Slowly, painstakingly, I climb the spiral stairs to my bedroom. When Serenith opens the door, I temporarily forget my exhaustion. I stop at the threshold, afraid to step inside, like crossing a portal into the dreamworld.
Serenith called it a bedroom, but I call it a palace. There’s a canopied bed draped in velvet, piled high with quilts and fur coverlets. A marble wash basin and matching marble bathtub are already filled with steaming, fragrant water steeped in flower petals. A monstrously huge walnut wardrobe hulks opposite the bed, carved with allegorical forest scenes from Immortal Solene’s life. And the ceiling! It’s painted. A work of art on a ceiling? I’ve never heard of such a thing. It’s a portrait of the full fae court, all ten Immortals, seated on a fae hill surrounded by playful cloudfoxes and twisting, enchanted vines.
My head is tipped back so far to marvel at the artistic feat that I lose track of how spent my body is, until a wave of dizziness hits me. I stumble.
One of the guards moves forward, but I catch myself on a bedpost and wave him away.
As I’m regaining my breath, a line of servants appears at the door, laden with more decorations and furnishings. Serenith immediately begins directing them.
“Yes, you two. Remove that painting of Immortal Iyre. And you. Place that perch next to the window on the left. And you—set the cages there.”
I watch in dazed confusion as the servants remove an impressive portrait of Iyre, her skin fair as snow and marked with soft fey lines, and replace it with one of two playful cloudfoxes chasing each other. The rest of the decorations are even more confounding. Empty wicker baskets lined with blankets, wooden perches, cages made of woven rattan.
“What is all this?” I ask, befuddled.
“Lord Rian ordered us to bring places to house animals,” Serenith informs me. “Naturally, with your godkiss, he assumed it would be important to you.”
“But that rattan cage—a mouse will chew through it in two minutes.”
“Perhaps there was a misunderstanding,” she says, lips pursed. “He indicated that you’d prefer not to have animals caged, only given places to sleep.”
My mind reels as I stare at her in boldface disbelief. How could Rian possibly know how sensitive I am to anything being caged? “Lord Rian said that?”
“He was very specific. Was that wrong?”
“No, no, it isn’t wrong.”
She doesn’t seem to understand the significance of his orders. Ever since my mother died, people have tried to keep me from animals. In the convent, it was a way to control me. The only strength I had was my godkiss, so they gave me a room far from the barnyard and stable. I had to sneak visits to Myst at night. My only friends were the few mice and nuthatches who could squeeze through my room’s cracked walls, and I’d be beaten if found with them. Likewise, the first thing Adan did when he kidnapped me was to seal off the cottage to keep me from calling to animals for help. It’s been how the world keeps me powerless.
And now Rian, who knows nothing about me, who has every reason to keep me powerless too, encourages my godkiss?
Did I misjudge him?
This thought knocks the last remaining strength out of my legs, and I sink onto the edge of the bed.
Serenith looks at me with genuine concern. She snaps at a young maid, waving her over. “Lady Sabine, this is Brigit. She’ll be your lady’s maid, if you find that acceptable.”
“Huh?” I stare blankly, then try to wet my lips. “Oh. Yes, sure.”
Serenith murmurs the low orders to Brigit, “Help her bathe. A maid is bringing food up. Then she needs rest.”
“Shall I summon a healer?” Brigit whispers, eyes pinned to my swollen foot.
Serenith responds quietly, “Bronwyn can work on her while she’s sleeping.”
Their words slip and slide around my ears, like something isn’t quite working in my brain. All at once, exhaustion hits me. I didn’t realize until now how hard I’ve fought to make it this far still standing. My mind is still charged, ready for the next challenge. But my body can’t take anymore.
I fall back on the covers, weariness cutting all the way to the bone, and before I know it, my thoughts fade into oblivion. Nebulous shadows dull my memories until I’m falling, falling, falling into the unconscious abyss.
My dreams aren’t quite dreams. They’re flashes of memories mixed with fantasy. A painfully beautiful god beneath a waterfall. Feathers sprouting from my limbs. From somewhere deep, I hear a rattling voice, though it turns more into a nightmare as it echoes in my head.
Out, the voice says. Get out. Now.
I wake to the sound of giggles.
It’s such an improbable sound to hear in my new prison that I assume I’m still asleep. I blink my eyes open, and then I’m positive I’m dreaming, because I’m staring at Immortal Thracia with her bronzed hand resting on a goldenclaw’s shaggy back.
The bedroom ceiling painting.
Everything rushes back to me like an opened dam. Wincing, I push myself to a seated position. Every one of my sore muscles protests. My empty stomach complains.
“Oh! You’re awake!” Brigit, seated on a stool at my bedside, blinks at me in surprise. Her hands are cupped around a small gray mouse. She quickly transfers it to a woven basket on the floor, then rushes to her feet and helps me sit up.
“Here, my lady. Lean back.” She fluffs the pillows before easing me into a reclining position. The pillows are buttery soft, supporting me like clouds.
With a rasping voice, I say, “How long did I sleep?”
She glances at a porcelain clock on the desk. “Almost three days, my lady.”
Three days? I’m not surprised. I feel like I could sleep for a dozen more. My groaning stomach certainly verifies the timeline.
“Why—why do you have a mouse?” I ask her.
“Oh, it’s for you, actually. That huntsman brought it while you were sleeping. He had, um, unrepeatable things to say about the damage it did to his rucksack.”
I peer down at the mouse on the floor, delighted to discover that it’s the same one from the forest that’s been stowing away in Basten’s bag. Was it the strange voice in my head last night? Or was that a dream?
Hello, friend. I say. How good to see you!
Hello! It says cheerily.
A tightness pulls at my chest that Basten brought me the little mouse, even though it gave him so much trouble on our journey. I almost wish I’d been awake when he came so that I could have seen him . . .
Stop it.
Brigit leans forward with twinkling lights in her eyes. “I think your godkiss is incredible, my lady. You should hear what the people are saying about how you defied Lord Rian’s command by arriving covered in all those birds. It was a sight to behold!”
Do the people of Duren not like their high lord? Or are they just happy for any gossip?
“I hope you don’t mind that I washed and dressed you,” she continues, and for the first time, I realize I’m wearing a soft cotton chemise with satin ribbons at the collar. “And the healer attended to the wound on your foot and scratches on your arms. She’s godkissed.”