In response, Wirrea smirked and pulled Taran into the palace after her, one clawed hand tight around his wrist.
“Are you staying for dinner, then? I’ll have to arrange something grander than I’d planned. I thought we’d have only one guest at our table,” she cooed.
“Who else is here?” Marit asked, trailing behind them and oblivious to the mood.
The Huntress glanced over her shoulder, her eyes sparkling with malevolence. “Another Stoneborn, one who knows a few things about Wesha’s betrayals.”
My stomach sank, because somehow I could feel the answer already.
“Death is our guest tonight,” the goddess announced, and even Taran’s step faltered for a moment as the unlit stone halls swallowed us up.
17
I wrapped the thick,silver cloak Taran had given me during my first full day in the Summerlands around my body, but I was still shivering. The high ceilings of the stone room swallowed up light and heat, and no amount of fur rugs or tacky murals of hunting scenes could soften it. Taran offered to kindle a fire in the enormous red granite hearth that dominated one wall of the room we’d been assigned, but when I flinched, he lit a single lamp and left me to dress for dinner.
Wirrea’s decorating scheme drew heavily on the trophies of her kills, and the taxidermied heads of several fantastical creatures—one with two blunt horns on its head, the face of an antelope, and the long neck of a snake—gazed down on me in glass-eyed stupor. Even if we all survived dinner, there was no chance I would be able to sleep in this room. Actually, there were several reasons I would not be sleeping in this room. At the house of the Moon, I’d slept in the priests’ barracks, but when I inquired as to sleeping arrangements here, the craggy old hunt-priest who’d led us in just pointed to the woven leather mat in front of the single, enormous bed.
In case Taran needed anything in the night, like a drink of water, or an orgasm.
I couldn’t even distract myself with that idea, though I tried hard. My thoughts bounced and spun in my skull without escape.
Taran rapped the open door to announce himself.
“Are you ready?”
Taran had gone very quiet when Wirrea announced the presence of the reborn god of the Underworld, but I doubted that anyone who didn’t know him as well as I had would have seen that he was rattled at all.
“Not yet,” I said, one hand still holding my cloak shut at my neck. “When we came in, did you happen to see whether there are any other doors on the ground level besides the main gates?”
“I didn’t notice. Are you wearing the dress I laid out for you?”
I hadn’t noticed either, which was careless of me. I hadn’t survived this long without being aware of the exits.
“You forgot to pack whatever goes under it,” I said, briskly answering his question.
Taran’s lips curled with amusement, but I couldn’t spare any outrage upon confirming that nothing went under the filmy bodice of the dress except me.
There was only one narrow window in the room, and I opened the shutter and peered out into the courtyard, where the waning light had turned the red stone to the color of embers. The ornate face of the palace might offer enough purchase for hands and feet if we had to climb out, but we’d be totally exposed during our descent.
“Come see if your shoulders will even fit through here,” I said, gesturing for Taran to try.
“My shoulders? Why am I climbing out the window?”
“Only if the main exit is blocked.”
Instead of confirming the feasibility of an escape from the second floor, Taran crossed his arms and leaned against the wall, eyes narrowing.
“Are you scared?” he asked, sounding surprised.
“Yes, of course I’m scared.” I was surprised to have to say it.
“What are you afraid of?”
I gave a small laugh. “I’ve been scared for the last three years straight, ever since every other maiden-priest was incinerated by Death. Why aren’tyouafraid?”
“It’s just a dinner.”
And it had just been the midsummer solstice rites. It had just been a stormy day in Ereban. It had just been a few remaining death-priests and their loyalists.
