Total pages in book: 129
Estimated words: 120029 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 600(@200wpm)___ 480(@250wpm)___ 400(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 120029 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 600(@200wpm)___ 480(@250wpm)___ 400(@300wpm)
All those fantasies I had about chivalrous knights? Now they’re stained with the reality of what I’ve been through.
When a figure in a thick hooded coat and leather pants emerges out of the darkness with a green torch, I flinch so abruptly Tristan has to catch me.
“It’s okay, that’s just Kurt,” he says soothingly. And what kind of elf name is ‘Kurt’ anyway? Tristan then turns to the man. “I assumed you’d be asleep, but since you’re not…”
Kurt snorts. “You did wake me up, but it’s okay, I’ll take care of Stone.” He grabs the kelpie’s head between two gloved hands and coos something in a hushed voice.
Tristan covers me with his cloak, and we walk off. I stall and look back at Kurt. He has to be a stableboy, but then I replay the ‘okay’ in my head, and—
“Is he human? You only told me about Dark Companions at court.”
“Ah, yes, but that’s just Kurt.”
I don’t have energy left to question that. We follow a path paved with an exquisite mosaic depicting giant sea monsters attacking ships. I wish I had my glasses, so I could appreciate the work of art under my feet more completely, but the green lantern in Tristan’s hand only reveals so much anyway. I can now see the outline of the castle. It’s too dark to spot any details, but it’s made up of a multitude of towers so tall they appear to claw at the sky.
When two men in identical uniforms approach us with lanterns, I sink into Tristan, but he acknowledges them with a nod and walks me farther down the path. Despite the pain meds, limping becomes too hard, and I have to eventually admit that to Tristan. His arm is broken, yet he makes no complaints about carrying me.
A bright glow looms ahead, and my heart stops when a huge carriage with fine detailing reminiscent of embroidery stops within its boundary. A woman emerges onto a set of stairs prepared for her, and I stall, because this fine lady will want to know who I am. She will have questions and laugh at my shadow—
But instead of walking on ahead, Tristan takes me down a flight of steps, into a snow-covered garden. Evergreens peek out from the darkness as we pass, trimmed neatly yet still reaching for me with their fingers. Before I can grow uncertain again, there’s a small door, and Tristan carries me out of the cold.
The hallway we’re in appears informal, with simple pictures hung on dark red walls, and I’m glad to see it empty, but soon the only way we can go is up. The spiral staircase is narrow, choking, and anxiety rises inside me like a cold wave. I close my eyes. This way, all I can sense is the warmth of Tristan’s body, and the soft scent clinging to him even after the long journey. Holding on to his shoulders feels like floating inside a boat, so it comes as a shock when he stops, easing me back to the floor.
But I don’t want to need him and step back as soon as I realize we’ve reached the top of the stairs. The moment we step through the passage, I know we’ve entered a hallway meant for nobles. It stretches to either side of us, ornamental columns and arches forming the ribs of its cavernous length. The green lanterns hang densely enough to reveal chandeliers of black crystal and tapestries depicting grand battles against a giant sea monster that seems to be made out of… bodies? I have to look away from the arms and legs sticking out of it, because I have no stomach for gore. I’m immediately reminded of Gloombane’s bloodied face without eyes and the knife I held above him.
I look up at the vaulted ceiling instead, where I spot the twisted faces of gargoyles carved in reddish wood. Their silhouettes emerge from the shadows above, brought to life by the shimmer of green flames. Their gemstone eyes follow our footsteps.
This is no Rivendell. This is Dracula’s castle in all its gothic opulence.
We pass two more entryways, one with a sleepy guard who rings what looks like a bell but makes no sound. The second guard we reach is much more alert. He’s not too happy about Tristan’s visit, but since he’s dealing with a prince, he wastes no time letting us pass and tells us to wait in the Lord’s drawing room.
Somewhere distant, a door closes with a muted thud, but when I stiffen, instinctively wanting to flee, Tristan squeezes my arm with a soft shush.
“We’re almost there,” he says, guiding me toward an open doorway. It’s so very dark on the other side, like the dungeon was whenever Gloombane left me on my own, dripping blood to agitate the meatworms he threatened to feed me to once I’d outlived my usefulness to him.