Ghouls walk in front of us, and every two or three minutes, four of them stop and watch us, as if they were taking turns. Their bodies look like mud, as if someone sculpted them with some kind of clay, except that whoever did it took a long time on their faces. Eerie fae, human, or Tiurian faces, staring at us with blank, incomprehensible stares.
I tried reaching out to them, but found nothing but a wall. Either way, I wouldn’t risk asking them to help me escape or defeat the Witch King, since I’m not sure if there’s any separation between their minds.
And yet the question hangs: why did they help me back in the Shadow Lands forest? How come they bowed to me and showed me the way to the Amethyst Palace?
If I could figure out these answers, I bet I would be able to do more than escape: I could defeat the Witch King.
“They watch us.” Azur’s voice breaks a long silence. “Perhaps hoping to learn something.”
Right. I think it’s like the third or fourth time he’s hinting that we can’t talk right now and should keep up the pretense thatwe want to help the Witch King. Pretense for me, at least. I’m not sure how much Azur is pretending, and the thought chills me.
“They’re just magic, aren’t they?” I ask. I don’t think a simple curiosity about the ghouls would reveal my true intentions. “His Majesty’s magic, I suppose.”
He rubs his chin. “I wouldn’t know. And wouldn’t want to offend them. After all, they’re listening.”
Yes, listening. No kidding. I want to yell at him that I’m aware, but I have more important matters to try to solve.
I need to know more about that strange light barrier in the tunnel, and Azur might help me.
“Do you know why they can leave the cave when we can’t?”
He leans back on the wall and raises his shoulders in a slow shrug. “They’re made of earth and magic. I suppose the rules are different for them.”
That’s not helpful. Despite the ghoul’s watchful eyes, there’s something else I need to ask before trying to figure out a way to escape.
“When my magic returns, and if I can cross that barrier in the tunnel, will it open it permanently?”
His relaxed features harden for a less than a second. “It might be temporary. It might be permanent. If you’re wondering if you can be the one to free His Majesty with your magic, the answer’s yes.” He smirks. “Except that he might not need you.”
“Right. Because you can free him too, I suppose.”
“My magic can.” He sounds so smug, so proud.
Is that why he stopped me? So he’d be the one to free the Witch King? Perhaps to make sure he survives or keeps his eyes? Is his magic returning? Or is he pretending?
I snort. “And you’re thrilled about it, I suppose.”
“I love my magic, yes.” He frowns, then glances at the ghouls, as the group that was watching us walks away. “The ShadowLands are dangerous for a human—or fae—at night, unless we’re under His Majesty’s protection, of course.”
“Which we are, aren’t we?”
He chuckles, touches a pocket, then looks at me. “Nice hair color. Can I touch it?”
That’s an odd request, but I assume he wants to whisper something. “Sure.”
He leans over and takes a lock of hair between his fingers. “It feels like normal hair.”
“Indeed. No thorns, unfortunately.”
Azur chuckles, then blinks slowly, his fingers caressing that strand carefully, then he whispers, “Can I smell it?”
His voice would be seductive, I guess, if we were anywhere else, in any different situation.
“Then come closer,” I reply in an attempt at a similar tone, except that I think my voice is shaky and my throat is tight.
He doesn’t move, and keeps doing whatever he’s doing to my hair, caressing it tenderly as if it was a cute animal or something.
I’m getting annoyed and about to pull back my hair, when he says, “Patience is a virtue.”
