Posey
Snow coats the ancient cobblestone in wet streaks of silver. Flakes stick to my gray wool cloak, the hood pulled over my hair, which is braided down my back. I blend with the landscape in shades of steel and ash, but my black boots catch the gleam of lantern light swirling a familiar magic that settles in my bones and turns my heart to dust.
Roman walks beside me in silence, his phone screen illuminating the space between us in artificial blue-hued light. I try to swallow, but the knot of nerves pressing against my vocal chords makes it impossible.
“He knows I’m coming, right?” I ask in a croak that sounds like a toad. Roman nods, shrugging a shoulder like this isn’t the end of the world as I know it. Like I haven’t spent three months in a purgatory of my own making because of the man who lives in the castle now casting us in its snowy shadow. The castle itself is something out of a gothic fever dream. At least a half-dozen spires stretch into the thick clouds, and four towers stretch just as far. Stained glass windows cast dim light across a wide, circular driveway beyond the reach of the front gates, where a quartet of guards let us through, the steel grinding closed behind us.
I’ve been here before. Not in years, but I do have memories from this place. Warm, happy childhood moments that feel fuzzy and grainy when I try to think back on them. But now, in this uncommonly snowy weather, it feels like something out of my darkest nightmares, even after spending the last three months in an ancient temple continuing my studies as a priestess in training.
“When do you start at the local temple?” Roman asks, but his tone tells me he doesn’t really care.
“Tomorrow. Immediately,” I reply tightly, falling back a few steps. He approaches the absolutely massive front doors. This entire face of the castle is dark stone and stained glass, but it’s dark enough that I wonder if anyone is home. I suppose it won’t just be me and Aris here for the next month and a half or so, however long I’m stationed at the Temple of the Lunar Eclipse, the main temple of Veiled Valley. If all goes well, I’ll say my vows just after the new year and can be stationed somewhere far, far away… perhaps Celestoria or even the furthest reaches of Tarsian. Hell, I’ve heard priestesses are being sent to the fae lands now. I could go there. Put hundreds upon thousands of miles between me and—
The doors open wide on a phantom wind. The breeze is warm, and it embraces me, thawing my chilled skin. But I feel like I’m pulled into the castle against my will. I take in my surroundings, trying to connect my blurry memories to the present, but a shadow moves into view and the doors close behind us. I hold my breath as Aris appears in… all of his glory.
Unfamiliar and dark.
His hair is much shorter than it was this summer. It’s gelled back, which accentuates his sharp, chiseled features. He looks older and more refined, like he’s been sculpted from smooth alabaster. His silver eyes are sharp and honed on Roman while he steps toward us, dressed in all black–a form fitting shirt and black trousers. His black cloak makes him look like the king he’ll be one day soon.
His Shadowsynger bracelets of iron and gem catch the light of the dark crystal chandelier barely lighting the foyer.
I imagine him suddenly–a memory from this summer. Him leaning over the kitchen counter giving me a hard time about… something I can’t remember while I cooked breakfast. It’s a memory from before everything changed, before I ripped my own heart to shreds, and based on the cold look he gives me when he turns his gaze on mine, his heart, as well.
“How was the journey?” he asks Roman with no emotion in his voice whatsoever. It’s deeper. Harder. Bitter.
“Snowy. You were right about that.” Roman drops my trunk with a thud that echoes all around us. “I’m not staying long. I need to get back to Sapphire Ridge before the storm gets worse.”
Aris nods. He’s looking at Roman. His eyes won’t even flicker in my direction. It’s probably for the best because I can’t take it. I hate that Roman is forcing my hand here. I hate that he still has authority over me even after three months away from home. I hate that Aris agreed.
“Have a drink with me before you go. We have business to discuss,” Aris says, and his voice is so foreign. That iciness doesn’t feel at all familiar. He turns on his heel, begins to walk away with Roman at his side, but stops, turning his head just enough that I can see the shadow of his profile. “Your room is on the fifth floor in the third tower. The house will show you there.” He hesitates for a single second before walking away, leaving me in the foyer with my trunk.
I swallow back a sudden sob that makes the bones in my chest rattle.
A warm rush of air spirals around me before darting away, and suddenly my trunk is airborne and darting into the shadows of the corridor opposite of where Roman and Aris disappeared.
I’m sure most people would be thrown off in a situation like this–watching a trunk weighing more than a hundred pounds zipping through narrow, darkened corridors and up several flights of stairs, but I follow, unperturbed. I’m aware of the strange spirits here–a man and a woman, I believe, although I don’t remember anyone speaking about them as separate entities. But I can feel the woman’s presence now, beside me, while her partner dutifully carries the trunk to the highest reaches of my prison for the next six weeks… unless the Goddess really is on my side and strikes me dead, possibly with a fall down these insanely steep, narrow, uneven steps….
I glance behind me and feel pressure on my lower back, a soft tsk against the outer rim of my left ear, and a firm no whispered into my mind. I don’t like the idea that these spirits can guess my every move, but I’ve studied entities like them for the past three months, so I know a lot of this is just my mind trying to rationalize what isn’t in the least bit rational.
Before long, I’m tucked in a room that smells like clean linen and cashmere. A candle lights on its own accord along a wide, shallow dresser, scenting the room with hints of rosemary and vanilla. The dresser drawers open, and my clothing flies out of the trunk and into the drawers, perfectly folded. I whisper my thanks several times while I take in the room. The faded, dark floral wallpaper. The mural of the night sky on the ceiling. The arched windows of stained glass give a blurry view of the snowy landscape beyond. There’s a bathroom attached to the room. It’s not overly ornate but still decadent. Everything in this castle is dark wood, dark tile, and dark stone. It’s glorious. It feels warm and cozy despite the frigid temperature outside. It’s moody and overwhelming in the best way.
It’s how I’d design a house, for sure. I curl my fingers into a fist on the bathroom counter and slowly look up at my reflection.
I barely recognize myself. I’ve lost weight unintentionally, and it shows in my face. My cheekbones are more pronounced, my lips slightly too full, and my eyes wan and lined with shadows. My hair definitely lost its luster after months spent inside in the depths of the royal library in Moonrise. Even more so in the ancient temple in Old Moonrise, since Prince Blake destroyed the other one, and it’s currently being rebuilt using his own wealth, apparently. I wasn’t much for the rumors and gossip among the priestesses and those in training, like me. Most of my time was spent studying what I hoped would be my specialty–the occult. Things beyond the veil of magic that spices our lands. Ghosts, paranormal activity, theories and lore that span thousands of years.
Surprisingly, at least to me, most of the trainees in my class want to be actual priestesses–the ones who hold the ceremonies and read the scriptures to the crowds. The ones that preside over marriage ceremonies and bless new babies.
I want to be forgotten, and what better way to do that than to chain myself to the deepest depths of academia and write papers about the unexplainable all day for the rest of my life?
I suppose I may be called to perform an exorcism eventually, but based on the fact there’s only ever been three in our recorded history, probably not.
I’ll wither like the books I’ve been reading.
“There are other rooms if this one is too dark for you.”
I whirl toward Aris’s voice. He’s standing in the doorway looking like a god of death in all black. He takes a single step into the little light to be had, and the spirits hush. I sense them leaving the room. The silence left behind is so intense I can hear my heart beating.
“I like it. But I don’t plan to stay.” I twist toward the dresser and begin pulling my clothes out. “This was Roman’s idea, not mine. The temple has an apartment I can use. All I need to do is say–”
“In the old rectory? With the collapsing roof?”
I clutch a dark brown, fluffy knit sweater between my hands. “I don’t need to be here. I already feel like I’m invading your space. It wasn’t my idea.”
“You won’t be in my way. It’s just me here. Me and… a guest, who’s arriving tomorrow. Roman explained that you’re spending your days between the old temple and the archives in town. I agree with him that it’s best if you stay here. You’re closer to the archives that way. It’s a five-minute walk.”
“I really don’t need–”
“Don’t make this difficult for me,” he says dryly, and I slowly look toward him over my shoulder. His eyes meet mine, completely, utterly void of emotion.
There’s so much I want to say. So much I should have said this summer when I left. I ran out of time, and I realized it the second Roman snapped at me to go pack my things.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper without meaning to. Maybe I do mean it. Maybe it’s what I’ve wanted to say for months.
He just stares at me like he’s looking right through me at the far wall, like I’m not even here.
“The house will do whatever you ask. Nothing is off limits to you. I have a small library but nothing like the archives. Dinner is served every night like clockwork at eight, but if you’re not there, the house will bring food up to you.”
“And breakfast and lunch?” I ask, my voice trembling. It’s a stupid question. I shouldn’t have spoken. I bite my lower lip, and his eyes dart to my mouth. My heart quickens at the memory of his lips–his mouth on my body… He looks away, pale, biting his lip and turning toward the door.
“I don’t take formal meals right now. I’m very busy. I doubt you’ll see me much, which I believe is best.”
“Aris, can we–”
“Can we fuck again? No.”
It’s like I’ve been stabbed through the chest. I take a wobbly step back in surprise. His eyes are like cold fire as he holds my gaze, unbothered, not regretting the bite in his voice in the slightest.
“That’s not what I was going to say.”
“There’s nothing to say. You made that very clear this summer. Goodnight, Posey.”
He leaves and shuts the door with an aggressive snap. I yank at my dress–gray, like the rest of me. All the color seeped out long ago. I can’t breathe. Maybe this is what I deserve. It’s best that he hates me. If he hates me, he won’t feel so conflicted in the end, will he?
When he finds out what I really am? I can’t avoid spending a full moon here. My death at his hands would likely be swift.