Текст книги "King of flesh and bone"

Автор книги: Liv Zander

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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?

Harlot.

The word still echoed.

Would he employ me as such? If he looked like a man, did he have a man’s needs?

My chest tightened at the premise.

John had once threatened to sell me to the whorehouse—as was his right as a husband when a wife proved barren. I’d slapped him in the face. He’d slapped me back harder, twice, but he’d never threatened it again. I’d avoided this fate then, and I wouldn’t accept it now.

Not without a fight.

I scratched a nail over the material of the tub, pearls of water running down the digit, collecting in the notch forming there. Not stone. Who built all this if his throne room had been such an empty—

“She woke.” The King’s voice snapped my spine straight, amplified with each slow thud of a boot as he approached. “Leave us.”

Behind me, Orlaigh turned unnaturally still, even for a corpse. “But—”

“Now.”

The weight of the woman’s hand on my shoulder turned heavier, colder, and in no way comforting. Worse was how it disappeared as she rose and walked off. “As me Master commands…”

Even after her footfalls faded behind doors long shut, the King didn’t move, didn’t speak—and neither did I. My heart did the talking for me, each beat sending a vibration whispering over the surface of the otherwise still water.

His long exhale cooled the surrounding air further, but his sharp command froze the blood in my veins. “Stand.”

Breathing as shallow as I could to hide my fear, I rose to the deafening drips of water. Arm hugging my breasts tighter, I lowered my other hand to cover my crotch.

“I never meant to set foot into your ki-ingdom.” My chattering teeth bit down on the words. “But thank you for mending my f-fl-lesh.”

His silence was nothing but an extension of his disdain as the warmth of his body crept against my spine. If he resented us mortals so much, then why keep me? Everyone heard the stories of how lunatics tied virgins to the trees in the Blighted Fields to appease him. Most died strapped to the trunk. Why not ignore me? Send me back? Heavens, why not kill me?

“My court is so… cold.” Gentle fingers brushed wet hair over my shoulder before they trailed down my back, making me arch away. “Shh… never evade my touch, mortal, or deny me your warmth.”

His touch made heat creep underneath my skin, planting itself in the marrow of my bones, warming me from the inside. “What do you want with me?”

“You tell me. What could I want with the soft skin of a woman, her flesh warm and yielding?”

I shook my head.

“No?” His faint chuckle tingled down along my shoulder blade. “I’m tempted to tell you just how I will use this body, but let’s not get ahead of ourselves and start with a simpler question. What’s your name, little mortal?”

Mortal.

Was he… undying?

I swallowed hard. “Ada.”

“Ada…” His voice emerged as little more than a whisper, almost like a caress to my name. “Your flesh is not untouched. That either makes you a whore or a woman with a husband.”

A flare of heat let my chin rise. “My husband died two summers ago.”

“Without ever giving you a child?”

A sudden emptiness hit my core. How could he know these things? “Life never blessed me with children.”

Punishment for my failings as a woman.

No, not a woman.

An unwoman.

The King’s command scraped over the nape of my neck. “Turn around and climb out.”

Everything in me tensed.

I hadn’t shown my body to any man but John, and only for the first two years of our marriage. “It’s not decent.”

His fingers wrapped around my throat from behind and his lips moved against my temple as he rasped, “There is no part of you I have not yet seen, sensed, or stirred. Whenever you consider disobeying me, know that I can make you. And nothing, nothing, bores me more than to make you.”

I braced myself to face him. Life had stripped most of my pride. Nobody would take the bit that was left, not even him.

I turned…

…and regretted it.

The King radiated hard-edged beauty that made me gasp, his tall physique sculpted into one of virility and strength. Dark lashes crowned gray eyes, something dark flickering in them as they slithered over where I hid my breasts. His roaming gaze left a trail of pebbled skin down my belly, lower, until he lifted his hand—

I sucked in a sharp breath.

His fingers settled on mine, luring my hand from my crotch, holding it up in support as I climbed out. “Who sent you?”

My throat tightened. “Nobody sent me.”

“Do you think me a fool?”

I thought him a rude bastard. “My foot tangled in the mule’s harness, and the beast dragged me from Hemdale. I swear by Helfa the Allfather—”

He gripped my hair, yanking my face so close to his that I could taste the bite of drink that clung to his breath. “Who?”

“Helfa…” I whispered through trembling lips. “The god we pray to.”

“Mortals and their stories.” Liquor mingled with the scent of ash and snow as he peeled back his lips enough to bare white teeth. “You betray the god you were given and burn him at the stake, then you conjure up one of your own? If you need to swear, mortal, swear it on me. Swear it by your skin, your sweat, your scars.”

I nodded as much as his grip allowed, my scalp searing. “I swear it on all that.”

“Mortals swear a great many things, but few prove true.” He released his grip on my hair, only to let his fingers comb down along a strand. “Who do you think stands before you, little mortal?”

My chest curled when his thumb trailed along the swell of my breast. “The King of Flesh and Bone.”

A loud chuckle burst from his lungs. “Ah… am I a king now? Prove it.”

My eyes flicked up to him. “I don’t under—”

“Bow before your king, my little mortal. How about a curtsy? Did the mortal kings banish them from their courts, or am I undeserving of such etiquette?”

My veins heated under the scrutiny of his stare as I curtsied for the first time in my life. Naked.

“How lackluster, even for a whore,” he said, letting anger needle my skin. “How poor the state of your lands must be if you first run out of ale, then young virgins to lure me.”

The sensible part of me urged to stay quiet.

Though my pride silenced it when I slapped his hand away. “I am no whore!”

“Kneel!” His shout softened my knees until they caved and hit the hard ground, not moving an inch, no matter how I pulled, shifted, fought. Why couldn’t I move? “Shh, don’t struggle against my command. There… calm your heart.”

My muscles turned sluggish, as if disabled by some sort of magic, head lolling about as I strained my gaze to meet his. “Let me go.”

“And have you tell the rest of your kind how you entered my kingdom?”

“My father’s sick… maybe dying.”

“Of course he is. As are all mortals.” His cruel laugh matched the hard look in his eyes as he squatted to where I kneeled like a slave. “For example, I could still carry you outside and snap your neck, but, ah… what a waste of a fine servant it would be. So young and beautiful, tormenting me with need for your warmth.”

I frowned.

“Oh, you didn’t know? Do not remember how I touched you like this…” He palmed my cheek, his lips taking on a lopsided smirk when I tried to pull away but… couldn’t. “Every part of you, my little one, will serve me for eternity, starting with those lush lips. They will wrap around my length while I thrust against the back of your throat. And once you know the taste of my seed by heart, I will make every other orifice mine to play with. To fill and stretch until you quiver with need, begging me to allow you release.”

Against the weakness of my muscles, I straightened. “You can do all those things to me, but you’ll never hear me beg.”

“No?” There was a terrible twitch of his upper lip before his eyes slipped between my legs. “Your hand, mortal. Already touching yourself, your flesh heated by all the promises of how I will use you.” When my eyes dropped to where I quickly pulled my hand from my folds, shame gnawed at my core. Worse was how he chuckled, letting his thumb pad over my lower lip in play. “You will beg. And if you’re a good little mortal, I shall spend my seed with your flesh clenching around me. Now, now, don’t cry, Ada. You need yet more time to recover, for my hunger for your warmth is too great.”

Was I… crying?

Yes, I was, because he wiped a tear from my cheek and left. Each step of distance he brought between us returned strength to my muscles, yet I remained on my knees, listening to the quickening pound of my heart. Corpses in the corridors or not, I needed to get out of here.

I’d rather be a fool than his whore.

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Chapter 4

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Ada

I woke with my hands between my legs, three fingers wet to the second knuckle. They stroked at my swollen folds, pushed into my drenched center, and curled inside my channel until—

Mmm!

My lewd moan brought me to my senses, and I pulled my hand from my sex. God’s bones, what was wrong with me? Why would I wake soaked like a harlot who’d heard the clank of coins, writhing and bucking against my palm?

Wiping my fingers on a fur, I rose and glanced about the room. I was trapped between four walls, the only source of light a magical glimmer emanating from the all-surrounding alabaster. Was it night? Day? How long had I—

I shuddered.

There was that noise again.

It had lulled me to sleep, the cacophony of never-ending groans resonating from the hallway. Behind those doors, brittle corpses grunted and wheezed, shedding limbs if they as much as bumped into each other. I’d seen it! If I stepped through there now, they would snap their brown teeth and dig their fingers into the skin of my arms.

I knew.

Because I’d tried.

Twice.

My eyes went to the chemise Orlaigh must have laid out at the end of my bed—washed, starched, the tattered parts neatly stitched together. I slipped into it while my feet returned to the matted trail yesterday’s pacing had left on the ground.

Back and forth I crossed the empty room, my gaze flicking to the door once, twice. Just how many corpses had I seen in the hallway? Five? Seven? Devil be damned, pacing would bring me no answers.

No answers, no escape.

Legs stiff underneath me, I stepped toward the doors. Each grunt rattling from behind shook my heart. Each shuffle of feet trembled those fingers I had reached toward the lever handle. How fast did corpses run, anyway?

I pressed the handle down.

A gap creaked open.

“Dinnea even think about running, lass,” Orlaigh said with a swat of her hand where she stood at the door, surrounded by two corpses, three, five—

She squeezed in and shut the door.

Curse my poor timing! “Are you going to tattle on me?”

“Nay,” she said like the friend I’d thought I might find in her, but what I needed was an ally. “Did ye get enough sleep?”

Enough? Too much?

I sighed, not bothering to ask just how long I’d slept—an hour or a day. “I heard your master say something about another gate. How many are there?”

“Four.”

“And they lead where?”

“To the four realms of man, from the snow-tipped mountains behind the Nocten Gate, where I was born, to the rocky steppes behind the Solten Gate, and everything between.” From where it hung draped over her arm, Orlaigh clasped a dress between her black-tipped fingers and let it fan out in all its shimmering beauty. “Look what me Master made for ye.”

Again this word… Made.

I let my hand run over the dress’s soft train, its hundreds of leaf-shaped pieces gently tingling against my palm. Almost like an intricate filigree of gold, the finest threads of silk veined together in a hundred shades of brown, forming a layer so thin it looked like paper.

When Orlaigh held it out before me with an encouraging nod, I climbed into the dress. “I’ve never seen something like this before. It’s almost as though someone gathered leaves, rolled them, pressed them, and once dry, sewed them together.”

She pursed her lips. “Master wants to see ye.”

My breath caught on the boned bodice she strapped tight around my ribs, ends poking into my lungs until they burned with the foreboding flicker of dread.

Dread and determination.

Even if I had to face the King, this was my chance to stake out the Pale Court. Which way lay the Æfen Gate? When did the King take his meals? Where was his chamber, and when did he retreat there?

“Your skin is turning darker.” I pointed at the smudges of black running along her nail bed. “What’s the discoloration on your fingers?”

“It’s rot, lass. The Pale Court wants to rest me body, but me Master makes it go away before we corpses crumble.”

Up close, rot was… disgusting.

Even so, voicing it would be rude, so I nodded. “It’s how you can go to nearby villages undetected for my food. Helfa knows no villager would trust a corpse who suddenly talks and requests stew.”

“Nay, lass. I learned that when they found me out once, chopping me head off. What we fear most is what we don’t understand.”

Now I felt sorry for her. “The King said no age shall befall my warm body while in his service. What did he mean by that?”

“King of Flesh and Bone,” she scoffed, and a soft smile lined her lips as she pulled a pair of silk slippers from the pockets of her dress, letting them fall to the ground with a thud-thud. “Aye, he had a good laugh when he came from yer room. See, lass, me Master commands all flesh and bone. Time wrinkles yer skin, and he straightens it.”

That took me aback. “So, he controls the dead and the living?”

She nodded.

And it had to be true.

Why else had I kneeled at his command?

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—

My steps faltered.

No, not driftwood.

The heads of two corpses sat in the frame, one to each side, their bodies and limbs almost braided into the throne. I’d seen hundreds of corpses, but none like this, their skin almost like dried leather ready to be peeled off in layers.

Breathe.

Nothing new.

Nothing but corpses.

I continued toward the throne. Our footsteps echoed from the surrounding stone, the massive chamber void of life, even in the loosest of terms. Where was everyone? More servants? Builders? Heavens, a seamstress?

Orlaigh stopped a few feet away from the lowest dais. “I brought the lass, as requested.”

White shirt abandoned, dark breeches barely tied in the front, the King balanced a jug on his thigh and said nothing. First stubbles shadowed his face, powerful chest glistening with whatever dripped down his chin whenever he took a swallow.

What a mess this man was…

Orlaigh gripped my shoulder as if holding me back when the woman shifted her balance toward the bridge. “Bloody gomeral. Gone for a moment, and this is how I find the man? Drinking himself to a death he cannot die?”

Which would make him immortal. “Should I approach?”

“Nay, lass, back to yer chamber with ye. The Master’s spiteful when he’s sober, but he’s terrible with his mind poisoned by drink.”

I nodded, throat tying up as we backed away, eyes flitting about the chamber. Four bridges spanned a circle into black depths. Four corridors loomed between them. The bridge to the left of the throne was my way out of this nightmare. If I escaped the corpses somehow, I could follow the notches on the walls and—

“My little mortal.” Deep, predatory, the King’s voice cut through my next step, letting my foot stall mid-air. “Let’s see how long it’ll take you this time to kneel before your king.”

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