone hearth, the cozy warmth of which sent a shiver across my bones. Across from it was a black, velvet settee cluttered with books. The biggest, most elaborate bed I’d ever seen stood within an alcove of bowed lancet windows that reached the ceiling, offering a gorgeous view of a vast darkness beyond, where faint white spires in the distance hinted at mountains.

I ran my hand over the ebony wood and black silk sheets, so soft they felt like warm liquid beneath my fingertips. Paintings of ghostly, white animals in dark woods hung about the room. Black armor and leather lay draped over a metal contraption at the foot of the bed, and I frowned, recognizing the garments.

“The bed was a gift from King Sagaerin. All those years of forcing my brother to sleep on a stone floor must’ve left him with a sour conscience,” Rykaia said from behind.

“You brought me to his bedroom …” I retracted my hand, suddenly aware that I was touching the very place where Zevander slept. A prickling suspicion coiled around my thoughts. “Why would you bring me to his bedroom?”

“Because his bathing room is the best in the castle. And, I say, our guests deserve the best.” Smiling, she turned toward a set of double doors twice my height and pushed them open into another dome-ceilinged room with towering stony lancet windows that looked out on the same gorgeous view as the bedroom. An image of ethereal beings adorned the ceiling, like angels, with strange silver markings on their skin that glowed against the backdrop of two bright moons and stars. The enthrallment must’ve been clear on my face, as Rykaia smiled and looked upward.

“The Lunadei. Moon gods.” She knelt beside a stone structure that was as big as my room back in Vonkovya and filled with crystal water, and ran her hand through the surface. “The temperature is perfect.”

I glanced over my shoulder and back. “What if he returns?”

“My brother spends the hours away in his meeting chamber, drinking his liquor and reading.”

“He reads?” I did a poor job of hiding the surprise from my voice.

“Nothing thrilling, believe me. Mostly scrolls on history and glyphs. I’m certain he’s read everything in Eidolon’s library, yet he is forever enraptured in some arcane codex.”

I found that to be an interesting contradiction to the man who’d come off as such a brute.

“So, I will grab a warm towel and some nightclothes. There’s a sponge on the edge of the bath with some sickleberry soap and jasmine oil.” She pointed to where she’d already set out the items for me.

“Why are you doing this?” I mentally chided myself for asking the question. For the unfounded discomfort I felt having someone pamper me that way. Possibly because, aside from my sister, no one had ever gone out of their way to do things for me.

“Why would you ask that?”

I lowered my gaze. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

As if sensing my sudden unease, she clasped her hands together and crossed the room toward a cupboard, grabbing a towel from a folded stack in there. “This place … it can be so heavy at times. It’s nice to have something to care about.”

“I appreciate your kind hospitality.”

“Right, so, I’ll leave you to it.”

“Thank you, Rykaia.”

She turned toward the door, but swung back around. “Why are you here?”

Dumbstruck by her question, I pondered it for a moment.

“What drove you beyond the Umbravale?” she clarified.

“I told you, my sister and I were chased through the woods.”

Crossing her arms, she shifted on her feet. “And, so, if you were to go back, if you found your sister, would you stay in your world?”

It was a good question. Would I? What was there for me? Certainly no family, nor home, nor the village I’d grown up in. None of them wanted me.

“I don’t know. In my world, I was considered cursed. An outsider.”

“Did your family curse you?”

“The villagers. I was found by the woods as a baby. The governor thought it was an act of mercy, but the villagers thought me an aberration. And then, of course, there was the accident.” I lowered my gaze to my fidgeting hands.

“What accident?” she asked.

While it was a stain on my conscience, even after all these years, I hadn’t decided how much I should’ve shouldered the blame for it.

Remorse bit into my words with jagged teeth, as I relived that day, telling her the story of how Lilleven and her brother had taunted me, picking at my clothes and calling me Lorn. I didn’t know why I bothered to detail it all. Maybe because I’d listened to everyone else’s versions of the story my whole life, and it felt good to put the truth out into the universe. Or maybe I needed to remind myself of the truth. Either way, I kept on, “She told me she longed to see me burn at the stake, so in retaliation, I told her I longed to see her trampled by horses.” Even then, I still winced at the harsh words I’d spoken. Didn’t matter that she’d threatened me, too. What had bothered me most was that I’d let her words crawl beneath my skin. “As she was crossing the road, a carriage barreled into her. I should’ve been burned, or banished for her death, but I suppose the village saw fit to punish me in other ways.”

“I find it interesting that any time a girl is unusual, or dare I say, unique, she’s deemed evil, or cursed.” From the ledge beside the basin, she lifted one of the bottles there, uncorking it for a sniff. “I’ve also learned to survive on the mere crumbs of social graces. Like you, I’ve grown thin and weary from it,” Rykaia said with an unexpected doleful expression, setting the bottle back down. “I’m sorry, Maevyth. I’m sorry they treated you so horribly. But I’m not sorry she’s dead.” With that, she left the room, closing the door behind her, and for a moment, I pondered her cold words. How easily she’d spoken them.

Distracting myself, I glanced around again, marveling at the gorgeous detail in the glass above me, the frescoes painted on the outside of the windows and down the walls, the absolute luxury that I had never known myself. Grandfather’s winery had allowed us to live comfortably, but never royally.

The door flew open, and I startled, nearly tumbling backward into the water. Rykaia strode in, carrying a white garment. “I nearly forgot your nightclothes.” She slipped past me and plopped it down with the towel.

I only managed a quick, “Thanks,” before she slipped out of the room again, closing the door behind her.

Pausing for another potential interruption, I stared at the door a moment, then undressed quickly, discarding my black dress and choker alongside the stone basin. The wavering light from the candles offered a small bit of illumination, as I carefully stepped down into the warm water that gathered around my legs like a hearth-heated blanket. A stone ledge beneath the water served as a place to sit, and I closed my eyes as I breathed in the steam rising from the surface. How the water remained warm was a mystery I didn’t have the energy, or care, to untangle. But I was grateful for that magnificent heat that soothed the ache in my muscles.

Candles flickered around me, the water dark and depthless as I peered down at my submerged hands. Aleysia would’ve hated bathing with candles. My sister had always feared the dark, but I was the opposite. I’d always found the light far too scrutinizing.

On a long exhale, I rested my head against the edge of the basin and closed my eyes for a moment. In the quiet of my mind, I saw my sister–cold, bruised and beaten.

The pressure in my sinuses had me sitting upright, and I pulled my knees into my chest. For the first time since having separated from her, I finally broke. Every horrible thing from that night sank its teeth into my conscience and tore away at my heart. I wanted to reach into the void and pull my sister from whatever misery she suffered, to divide the burden so that she might have a moment to breathe. While we may not have been blood, I loved her as a second half of myself. A twin.

My mind tormented me with the fateful moment when I’d jumped through that archway. A hasty act of stupidity. “I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I should not have left you, my sweet sister.”

I cried for what seemed like an eternity in the span of mere minutes. All the agony and pain poured out of me in hot tears that fell into the water like poison rain. I let the misery I’d tucked away ravage me, pulling me into the depths of possibilities I didn’t want to imagine, the worst being her death. Until I had no more tears. Nothing left in me.

I stared out at the mountains in the distance, where the moon appeared as a downturned crescent. I’d never seen such a thing. Most of the second moon remained off to the side, out of the window’s view. I wondered if the two ever crossed, what it’d look like.

The distraction dulled the pain and guilt that my head refused to relinquish.

A voice inside my mind told me that every decision Aleysia had made, had been her own, and that I was not responsible for what might have happened to her. That voice carried the distinct tone of Zevander, mirroring what he’d said to me earlier about refusing to eat. While I loathed my irascible captor, in spite of his grumpy demeanor, he’d spoken some measure of truth.

I lifted my head from my knees and glanced around at this sacred space that belonged to him. A space that I had invaded with my anguish and tears.

From the ledge beside me, I grabbed the bar of soap and sniffed it, greeted by the mouthwatering aroma of warm vanilla, and a spicy berry with a hint of cinnamon.An intricately embellished brass flask that reminded me of an anointing bottle sat off to the side of the soaps Rykaia had provided, and I lifted it and unclasped the small chain connected to the cork top. A delicious scent emanated from the bottle—one I knew distinctly. The woodsy, amber scent that roused my senses.

Foregoing the berry soap,I lathered the other onto the sponge and washed myself of the grime and dirt I’d collected over the last few days.

Once coated in the musky-smelling soap, I stepped off from the ledge where I sat, surprised to find the bottom was much deeper than it appeared, as the water rose up to my neck. I dunked my head below the surface, the vastness of the bath reminding me of the times Aleysia and I would bathe in the river, though the river water was nowhere near as warm and comforting.

After washing my hair and rinsing away the soap, I treaded back toward the edge of the basin and grabbed the towel that Rykaia had set out for me.

The door swung open again, and I scrambled to wrap the towel around my body, covering as much of myself as I could.

I expected to chide Rykaia for her rudeness.

Instead, I found a tall, brawny figure standing in the doorway, his body completely filling the frame of it. One hand covered the lower part of his face, the other clenched at his side.

“What are you doing in here?” he asked, his voice gruff and deep, its rough timber strumming my heart into a flutter, as I stood naked beneath the towel.

“Rykaia … she …. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to invade your space.”

“Rykaia …” he grumbled, his fist tighter than before. Still, he held his hand over his jaw, as if to hide his face, and I realized he was as flustered as I was right then.

Strange. Based on what little I knew of him at that point, he didn’t seem capable of being caught off guard. In fact, on the ride to the castle, I recalled having been impressed by how very aware and vigilant he’d been of his surroundings. Like a hunter.

Yet, there he stood, refusing to look at me.

“I’ll leave.” I gathered up the clothes Rykaia had offered me, only then noticing what I thought to be a white shift was actually a man’s tunic.

He seemed to take notice, as well, frowning down at the garment dangling from my fingertips that matched the half-tied tunic he wore tucked into his black, leather trousers. A sight I would’ve stolen a moment to appreciate, had I not felt like what little I’d eaten was about to make an appearance on the floor right then.

“I’ll wear what I arrived–”

“No,” he said abruptly. “I’ll see to it that your dress is properly washed and returned to you.”

“I don’t want to impose.”

“No imposition.” His clipped and grumpy responses hinted at irritation, though.

Why he refused to lower his hand from his face had me searching for the source of his apparent insecurity, but I could hardly see anything in the dim light of the room.

A strange detail caught my attention, though. The scorpion that’d burrowed into his palm suddenly wasn’t there, but instead, appeared at his forearm just below his rolled-up sleeve. To be sure, I glanced down to the back of his other hand, which bore no scorpion tattoo there, either. Had it moved?

“You used my soap.” The comment yanked me from my thoughts to see his gaze shifted, presumably to the unused bar that Rykaia had supplied, and back to me.

“My apologies if that wasn’t okay. The berry soap is lovely, but I ... I just happen to like that particular scent.” The lack of response that followed left me thinking he was annoyed that I’d dipped into his personal things. “I’m sorry for earlier, too.I lost my temper, and I didn’t mean to …. I sometimes act before thinking.”

Again, he didn’t say anything in return, only peered back at me over the top of his hand, his eyes a turbulent mix of scrutiny and curiosity. Unless I was misled by the fickle lighting, they seemed more golden, less angry. The more he stared at me, the more aware I became of my body’s reaction–the twitch in my inner thighs and the soft tickle in my belly. My pulse trembled, waiting for him to say, or do, something. A maddening silence hovered between us, the tension so thick, it swallowed the air.

“I’d like to get dressed, if that’s all right,” I finally said.

His eyes sharpened when he seemed to snap out of his silent musing. He turned as if to leave, but paused and kicked his head to the side, revealing a profile as handsome as I’d have imagined. Angular and chiseled jawline, with a day’s worth of stubble, the intense slope of his brows, and an elegantly shaped nose, all of which, gave him a commanding appearance. The lethal features of a man who could have any woman he wanted. “I did not mean to put my hand to your throat,” he said, the calm in his voice catching me off guard.

Leaving me as the one not knowing what to say, while I stood fumbling for thought. The pause stretched longer, stoking the awkward exchange between us. Say something. In the absolute absence of thought, I found myself staring at his broad shoulders, my mind wandering to what he must’ve looked like without his shirt. “You have a nice back.” The words tumbled haphazardly from my lips, and I slapped my hand to my mouth far too late to contain them.

I turned away, covering my eyes and the humiliating blush that crawled over my face. “Bath. I meant you have a nice bath.”

Before he wordlessly strode from the room, closing the door behind him, I caught a distinct dimple in his cheek.

“You insufferable fool.” I hid my face behind my hands, the mortification unrelenting as it pounded through my head. What was it about the man that turned me into a blundering idiot?

I dressed quickly, hating that I didn’t have a clean cammyk to wear underneath. Staring down at my cloth bodysuit that typically covered all of my private parts, I pondered wearing it unlaundered, then remembered I’d pissed myself back at the woods.

God. It felt so unnatural walking around without it. Aleysia had always refused to wear one, calling them restrictive torture devices. While my breasts felt heavy and exposed without the support, it was certainly a relief to be able to breathe easier than before.

Piled atop the bodysuit sat the cross choker, and while I was inclined to simply toss the cursed thing, I somehow felt naked without it. All my life I’d been forced to wear it, but here, it didn’t feel so much as a punishment anymore. In spite of its negative implications, it felt like a link to home. To my sister. Sighing, I clipped it back on.

When I exited the bathing room, I found Zevander standing alongside the alcove of windows, his face covered by the mask he always wore. It didn’t make sense, given that mesmerizing profile I’d seen moments ago. His gaze trailed over me, and whatever thoughts passed through his mind had his hands balled into tight fists again. Anger? Disgust? I couldn’t tell with that damned mask covering half his face.

Every inch of my body tingled, the awareness of my naked form beneath the shirt only a mild distraction from how utterly attractive he looked in his casual clothes. The way his chest muscles peeked through the open neckline of his tunic and the fabric bunched around his bulging biceps. His midnight-toned hair stood tousled about his face in lazy wisps that refused to flatten. I’d never stood before a man so virile, so wildly masculine, in my life. There was something dangerously seductive about him, leaving me feeling too warm beneath the tunic. A deadly allure, fitting for the kind of man who could whisper honeyed words in your ear as he ran a blade through your heart.

“I’ll escort you to your room,” he said, but as he took a step in my direction, I shook my head.

“No, it’s all right. I can return on my own.” The last thing I wanted was to walk all the way to the dungeon alongside him, flustered like some silly little girl.

“You can’t return to the dungeon dressed like that. You’ll take one of the rooms on the upper floor. The door will be locked, of course.”

“For my privacy? Or because I’m your prisoner?”

Something flickered in his eyes, and I dared to think he would’ve loved to call me as such. “I don’t house prisoners, Lunamiszka .” The unspoken implication in his voice told me what he didn’t bother to say. He killed them. “Would you prefer to sleep in the dungeon?”

“I prefer to be entrusted with my freedom, no matter where I sleep. As I understand, there are fyredrakes on the premises that you’d happily toss me to. So, how could I possibly escape?”

“As relentless as you are, I’m sure you’d find a way.”

“I hardly know you, but I’m certain you’d do the same in my position. And what in seven hells is Lunamiszka ?”

He snorted. “A language you apparently don’t speak, for once.”

For once? “I’m speaking as I’ve spoken my entire life, which means we must share the same language.”

“And what do you call your language?”

“Vonkovyan.”

“I am familiar with Vonkovyan. It is one of our many dead languages.” He crossed his arms, drawing my eyes to the deep groove in his chest visible through the laces of his tunic. “You are not speaking Vonkovyan. You are speaking perfect Nyxterosi. How? Answer that question, and I’d be more inclined to let you roam free.”

A dead language? “That doesn’t make any sense. I’ve never learned a language outside of Vonkovyan.” Not even Lyverian.

“Then, your door will remain locked.” Clearly, he thought I was something far more interesting. Like a spy—or worse, a threat. It was almost laughable, so unimaginably far from reality.

“You never answered my question. What does Lunamiszka mean?”

He leaned back against the stony wall behind him, his stance more relaxed. Casual. Devastating, how brutal and aristocratic he could look at the same time. “It means you’re persistently frustrating and you ask too many questions.”

“All that in a single word?”

“We like brevity. And silence.”

“Are you speaking for all of your personalities?”

The way his mask moved, I could tell he was grinding his jaw.

“If I’m going to be locked away all day, I’d prefer to have company, at least. I’ll remain in the dungeons with Dolion.” I wanted to ask the elder man more about glyphs and the symbol he’d examined on my hand. At least he seemed willing to entertain my questions. I couldn’t stand the thought of being locked in a room by myself all day long. Even if the view was beautiful, the thought of being alone for hours on end terrified me.

“Then, you will be escorted without argument.”

“Fine.”

He strode toward me, setting my nerves ablaze as he came to a stop not quite a foot from where I stood, his height and size apparent when I stared at the middle of his broad and muscled chest. His body reminded me of the solid oak in front of the cottage back at Foxglove, and the way it shaded the entire yard when the sun was high.

A flick of his fingers dragged my attention to his rough and scarred hand outstretched toward me. Markings on his skin held the faint outline of strange shapes, and I wondered if they were the glyphs. “I’ll pass your clothes off to Magdah for laundering.”

I clutched them tighter, remembering my undergarments were buried in the pile. “Magdah?”

“Yes. She makes the food that you enjoy flinging,” he said, his voice sharp with sarcasm.

Clearing my throat, I balled the pile tighter, ensuring my dirty undergarments were tucked deep into the mound, and handed them off.

He jerked his head for me to follow after him, and as we exited his room for the corridor, I tried not to study the way his broad shoulders tapered down to a narrow waist and muscled backside that moved in perfect cadence as he walked. I’d never paid much attention to a man’s haunches before, but for reasons that frustrated me, I couldn’t stop myself. It seemed every inch of him had been carved by God–even his damned ass. He possessed an effortless sensuality about him that Aleysia would’ve surely fawned over. The thought left me wondering what my wily sister would’ve done, had she found herself in my position.

Undoubtedly, she’d have seduced him, and not necessarily for her freedom.

I’d seen her do it a few times in the village, with the Vonkovyan guards who enjoyed random interrogations of young girls. It came natural to her, with her golden hair and bright eyes that she made a point to bat with her flirtations. Without a doubt, Zevander would’ve had her loins stirring like a tempest.

He glanced over his shoulder, and I jerked my head up so fast, I nearly toppled backward. “Perhaps you should walk alongside me, unless you insist on staring at my ass the whole way.”

A scorching heat warmed my cheeks, cooled only by the icy anger of having been humiliated. “Perhaps you shouldn’t walk like you’ve got two snapping turtles attached to your ass .”

I winced at the slippery insult.

Another glance showed a slight squint of his eyes, and I wondered if he’d smiled, or sneered beneath that mask. Not likely a smile. I doubted the man’s lips ever stretched beyond a snarl. Yet, his voice held a small bit of amusement when he asked, “What are the odds that I’d stumble upon someone brassier than my own sister.”

I wasn’t usually, that was the oddity of it. Something about him brought out a side of me I mostly kept subdued, for fear of the consequences. I’d always had a sharp tongue, but men, in particular, had always found a way of silencing it, either by a slap to the face, or flogging.

As imposing and threatening as Zevander was, I didn’t feel the same fear in his presence. If anything, I felt emboldened. While he was doubtlessly capable of it, he didn’t strike me as a man who enjoyed unnecessary violence.

Past the Great Hall, and down another corridor, he led me to a kitchen twice the size of the one I’d seen at Mr. Moros’s manor. Candelabras hung from high, vaulted ceilings with thick wooden trusses that buttressed the walls. Lancet windows, with beautifully carved iron grilles, made up the far wall, and black wooden counters and larders stood laden with age and wear.

A figure manned an elaborately carved, iron stove, stirring a steaming pot. A brown, linen dress with a hood hid their face and hugged the curves of a plump body. At our approach, they turned, revealing an older woman with gray hair. Two black horns stood out from the top of her head and curled back inside the hood.

I turned away to keep from staring at them.

“Magdah, I have some garments that need laundering.”

“Yes, My Lord, of course.” Her accent held a pronounced rhoticity, as she reached for them with long, bony fingers, two of which were missing.

Again, I watched to make sure my dirty undergarments didn’t make an unwelcomed exit onto the floor.

While she offered a bright smile for Zevander, it quickly faded when she set her eyes upon me.

“Thank you for the pottage,” I said, the guilt of having wasted it gnawing at me.

“Oh, the two bites you managed to eat before casting it across the room?” As much as the humiliation of what she’d said snaked beneath my skin, I found myself fascinated, almost lured by her accent. The way two sounded like chew , and the roll of her tongue when she’d said room . “Thank you, dear. I’m thrilled to have obliged your temper.”

Zevander leaned into me. “Magdah sees everything in this house.”

I swallowed a gulp, the urge to crawl into myself and scream beating at my ribs. The awareness of being naked and wearing his tunic only made it worse. “It was impulsive. My apologies.”

She made a sound of disapproval and turned back to her pot, giving it another stir. “I’ll get to the stinkin’ clothes after I finish this stew.”

Clearly, she didn’t like me.

After an uncomfortable moment longer, one I was certain Zevander reveled in, he led me out of the kitchen and back to the corridor. Down the staircase, I followed him. While I’d grown used to being loathed by most, for some reason, it bothered me that Magdah didn’t care for me.

“I suppose that was on purpose,” I said, ignoring the way the air rushed between my thighs as we walked briskly along. “I’ll have you know, it was your comment which inspired my reaction.”

“Comment?”

“Seeing me on my knees.” The reminder of it still needled me.

“That bothered you.”

“I imagine it’d bother most women. It implies …”

“Yes?” he asked, and I wanted to swat the amusement from his voice.

“It implies dominance over me. Which you do not possess.”

He snorted and kept on down the corridor. “Yet, you follow after me to your cell. Wearing my tunic.”

“I chose this cell, did I not? And as for your tunic, I’d have sooner slept in a potato sack, had I been given the choice.”

“You’re welcome to remove it, if you’d like.”

His comment slapped me silly, sending a twitch to my cold thighs, and I cleared my throat. “My point is, I will never fall to my knees for you, or any man, in case that was your expectation.”

“Never said it was.” He gave a quick glance over his shoulder. “I simply said I’d like to see it.”

“Well, I’m sorry to disappoint.” Movement flickered out of the corner of my eye, and I turned to see a shadowy figure disappear into the stone, as if it’d been sucked inside. Halting my steps seemed to catch Zevander’s attention, as he turned around.

“I saw something just now. A shadow slipping into the wall.”

“Deimosi,” he said, unconcerned, and kept on.

I stared a moment longer, and at no further movement, I shuffled after him to catch up. “What are they?”

“Fears left behind from those who’ve died. There’s no place for them in Nethyria.”

“Nethyria?”

“Death. When someone passes, their fears have nowhere to go. They embed themselves.”

Swallowing hard, I glanced back to see the shadows zipping in and out of the stones after us. “Do they … embed themselves in other beings?”

“Only if invited. I suggest you don’t invite them. Some fears are paralyzing.”

The way they moved so fluidly reminded me of snakes, the sight of them setting my nerves on edge. “How do you invite them?”

“By staring too long.”

I snapped my attention forward, refusing to entertain the niggling urge to look again. “They just stay around forever?”

“Not as a general rule, no. They seem content to stay in this castle, though.”

Once we reached the dungeons, Zevander swiped up the key and opened the door to my cage. “You’re certain you’d prefer to sleep down here?”

“As opposed to what? Pacing an empty room with only shadows to keep me company? Yes. If I’m going to be a prisoner, might as well sleep in the dungeons.”

He groaned, stepping aside so I could enter the small cell. “Enjoy, then.” The moment I entered, he closed the door behind me.

“Don’t you feel just a small bit of guilt locking me in?”

“No.” The obnoxious turn of the key emphasized his point.

“Your heart must be the smallest organ you possess.”

“And your mouth must be the largest.”

Oooh , what I wouldn’t have given to smack him across the face!

He hung the key onto the hook across from me. The way he lingered for a moment, staring back at me, left me feeling the need to climb beneath the blankets. I’d never met a man whose stare was more unreadable. In fairness, I’d also never met a man who wore a mask more hours of the day than not.

Without another word, he strode off, back up the staircase.

With a huff, I placed my hands on my hips, looking around the cramped place that I’d chosen to return to. “You’re a fool.”