To the Bazrians’ credit, despite rampant prejudices against the goblin caste amid the upper classes, not one of them treated Marina as someone beneath them—only someone to distrust and monitor for any sign of impending attack. It was the same way they treated me.
Every few minutes my fingers found their way to my neck, caressing the unencumbered skin. My collar was off—my collar was finally fucking off! When Baz had unlocked it, I’d hastened to be the one to remove it. He’d stretched out his hand for it, but instead of passing it over I’d hurled it against the wall as hard as I could. I hadn’t managed to break the shadole-faithum imbued iron, but I did bend it. The collar was now too warped for Baz or anyone else to try to snap it back onto me.
I could now access the entirety of my fae magic—my fierce, incredible, blood-manipulation power that made me the strongest sänglure to ever be part of the D’Arco Dynasty—a fact the remaining Bazrians weren’t one bit pleased with, and the reason for their constant side-eye glances and twitchy weapon hands.
Their apprehension was warranted. I felt more powerful than I perhaps ever had. Was it Baz’s blood still fueling my body, or simply the glory of having what was once caged at long last released? Was it the satisfaction after so much anticipation that made this freedom that much sweeter, that much bigger and more important? Whatever the reason, if any of them came at me, not even the gambling twins Life and Death, known to bet on practically any ridiculous thing to entertain themselves, should take the wager against me. I would take down anyone who came at me or Marina.
Mauldrene also led us to that cozy library where I’d discovered the dragon hide book and the gaping pit that had dumped Baz and me into her intestine-y depths. I had the sense that she wanted me to return the book to the shelf where I’d found it, but since she didn’t make her wishes explicit, I kept it right where it was, chafing my lower back, tucked inside my waistband. While there, Félix helped himself to a few additional titles in languages that, unlike the dragon hide tome, I did recognize but didn’t know how to read. The elf, I learned, was a whole millennium older than the next oldest Bazrian, yet another fact omitted from the history books I’d read on my way across the ocean from Zaraga to Ombrash Island.
What other secrets had the Bazrians hidden from the world at large?
Eventually, Mauldrene herded us to the sitting room where we’d last seen the nobles. The screaming we’d heard from Terencia’s rooms had long since silenced. Behind its closed doors, the room was utterly quiet.
Those same doors that had earlier resisted Baz now swung open for him. His step stuttered when chaos erupted in a frenzied flurry of batting wings inside. His hand clutched mine while dozens of shrieking blats took flight with crackling, snapping wings as they circled upward. The shadows that hung thick from the ceiling soon swallowed their bodies. Then their eyes alone—tiny, beady, and glittering black—glowed an awful, foreboding red—the exact shade as blood. Too many tiny, unblinking, crimson eyes stared down at us from the darkness.
Zi scoffed. “Wow, what a comforting sight. Just what we needed: more reasons to feel all warm and fuzzy in this place. Mauldrene, girl, when, oh when will you stop weirding me the fuck out?”
Mauldrene, of course, didn’t deign to answer. Weirding us the fuck out was, it seemed, one of her favorite things to do.
We’d interrupted the blats mid-feasting. If Mauldrene had allowed us to arrive earlier, we would have likely saved at least some of the aristos. As it was, there was no one left to rescue. The blats had gnawed off the sänglures’ heads and drunk all their blood. I’d never before heard of a blat giving a sänglure their final end, but then I’d never encountered a blat before coming to this castle.
None of the Bazrians had liked the nobles, and Marina and I hadn’t known them. Even so, our collective mood was somber as we exited the room that should have been spattered in blood. The blats—and perhaps also the castle—had consumed every last drop. All that remained were pale corpses, discordantly garish wigs in several vibrant colors, shredded tatters that had once been fancy clothing, and pointed, heeled shoes, none of which were in pairs.
“I’ll deal with them later,” Baz said, pulling the doors closed behind us.
By the time he returned, I guessed there would be only stripped bones left.
The castle was many, many impossible things, including a murderess. I was growing to both fear and admire the cheeky cunt.
The air suddenly crackled with urgency, snapping at us like whips at our backs. For several seconds, I bounced on my feet, ready to meet this new peril. As if a tree in the forest beyond the castle walls were splitting, something cracked—loudly. Tense, the Bazrians looked at each other. Then Mauldrene began driving us forward at a punishing pace. Walls squeezed shut, while shadows snapped at our heels. Floors crumpled the very moment the last of us sprinted across them. The orchestra plucked its strings with a desperate kind of furious speed.
With my heart beating inside my throat, we slid to a stop in front of Baz’s chambers. It was keyed to his energy, and he pulled it open so that it slammed against the wall behind it.
Instantly, I sought out the ghost in the far-flung shadows of his rooms.
Nothing, there was nothing! No one. Dammit, but I’d wanted to come straight here! I opened my mouth to curse out Mauldrene, caution be damned, when Baz jutted a stiff arm toward the darkest corner, behind a large funereal vase.
“There.”
I gasped in stunned relief. The phantom … she was there, exactly where she’d said she’d be. Of course one of the few trustworthy people in this castle had to be dead.
“She’s fading,” Baz said.
I crouched lower, so that I was a single body’s length from the specter whose appearance contradicted my idea of the possible.
“Shit, you’re right.”
I could see right through the ghost as if she were a projection, hardly there at all.
If she was fading … so were my chances at answers.
Chapter 29
I Was to Be Crowned, Not Caged, But Anything and Everything Can Be Broken
“Give us some space,” Baz barked over his shoulder at the Bazrians and Marina before crouching beside me to study the disappearing ghost. Her familiar face and frame were so gaunt that her eyes, dark wells of sorrow, appeared humongous, as if sadness was all she was anymore.
Her mouth moved, unhurriedly now. As before, no sound emerged.