Nobody's Goddess (Never Veil #1)(50)

The specters swept into a state of activity, having regained their composure. As expected, one swooped down by his lord to pick up the fallen fork. The others stood in two facing lines, forming an enclosed path between the doorway and myself.

But I wasn’t satisfied.

“No, that’s not the full extent of my wishes,” I began, emphasizing each word with a strained attempt at Elfriede’s own pretense of innocent sweetness. “Let—”

The lord flew into motion, knocking his chair backward into the waiting arms of one of the specters. The curtain in front of him shook rapidly with the movement.

“Do not speak further!” he bellowed.

The words echoed in the cavernous dining hall and died only after a series of repetitions.

I could see the two black-leathered hands clench into fists below the surface of the fluttering curtain.

I clenched my own fists. “I don’t think you understand how this works—”

“Silence!”

“No! Who do you think you are? What do you think you’re supposed to mean to me? I don’t even know you. I don’t want to be here, and you’re expecting me to perform the Returning!”

The black fists pounded on the table. “Was it not you who first sought me out?”

I gestured at the ridiculously large, cold, and empty room around me. “Not for this! I never asked to be your goddess! I just wanted—” I bit my lip. There was never going to be any going back.

“You wished to free your friend so you could steal him from his goddess.” He made a gesture toward the line of specters, and the two closest appeared at my side, their hands wrapped tightly against my arms. “How unfortunate that I was unable to help you with such a generous act.” I struggled to break free, but I felt powerless in their tight grip.

The lord turned sharply. Before he took more than two steps, a series of specters appeared from the line, one to pick up his plate from the table and then one who fit the lord with his black veil and hat even as he walked. He appeared in mere moments from the side of the curtain.

“Come with me!” He exited the dining hall doorway.

The specters dragged me after him. I kicked and screamed, and, thinking of Alvilda, even tried to reach the specters’ hands in order to bite them. They dragged me forward without hesitation, and other specters broke from the line to open the doors for the lord.

“Stop!” I screamed.

The lord stopped.

“Let me—”

“Silence her!” he ordered before walking again, and one of my pale captors produced a black veil-like material and wrapped it over my mouth, tying it at the back of my head. My eyes welled with tears. But not from sadness. No, this was a rage I’d felt only once before. He’s just like the men from my dream.

Staring straight ahead into the back of that black-veiled head was no different than staring right into the front. It made me realize that there was no loss of honor to stab this man in the back if need be. The thought gave me comfort, and I let the specters drag me, soon willing my feet to keep up with their pace so that they wouldn’t be so sore. But try as I might, I couldn’t quite match my pace with them or with the lord in front of me.

He led us through the main entryway and up a flight of stairs. From there, we marched down the long hallway that contained an empty set of guest rooms—one of which the lord had shown me earlier and told me would be mine, an opulent room that retained the chill of the castle air despite the tremendous fire in the fireplace and the bear-skin rug spread before it. I had spent the afternoon after the “tour” and lunch nestled deep within the fur, and still the chill sliced down inside of me.

As we passed a hall window, I noticed that the sun had set. The dull torchlight and the slit of a moonbeam were all there was to light the way. But the lord moved through the near-darkness unheeded, as comfortable navigating the twists and turns of the path before us as I had been in my own dark secret cavern. Only I at least knew a violet glow awaited me at the end of that journey. What would await me now? A prison? A shackle for my arms and legs to match the muzzle over my mouth?

The lord led us up another flight of stairs and across a hallway. My heart sank at my speculations nearly proven. This had not been on the “tour.” The specters had even blocked me from coming this far my first time to the third floor. The lord’s shoulders twitched as we passed the throne room, its doors opened, the room darkened. But I’d never been past this point.

At the end of that hallway—the coldest place yet in the castle, a blast of icy air blowing in from the few windows—stood two more specters, immobile before a large wooden door.

“Let us in!” barked the lord. One of the guards pulled a set of keys out from his front coat pocket and turned the lock. He stood back and both specters pushed open the thick, heavy door; even they strained to do so at their usual rapid pace.

This was it. I was to rot in his prison the rest of my days. Probably “graced” on occasion by a visit from the lord, asking me if I would like some more wine or venison or if I found the cell cold enough or if I was ready to break down and perform the Returning.

Or why I’d “mutilated” my ears.

The nausea that spread over me was met halfway with something deeper. A force of sheer will lent steadiness to my shaky legs. I could let him think he had broken me. I would let him remove the muzzle with his leathery fingers, and with all of my might, even if they proved to be the last words I ever spoke, I could tell the lord to climb up to the roof of the castle or the tallest mountain and to jump to his death. I let the words form on my trapped tongue, ready to pounce the moment he removed the muzzle.