“Anything else you require?” I shake my head. The corner of his lip turns up. “A hairbrush?”I nod, dipping my head to the floor. “Okay,” he sighs, shutting the door behind him, and I blow out a breath in relief.
Finally, alone for the first time in days. I clasp the lock on the door, and the weight of everything sinks me to the floor.
I have to live here now with him. A witch, as horrible as the stories I’ve grown up with. Seeing it in person is even worse than I could imagine. I will never see Syra and Dorine ever again. This is my new reality. I swallow down the lump in my throat and fiddle with the golden spigot until I find the right temperature, marveling at the magic as I strip off my clothes and sink into the tub.
After twenty-three years of handmaidens', I find the privacy of washing myself highly preferable. My eyes flicker to the locked door. Can he unlock it with his magic? Likely. Will he? I have no idea. His behavior is capricious, sometimes cordial, sometimes haughty, and sometimes murdering children as if it’s a normal event. I hurry through the rest of my washing, quickly rebind my breasts, and toss my slip back on before carefully sliding the door open a crack to see his bedroom door safely shut.
As promised, a dress hangs on the outer knob and I slide it over my head. It’s plain black and at least three sizes too large. Meant to fall over my knee with a tighter fit—on me, it falls to my mid-calf, almost as billowy as the white gown I’m used to donning. Eternally grateful it has pockets, I carefully slide the locket down inside one of them.
I scrutinize the bathroom once more, creeping over to peek behind the black fabric covering the wall to find there is, in fact, a mirror underneath. No idea if it’s covered for good reason or not, I let the fabric fall back in place.
There’s a hairbrush on the floor outside the bathroom, and I draw it through my tangled hair as I quietly inspect his bedroom, my eyes veering toward the map on the wall again.
I can’t stay here with him. I thought I could stomach it. I’d made the decision to sacrifice myself for Syra, yet now that I’ve seen what they’re capable of with my own eyes, my survival instincts have kicked into high gear.
I’ll put Syra at risk if I ruin our alliance. However, as long as she remains behind the Wall she’ll be safe.
I can’t go back to Eden. But there has to be more people out there somewhere, right? Not witches. Noughts, as they call us. Somewhere, I can start a new life. A normal life, not as one of the Shrouded. Where am I supposed to get this information? It’s not like I can simply ask him, and there are no servants to pester. I can only hope opportunity will find me before I discover what exactly it is they intend to do with me.
As much as I prefer to hide away in his bedroom, I don’t foresee that boding well, so I heave a deep breath and open the door. He’s propped up on the small, tufted couch, legs hanging over the armrest with his face resting against his palm. Swiping a hand over his face, he straightens himself with a groan.
He takes one look at me and coughs. “That’s worse than I anticipated.”
I look down at the much too-large dress and purse my lips. He curls his fingers in toward his palm, waving his hand in my direction, and my heart skips a beat as heat ruffles against my hair like a warm breeze. I lift one of the white strands to find it completely dry. He dried my hair?
“I brought you dinner,” he says, pointing to two plates filled to the brim with far more than I’m capable of eating in three days' time. “Wasn’t sure what you liked.”
Questions upon questions bubble up in my throat. What is he going to do with me? Why did he kill those children? I force them down with a swallow, dip my head, and await further instruction. The next time I peek up, he’s frowning at me.
“I’m going to go to bed,” he says as he tugs himself to his feet. “This is how you turn the lights on and off.” He gestures to a knob on the wall. I hurriedly shift away as he aims toward the bedroom. He comes back with a blanket and places it on the sofa. Not intending for me to sleep in his bed then. Good. I slowly settle on the couch, and he frowns at me. “Let me know if there’s anything you require.”
As soon as he disappears into his bedroom, I jump off the couch, listening to his retreating footsteps before bounding toward the knife on the table. Can’t believe he’s been stupid enough to leave this out for me to get my hands on. I stuff it in between the cushions of the sofa for safekeeping.
Examining the contents of my plate, much of which is unfamiliar to me, I pluck the rolls and search the room for a good stash spot. Spying a bronze vase on one of his many shelves, I tug it off and stuff them into it.
Pausing to listen to any sounds emanating from his bedroom again, I creep over to the door and quietly twist the knob. It remains locked tight.
When I hear the unmistakable sound of his bedroom door opening, I whirl around, heart leaping.
He raises his large brows, amusement flickering in his eyes. “It’s locked with magic, so you won’t be able to open it. Nor should you want to if your life is of any value to you.”
My heart sinks at the thinly veiled threat. His eyes roam the room, pausing at the table, and my heart thumps furiously.
He only huffs a breath, lip curling slightly. “You’ll have more luck with this one,” he says, pointing to a door on the opposite wall. “But I’m afraid it won’t get you very far. I came to tell you I’m leaving this door unlocked in case you need to use the—“ He breaks off, pointing toward the bathing room. When I don’t oblige him with a response, he shakes his head and shuts the door.
I step over to the opposite door and open it to regard a small stone balcony. I watch the bustling kingdom below for a few minutes before retreating back inside.
As much as I want to inspect the space further, I’m too paranoid he’ll come barging back in, so I sink back down to the couch, pulling the blanket up over me. Surely, he isn’t intending to keep me locked up in here? I pick at the food familiar to me and leave the rest of it untouched.
My body is still on high alert, the haunted images of how he’d mutilated those children, the sounds of their wails replaying over and over again in my mind. I have to get out of here but I need to be smart about it if I’m to have any chance at all.
On the far wall hangs a painting of that same horned devil. I can feel his eyes leering at me from across the room and I get up to flip the painting on its hook. My mind churns. I don’t fall asleep until the wee hours of the morning, only to be awoken a short while later by the sounds of him shuffling out of his room. I immediately jolt up.
“Nought,” he acknowledges with a nod of his head. He’s already dressed for the day: the same long black cloak, black pants cuffed above his boots, and the shadows around his eyes only slightly faded.
I scoot myself back into the arm of the sofa. He’s leaving. Glee fills my chest, ready to explore the castle and the contents of this room as soon as he’s gone. Determine my best route of escape.
He makes his way to the door, weaving patterns in the air with his hands. This awful high-pitched splintering sound has me jolting once more. I lean forward to investigate and find he’s hacked off a few inches from the bottom of the door. He picks up the piece of wood and settles it on the table. “I will arrange for the kitchens to bring your meals directly here.”
