The room was completely dark, the walls and bits of furniture edged only in the waning moonlight. I peered at the corners, but nothing moved in the shadows. I strained my ears, but no sound came again. I thought about looking in the hallway, or even going to Renaud’s chambers, but I could not bring myself to move. Schneid rose partly, haunches set as if he saw something and was preparing to pounce. There was nothing in the dark. Nothing visible. I stared, pulling the covers tight almost up to my nose. Then, out of the dark, a spirit rushed for me.
The woman’s ghostly face came at me, frozen in a terrible scream of soundless agony. Mouth black, filled with blood. She poured into my head, and I choked on my scream, my whole body shuddering.
And then she was gone.
It had been so long since I’d seen a spirit, especially one near me, and I screamed as much out of surprise as fear, for her face had been so dreadful.
My scream startled me awake.
The room was dark, but not unnervingly so. Schneid was sound asleep at my feet, the château quiet.
XXIV.
Curiosity Often Costs Many Regrets
The sun rose too hot, too orange, slanted at a fiendish angle. Somewhere far away in the forest, thunder rumbled. My stomach curdled and all I felt was the weight of inexplicable dread.
It was still early when I arrived at his quarters a little breathless and carefully, modestly dressed.
“I am leaving,” he said, without so much as looking at me.
I pulled back as if I’d been slapped. Distorted images of myself from his perspective cascaded through my mind—from my lewdness to the care I’d taken in dressing just moments ago. I could see it all and feel his revulsion. I thought I might die from embarrassment.
“Salomé,” he ordered. “Come here.”
I straightened my spine and emerged from the shadows to face him, despite my mortification. “Yes?”
“Hold out your hands, ma petite chou.”
I lifted my chin and did as he instructed.
From his cloak he pulled something and laid it in my hands.
The keys.
I nearly gasped and clutched the iron ring. A swell of emotion closed off my throat and I couldn’t even speak.
The first time he had given them to me I had known the keys were important. Of course, I had! A great lord, Death himself, had trusted me with his home. But I had not understood what they meant, as nowI did. Access to the entire house, with all its secret places. Access to his quarters. It was not a test this time, but trust. He knew—I knew—what I could do with those keys. He trusted me not with his home, but with his heart. His soul. For what was this house and its secrets but a reflection of its owner?
“Thank you, my lord,” I said, tucking the keys into my pocket with all the pride of a great nobleman’s wife. For with those keys, I truly felt as if I were Death’s consort.
“Continue your work while I’m gone. Stay close to the house.” He met my eyes. “The forest is dangerous, and you are on the cusp of all you’ve been working for.” Then he stepped closer to me and pulled my chin to him with his gloved finger.
I blushed, my throat still tight.
“You could destroy me,” he whispered. “You cannot understand how much you hold in your hands.”
My breath caught and his gaze dropped to my mouth, but he did not kiss me, just looked at me, a strange pain in the sheen of his gaze. Then he turned and left, the smell of cold spice lingering even in the heavy summer air.
I went to his window and listened as his stallion’s hoofbeats rang through the courtyard and were swallowed up by the forest.
The château was soon silent in his absence. My dream from the night before came back to me, and I shivered. I wandered back to my room, fighting the knot of some disappointment I could not name.
There was no reason to feel like this. He had given me the keys and told me kind things. I had my work. I had so far to go.
Rain began to hit the windows, and I thought to close them, only it was still so hot. Thunder rumbled, close, but I slumped in my chair and picked at the food on my platter, listless and not hungry.
Sitting there with my mind idly wandering, I suddenly remembered a time when Dacia and I had been so hungry, we’d picked maggots out of weeks-old bread.
