Alder follows close enough that I feel the heat of him at my back. “Sweetheart, you’re already haunting me.”
My skin prickles as the thud of Alder’s stolen boots echoes in the silence.
Behind us, the doors groan shut, and a sharp click locks them in place.
I yelp involuntarily. Fear frosts my veins and curlscold around my ribs. I want to puke. I didn’t like the guards, but at least I knew they were human. These cloaked figures? I don’t know what’s behind their masks.
One of them steps forward as though pulled by invisible strings. They motion for us to follow, and without hesitation, Alder starts walking. It takes me being left behind in the giant hall with these silent figures to decide to cling to his confidence rather than resent it. Holding a grudge won’t get me out of here. And right now, I need his certainty more than I need my pride.
As we move deeper into the castle, the silent figures surge to life like a wave. One by one, they step forward, their cloaks billowing softly, silently guiding us like a living, breathing map.
Silks cascade along the walls in shades of blue, shimmering with silver accents that shift like ripples across still water. The walls are interrupted by tall, narrow windows pressed into the stone, their frames etched with cresting waves. Sunlight streams in, painting the hall in muted blues and greys.
Above us, chandeliers spiral downward from the soaring ceiling, their arms curling like frozen whirlpools. Each fixture cradles dark, unlit globes that glint faintly, waiting for a spark that doesn’t come.
Pipes coil along the walls, their sleek, serpentine patterns gleaming in the sunlight. They twist and curve, utterly silent. There’s no hiss of steam, no hum of machinery. Shouldn’t they make some kind of noise like the machines outside the castle? Only the constant distorted murmur of the waterfalls beyond the walls and my shallow breathing break the silence.
The deeper we go, the more the air vibrates with anunspoken tension. I swear I’m the only one who feels it because neither Alder nor these…people…show even the slightest hint that anything is out of place. But the closer we get to the heart of the castle, the more I want to run away.
We’re guided down another hallway, this one narrower, darker. The flicker of light from distant windows barely illuminates the space, leaving shadows to slither across the walls. My gaze is drawn to the unlit chandeliers, the empty, cold sconces lining the walls.
“This is basically a horror novel,” I mutter. “And I know damn well we’re walking straight into the climax.”
Alder snorts, because of course he does. “Drama, sweetheart.”
I glare up at him. “Why don’t they turn on the lights?”
He shrugs, entirely unbothered. “Maybe they’re environmentally conscious.”
“Yeah, that’s the first thing I thought when we took a ferry through a waterfall and ended up inTheInfernal Devicesmeets Versailles castle. I’m sure conservation is their top priority.”
“You should try a little optimism, Gemma.”
“I’ll try optimism when we stop walking directly toward our gruesome deaths.”
“You always assume the worst,” he muses, unaffected by my impending nervous breakdown.
I cross my arms, irritation simmering beneath my panic. “Tell me, Alder, do you always know what you’re doing, or are you just really good at faking it?”
His lips curve, wicked and knowing. “Tell me,Gemma, what’s the difference?”
“One of them means you’ll get us killed, and the other means you’lldefinitelyget us killed.”
He chuckles. “Sweetheart, if we were going to die, it would’ve happened already.”
We take another turn, and the hall widens abruptly, spilling us into a vast chamber with towering double doors at its end.
The figures in cloaks fan out, taking their places along the walls in synchronized silence, their metallic masks gleaming faintly in the dim light.
I swallow. Hard.
The doors ahead are massive, inlaid with silver gears and sigils. As soon as we stop, they begin to move—clicking, grinding, unlocking.
“This is it,” I whisper, pulse thrumming in my ears. “This is where they murder us, sacrifice us to some eldritch god, or feed us to whatever fantastical nightmare they’re hiding in the heart of the castle.”
Alder scoffs. “You’ve read too many books.”
“I don’t think I’ve read enough books to prepare for this.”
