Mask of Shadows (Untitled #1)(19)

And that was when folks usually started asking a bunch of questions I didn’t want to answer.

“The tailor who sells secondhand clothes had to take in some of them, but I had him leave the dresses. He always makes them too short. I can tailor anything that doesn’t fit well enough.” Maud smiled, really smiled, showing her teeth and dimpling her round cheeks. “Your measurements aren’t anyone else’s business, and they won’t find out anything from me.”

I sucked in a breath, any words of thanks I might’ve had buried under years of explanations and tears, and all that came out was “Thank you.”

“Of course, Auditioner.” Maud nodded and left me speechless.

I dove for the pile of clothes. They weren’t made for me, but they were clean and dry and the nicest, newest things I’d owned in ages. I laid aside a long flowing tunic—more dress than shirt—and dug through the pants and leggings. The black pair I found was thicker than I was used to wearing but would still fit under my boots. I’d be prepared for the chilly nights at least.

Maybe Maud was more than all right.





Twelve


I bathed fast as I could, the cold water cleansing the ache from my bones, and dumped the dirty bath water down the drain. My bells were still in place, and it didn’t take long to nail the door shut, just a dozen shoulder cracks and groans of pain. I rubbed my thighs.

I was stronger in my legs than in my arms, and it showed. Might’ve been what tipped Emerald off. But why did my calves still hurt so much then?

I curled up in the still-damp tub. Dinner settled heavy in my stomach, dragging my eyelids down and hunching me in on myself, and I slid low enough to keep the Twenty-Three–shaped lump in the bed in sight. The darkness closed around me, shadows flickering through the shutters. Light glinted off the bells and gave the pile of blankets in my bed the illusion of breathing. I rolled the ring around my finger.

Maybe the others would be as tired as me and drop off to sleep first chance they got.

Stillness fed the darkness, fuzzy shapes creeping under the door. I blinked, and they reeled. The shadows were gone. They were phantoms of my mind come to keep me awake and on edge. There was nothing there. No matter how trained my competition was, they couldn’t move through locked doors and shuttered windows. I laid my knives in my lap. The ax rested at my side.

I slipped the silver ring up and down my finger. I should give it back. Opal or no, she wouldn’t be hard to find if I ever had time to myself, and seeing her again wouldn’t be all bad. She was an Erlend, but she was pretty and clever. Talking to her had been fun.

Made me feel listened to.

I tucked my fingers under my chin, ring against my throat, and watched the window. Darkness crept through the shutters, moonlight cutting through the slats, and I sighed. Listening would do me just as well. I closed my eyes.

The bells chimed. I leapt up, four soft rings echoing in my head, and tripped over my ax. The bells threw silver light across the room, giving life to the shadows twining around the walls. I grabbed my knives and crawled out of the tub. The ringing stopped.

The back of my neck itched. A breeze rustled the wire, whistling between the bells, but they didn’t sound. The wind rolled over my skin, but I couldn’t hear it. Gooseflesh prickled up my arms. I peeked outside.

Nothing.

The darkness in the corner of my eyes shifted. I froze, breath trapped in my chest. A shadow unfolded itself from the wall, blackness curling and twisting between the bricks, spilling onto the floor. It was shadows come to play tricks. Nightmares while awake.

It wasn’t real.

They were never real.

Darkness rustled over the floor, reaching across the stones and reeling up, writhing in the air, a flicker of a shadow rising to my height and wavering in the breeze behind my shoulder. The sweet, cloying scent of rot crawled into my nose. I squeezed my lips shut.

Not real, not real, not real.

Blood dripped on my shoulder—drop after drop seeping beneath my skin and pushing me to my knees. Trails of red leaked down my arm, curling around my wrist and pooling in my palm. Breath whispered against my ear.

“Is this me?”

I twisted in the darkness. My sister stared back at me.

Blood clung to the edges of Shae’s face. The braids I’d twisted around her crown were matted with blood and dirt.

I dropped my knife. The blade clattered between me and the thing wearing my sister’s face. It tilted its head to the side. Blades were useless, and fighting was worthless. I couldn’t fight my way out of this. I was nothing next to it.

This was what Erlend had done to us—stolen us, torn us away from what we were, ripped children from their homes and souls from their bodies. Broken bodies, broken memories, broken souls. They’d made us nothing.

“Is this me?”

My trembling hands splattered blood across my legs—warm and wet and seeping. “Take her off.”

“Is this me?”

“Take her off.” I reached for her face, fingers slipping over the clammy damp of her skin, and gagged. Bile clogged my throat and burned in my nose. “She’s not you. Take her off!”

“Is this you?” The shadow rolled its head, and Shae’s face slid off. Tendrils of shadow looped around her, stretching the skin into some warped memory of her face. It held it up to me. “Is this you?”