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“No!” I scream, thrashing with the dark, deathly embrace clawing into my blood. No flower, vine, or thorn may save me now.
Is this Death’s true reaping? I thought it would be a current. I imagine becoming a current to fade into the undertow. To disappear with dark water. Until all you are is...cold.
The cold retreats. Fades like warm breath swallowed by winter air. When the shadows dissipate, when they part like billowing curtains, I almost scream. Shake my head in denial. Clutch at my aching throat, released from the King’s grip. He stands behind me. But the strangulation marks upon my throat pale to the pain assaulting my chest, piercing my lungs.
No longer do we stand inside the King’s bridal chambers. We stand amidst bone trees, a bone forest. The telltale hush of a dark river beyond my sobs and tears. But it’s not the skeletal surroundings. It’sthem!
My legs grow weak, buckle. Allysteir jerks on the rope chain, hauling me up. “Rise, Your Majesty,” he commands through gritted teeth and forces me to remain where I am. “Yes, now you understand, every legend is true. Every song. Every nightmare.”
The refter brides stray toward me. Decayed mouths open. Eyes cadaverous?unseeing from the craze. And that silly, eerie rhyme echoes in my mind. My breath bursts. I hyperventilate.
Corpse King, Corpse King, he’s coming for his bride
Corpse King, Corpse King, all you virgin nighyans hide
“Iamthe monster they teach children to fear,” Allysteir continues. He holds me still as the brides moan and stagger toward me. Crazed! Wild! Hungry! For my flesh.
He’ll steal your bones to make his brew
And your heart will taste so sweet in his stew
I whimper when Allysteir sweeps my waves to one side and trails his mouth along the side of my neck. “Yes, Isla. I am cursed. I am damned. And the moment you volunteered to be my bride, you damned yourself.”
No, long before. Birth-damned. Birth-cursed.
My limbs quake. Memories of the Nether-Void. Of the refter bites of my childhood. The mark upon my back. A sign of my bond to it. Now, my greatest fear is paraded before my eyes. This is who...whatI will become.
He’ll carry you off to his cold and lonely bed
He’ll eat your soul until you’re all but dead!
I can’t deny it. On our farm, I could face my fears with a pitchfork or in the depths of the Hollows with my scyan. I could defend Franzy. Turn off all emotion, pretend, make a sport of them, a cruel joke. Not tonight. Hundreds of brides, hundreds reduced to raped and reaped souls. Nothing left but scars.
“Why are you doing this?” I whimper. I claw for Allysteir, disturbing the chain, almost beg for his protection as the refter brides swing their hair like gray and frayed ribbons. Their mouths widen, teeth preparing.
“Careful, little bride. Some fates are worse than Death!” He shoves me forward with a cruel laugh. Allysteir forms a blade with his shadows. And severs the rope.
Paralyzed by the horror, I watch him fling the rope to the ground while he leers at me through his mask. I stumble but catch my balance at the last second. I swing my arms while the cut chain tumbles against my skin before it falls at my feet.
Too distracted, I don’t notice the bride until her claws drag across the robe, shredding its back. She shreds my flesh with it. I scream! Not from the pain but because they close in. Terror-stricken eyes frozen wide, I seek an opening. Breath rasping, I find the sliver of space between their bodies and shove one out of the way. I duck under one diving for me. Countless teeth snap. Moans engulf my ears, drowning all other noises, including my screams.
But not Allysteir’s voice, urging, urging, urging, “Run, my dark rose! Run, little Bride of the Corpse King!”
I squeeze between limbs. Shadows stalk me, preying. Nothing but claws and teeth tearing. They catch the remainder of the robe and rip it from my body. I squeeze my eyes shut, tears fly past my clenched lids as I run and cover my breasts. When I knock into a bone tree, I gasp for air, grip its body, shedding powder with my sharp nails. The moans follow, staggering closer.
Utterly naked, shame reddening my cheeks, I reach for the nearest bone branch and climb. Higher and higher. Nothing but will to escape as my breath turns shallow, pulse racing. No more star-flower oil. Now, bone powder coats my flesh, branch tips nicking my skin to draw blood.
I stop halfway up the tree. At its base, the refter brides congregate. Their arms strain, necks arched so they may wail. Tremors engulf my limbs. I curl my knees to cover myself as much as possible with my hair, with my arms. Peering through the strands, I behold Allysteir standing a hundred yards away. Tears streaming down my cheeks, with my heart sinking into my stomach, I cage a whimper, a moan when the King touches his hand to his brow in a gesture of departure.
He’s leaving. My shoulders sag. It’s not hurt. It’s not ruin or woe. It’s relief! The rotting flesh of hundreds of refter brides is far more preferable than the scrap of his Death face. I want to believe there’s a reason he’s doing this, some form of protection. But all I feel is hate. Ironic how I hate him more than...
Yes, little wonder...
I flinch from Kryach’s voice. Of his skull wreathed in blood-fire as it whispers to me.Now you see his true face. Will I see yours tonight?
Yes, Aryahn Kryach is here to stay. All. Night. Long.
And he has given me my answer. My words. My thoughts. My strength!
