“I forbid you to go to him!” the King snarled and a heavy weight settled onto my chest. “I’d rather mend your flesh and keep you alive than have you die and make me an oath breaker.”

Pain returned twofold, choking me, ripping me away from the light. Lungs burning, legs kicking, back arching… I fought against death until, with a long, deep inhale, I filled my chest with the cold air of the chamber. It seared down my throat, through ribs, burning deep into a cavity now fully expanding. The tang of blood vanished from my mouth and the pain dulled into little more than faint throbbing.

My eyes fluttered shut.

“Orlaigh, leave through the Nocten Gate,” the King said. “Buy food from the nearest settlement, and whatever else her… mortal needs require.”

My body shifted, heavy limbs tugging on sore joints as they flapped about. Warmth pressed against my belly. Something was wrong with the scent wafting around my nose, like ash sprinkled over a layer of fresh snow.

“Your heart will beat for eternity, and no age shall befall your warm body while in my service, little mortal.” The King’s dark whisper hushed against my sweat-pearled temple. “Welcome to the Pale Court.”

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Chapter 3

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Ada

Darkness hummed a melody, followed by a voice like teeth scraping over rock. “Flesh and scar and skin and bone, feed her body to the throne.”

A shiver ripped me from sleep.

Above me, white, porous stone shaped like intertwined roots snaked around the arched ceiling, yellowed in some spots while others carried dark patches of moss. Rosemary and meat scented the air—so out of place in this naked room holding little more than my bed and a tub.

Orlaigh glanced down at me, her irises a pale green. “The living used to say ye slept like the dead.”

With most of the pain gone, I propped myself up, the gray furs draped over my naked body shifting with the motion. “How long was I out?”

She shrugged and turned toward an outcropping of stone lined with jars, bowls, and flasks. “From the moment ye closed yer eyes to the moment they opened.”

And how long was that? Dozens of questions tangled my brain. Did John break through the coffin and crawl out of the dirt? Limp toward the tower and collapse somewhere between there and here for some stranger to find and toss into a pit? What were the chances that Pa finished what I’d started, and—

Pa! He had to be sick with worry.

I glanced at where Orlaigh rummaged through pottery. “Hours? Days?”

“The dead dinnae care about time,” she said. “A moment. A day. Forever. It’s all the same for us. Pray, in time, it’ll be all the same for ye.”

The shiver returned, skin pebbling against a room so cold my breath rose in billows. “I have to get back home.”

The blue-and-green-checkered skirt of Orlaigh’s dress flowed with the motion as she turned back, a small jug clasped between hands, and sat beside me. “Stew’s gone cold, but the bread’s fresh. First, have a good swallow of this.”

Smooth pottery pressed against my chapped lips, and cool water sloshed against my puckered gums before it gulped down a narrow throat. The water hit my stomach like a boulder, but I emptied it all.

“Yer stench is rotten, and that means something coming from a corpse.” When she caught me staring at her, she lifted a bushy brow. “Wary around corpses?”

Only if they suddenly asked questions. “How come you move? Talk?”

“The Master had me soul bound to me body.” A hint of dismay lingered in the undertone of her voice. “My thoughts are me own, but me body moves freely only if he wills it. Ach, he chases me poor bones across court as lordly as any man. Fifty-two years cleaning up after little lords and ladies; all of eternity cleaning up after him.”

A cramp squeezed my stomach just thinking about the King. “Is it true what some say about him?”

“They say many things in many places.”

“He’s hundreds of years old?”

A low grunt resonated from her chest. “Older.”

“He doesn’t look a hair past thirty.” A man in his prime, the memory of how easily he’d lifted me still fresh in my memory, no matter how fogged. “Where does he come from? Why did he curse our lands?”

“Never speak of it, lass.” The woman placed the empty jar on the ledge before she pulled back layers of furs, exposing me to the biting chill of the room. “Cleaned ye up as well as I could, but what ye need is a good washin’, lass. Up with ye!”

“It’s as cold as winter. Is there no—”

“No fire. Never fire.” The short, plump woman offered her hand, her skin void of those black veins she’d had when I’d arrived. “Dinnae bring it up with the Master or you’ll put him in a foul mood that’ll last for decades.”

Interesting.

I breathed against the tension in my muscles, fighting the urge to run. King or not, I had no interest in serving him—least of all for eternity. But running with no notion about where I was or how I could get back home…?

A fool’s errand.

I took Orlaigh’s hand and rose, using my other to cover myself in a poor attempt at modesty. “What is this room?”

“Master’s made it just for ye.”

“Made? Whatever does that mean?”

Orlaigh waved her hand toward the alabaster vessel standing across. “Go on! Climb in.”

My naked soles slapped over to a tub not made of wood like in the bathhouse back home, but the same material as everything else in this room, this kingdom. Shaky fingers brushed along the elegantly rounded edge, smooth against my skin, save for the occasional chaffing of pin-sized holes.

Steam billowed on the surface of the water when I dipped my toe into the tub, and I immediately pulled back. “It’s gone cold.”

Orlaigh dived a hand into the water. “Feels warm enough to me, but I reckon a cold body is a poor judge.” She turned toward a set of white carved doors at the end of the scarce room. “Best we call me Master—”

I gripped the edge of the tub once more and climbed in. “I’d rather freeze than face him.” Taking a deep breath, I let myself sink to the bottom, arm draped over my breasts. “If you hand me soap, I’ll wash.”

Orlaigh retrieved a white bar of curd soap from the ledge but returned with a shake of her head. “Yer back’s covered in barely closed wounds. They’ll fester, awright. Mending flesh takes me Master great effort. Now dunk yer head and wet yer hair.”

I did as I was told and let myself slip along the tub until my head submerged, fingers tousling through the tattered nest of hair. The moment I sat up, shivering, Orlaigh rubbed the bar over my scalp.

“What was the white room where you found me?” If I made it there, I might make it out. “My mule dragged me through an arch and down a dark passage.”

“The throne room.”

“Is it, um… is it far from here?” When Orlaigh’s movements slowed, I added, “If you take me there, I’d like to thank your master for healing my wounds.”

“Hear me, lass, there’s no outrunning me Master. Not forever.” The woman’s freezing hand sent a chill through me as she tugged my shoulder to lean me back against the edge. “Corridor’s cramped with corpses.”

So was Hemdale. “I’ve known corpses all my life.”

“Not this kind. They’ll drag ye back to him each time ye try to run. Did ye reckon I never tried?”

There had to be a way… “How long have you been here?”

“Decades. Centuries. It’s all—”

“The same to you,” I said, my shoulders slouching as hope wanted to fade away.

Orlaigh’s pat against my head told me there might be an ally in the woman or, at the very least, a friend. Would she help me? Perhaps distract the corpses so I could escape the King’s punishment?