Look, I love history, but there are about a million things I need to be doing right now – apocalypse-avoiding things. A girl needs to prioritize.
We’re on the third floor now, and I stifle a sigh as I spot a golden coat of arms. It’s yet another weird knock-off from my home realm.
“You mentioned you spent time in the Mortal Realm, so, do you know why so much of the castle looks like places there?” I ask, figuring this topic technically still counts as art history.
Nymara considers my question and gives a slight shrug, like she’s decided she can answer this one. “TheOtherworld is a melting pot of powerful creatures from all the realms. As such, we’re heavily influenced by different cultures. The Mortal Realm is the only one we’ve never been allowed to frequent. So, naturally, it’s the one that everyone is obsessed with. The powerful look down on the mortals, but your contraband is a hot commodity. And of course, most of the spirits that end up here are brought in from the Mortal Realm. That alone tends to drive the fashion market.”
“How are the spirits brought in?” I ask, trying to sound only mildly curious, even when my stomach pinches. The missing spirits aren’t quite as urgent as stopping a war, but I don’t want to squander an opportunity to learn more.
“There are Harvesters. They don’t hold much magic, but unlike some of us, they can apparate. They use crystals, forged by the mages here, to draw in loose spirits. Once the spirit touches the crystal, it’s temporarily bound until the Harvester apparates back to the Otherworld. Then, the spirits are manacled and sold.” She explains it casually, like she’s describing plumbing and not soul trafficking.
I chew on my bottom lip, considering her words. There were plenty of ghosts in my hometown, and in my small college town, too. If Harvesters were going around, then how did those ghosts avoid them? Still, I can’t ask that without revealing anything about my Reaper power. As Nymara said, we aren’t friends.
Instead, I walk to a nearby painting. “So, my realm was haunted, but only the Harvesters can see ghosts there?”
Nymara scoffs, “No, that’s why they only frequent the bigger cities. More souls in one place means a steadier supply. The crystal is a bit like a light, outside at night. It draws in the spirits like they’re insects. But they only become visible once they’re in the Otherworld.”
She comes to stand beside me, and I decide to push my luck.
“And now all the ghosts are missing.” I stare at her face for any indication that she knows what’s going on.
“That’s what they’re saying,” Nymara answers, holding my gaze. It costs her, though. I catch the slightest twitch in one of her neck muscles.
Bracing myself, I figure I may as well see just how much she’s willing to share. “So, what happened to them?”
She blanches, whipping her head to look around the hallway, like she expects someone to come running. There’s no one there, but when she turns to look back at me, there’s an intensity in her gaze. It’s so far removed from the insecure, broken person I’ve spent the last few days with that I almost back up a step.
She takes a step closer to me, and though her voice is barely audible, I hear every word. “In this place, your survival often hinges on your abilitynotto ask certain questions. Think carefully before you voice them. The walls have ears.”
Ice slides down my spine, but before I can apologize, Nymara plasters on a fake smile. “Excellent, now, listen carefully, while I tell you more about this art. As a history fan, I’m sure you’ll enjoy this.”
She says it in a friendly enough way, but I’m shocked to feel the leash snapping tightly in my mind. That’s new. Nymara has never used the leash on me.
Her gaze hardens at what is undoubtedly a hurt expression on my own, but she gives no explanation. Instead, she moves to a painting further down the hall.
I wonder if maybe she’s lashing out at me for possibly getting her in trouble. A flash of Kenzie surrounded by blood fills my mind, but then Nymara starts talking, forcing me to focus on her words.
She walks me through the history of three more paintings. One is from the Beast Realm, and two are from the Otherworld. I’m almost ready to call it a night when she leads us to another piece of art.
I recognize it instantly. It’s a famous painting by Goya, of a god eating his son. I’m fairly certain it’s still on display, somewhere in the Mortal Realm.
Nymara raises a brow at my stunned expression. “I can see you’re familiar with this one. The painting in your realm is a glamoured replica, indistinguishable from the original.” She then starts going on about how Goya painted it on his wall in 1821, and how he was inspired by traumas he witnessed earlier in life, such as the Spanish Inquisition, and when Marie Antoinette was shot in the head.
She pauses for a moment, and I wonder if I should correct her – Marie Antoinette wasn’t shot, she was beheaded – until Leon’s voice fills the hall.
“There you are,” he notes, sounding annoyed.
I go rigid as he wraps an arm around my waist.
He sneers at Nymara when he takes in the painting. “What filth are you subjecting my betrothed to? This is grotesque and not appropriate for her.”
Nymara keeps her gaze locked on the floor. “Of course, my apologies.”
His eyes narrow, like he’s thinking about a way to punish her, and I quickly turn to face him.
“It’s my fault. I asked Nymara to show me paintings from the Mortal Realm. She was going to skip this one, but I begged her to tell me how it arrived here from my old home.” I hope my mention of ‘old home’ will be enough to distract him.
Leon gives an indulging sigh as he smiles down at me, his attention now safely away from Nymara. “Of course, that is an understandable curiosity. But, my love, you must work hard to suppress such urges. I won’t have your mind filled with such drivel. You are above that.”
