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I slipped into the shoes made of soft leather adorned with white beads. “Why did he bind your soul and keep you as a servant?”
She competently tugged on the train, as if her fingers had once known how such silk had to fall. “Ach, lass, I stole from me Master.”
“Stole what?”
Her lips pressed into a dark purple line for a moment. “Something most precious to him; its loss so great, it drove the man insane.”
Sounded about right.
“Some treasure?” The woman said nothing, but I kept pestering her for answers, nonetheless. “Is it the reason he cursed our lands? Made it so the dead won’t rot in the ground?”
“It’s no curse, lass.” She reached up and brushed the tangles from my strands. “Me Master simply no longer leaves the Pale Court to ride about the lands and spread rot.”
Ride to spread rot? I’d never heard of that before. But then again, the high priests had burned most books about the King—the stories about him nothing but distorted snippets and fading memories. If Orlaigh spoke the truth and I ran, would the King give chase and bring rot to Hemdale? To John?
One more reason to run.
“It must have been a long time since he left.” Chances were he wouldn’t even bother chasing me, and now I couldn’t tell if that was good or bad. “The corpses outside are falling apart. One grabbed me and a finger fell off.”
“They’re old, so very old, and keeping the rot from them takes me Master great effort.”
Or, in short, if I barraged through them with brute force, I might get away. “How many guard the hallway exactly?”
“Ach, lass, I only tell ye these things because ye will find out on yer own, anyway. Dinnae go making things harder on yerself, plotting yer escape.”
“Don’t blame me for trying to do something you once did. My father’s sick, my husband likely trapped in some groanpit until the next full moon. The miller’s wife from the next village over is pregnant with twins and needs care. Even if I fail, at least I can say that I tried.”
She stared at me for a long moment, as if gauging my resolve, and something akin to pity came over her grandmotherly features. “Ye won’t rest until ye tried, will ye?”
“No.”
“Ten.” That number hollowed my stomach, but only until she added, “Three come with me to carry water from the hot spring when yer bath needs filling.”
I suddenly had the strong urge to wash. So… seven old, brittle, frail corpses while Orlaigh brought water for my bath. Could I get through them?
Only one way to find out.
“Ye’re a bonny lass.” Orlaigh fussed with my hair a moment longer until she finally smacked her tongue as if pleased with what she saw. “Come, me Master has to wonder what’s taking so long.”
On brittle legs, I followed the woman along a corridor that seemed to twist in itself. Floor became ceiling, then wall… floor… wall again. How was this possible? A glance over my shoulder and the door to my room shifted, right along with my stomach.
Focus.
Mark the way!
Corpses lined the walls behind us, staring at me, but at least they no longer snapped. I counted exactly ten. Each time we turned corners, I slowed, scratching marks over those edges where the odd stone was graying and more porous.
When we passed a large bridge shrouded in darkness, my steps faltered to a halt. Pillars stood crooked, the stone strewn with holes and dark patches of mildew. It chased a feverish chill up my spine, rising the fine hairs at the nape of my neck.
“What’s this?”
“The Soltren Gate,” Orlaigh said. “If ye ever run, dinnae go that way. Nothing lies behind it but grief and madness.”
This entire kingdom was madness. “Which one is the Æfen Gate?”
After a subdued shake of her head, she jutted her chin toward where the bridge connected to a round platform. “To the left of his throne.”
A throne that sat at the center of a low, circular dais, the King slouched with one leg draped over the armrest, the alabaster shaped like a web of tangles. Along the outline of its back, faces tooled into something like driftwood—
