Tahki started to drift off again when the table across the room rattled. His eyelids parted. The room appeared darker than it had a moment ago. He sat up, groggy.
On the other end of the room, a dark shape hunched in the shadows. For a moment he thought it was just part of the small desk, but then it twitched ever so slightly.
“Sornjia?” he said instinctively. It took him a moment to remember he wasn’t in his own room, and his brother slept miles away.
The dark shape swayed.
“Who’s there?”
The darkness stilled.
And then the most unusual sensation struck Tahki. He felt as though he was looking at nothing. Like the dark shape was not a shape but the lack of something, of everything.
His heart pumped and anxiety stirred his brain. He put his feet on the chilly floor, ready to hop out of bed, when the shape jerked upward.
Tahki froze.
A set of dim eyes blinked open across the room and stared at him. A face in the dark wall. Human or animal or something else, he couldn’t tell.
The shape looked slender now, but he could distinguish no features. Maybe an animal had crawled in through a window. He knew nothing about the wildlife around here.
And then the dark shape took a step toward him.
Tahki spun around and fell off the other side of his bed. The blanket wrapped around his feet and he struggled to free himself. He heard a gentle pat pat pat. Footsteps. The thing walked toward him. He unraveled the blanket and hurled himself forward in the dark. His face hit the wall and he let out an involuntary cry. He could feel something warm on the nape of his neck, but when he spun around, the room was empty.
His pillow and blanket lay on the floor. He panted and stared a long moment before he considered finding Rye. But what good would that do, and why had he thought of Rye before Dyraien or Gale? Rye would laugh at him.
Night hallucinations were not uncommon. Lack of sleep and anxiety could play a nasty tune in your mind. Obviously he’d had some kind of lucid nightmare.
Tahki returned to his bed. He sat up for a long time, but the room stayed undisturbed. He stared up at the dark ceiling until a dreamless sleep relieved his thoughts, and he dozed uninterrupted until morning.
HE FELT more himself when he woke. His muscles ached and his stomach growled, but his mind worked like a well-oiled clock. His first thoughts were of the dark thing in his room, but he dismissed them as a nightmare. If it had been an animal, it would have left smudge marks or hair or something on the floor.
He slid out of bed, hoping he hadn’t slept in too late. Someone had laid clothes outside his door. He slipped them on, a tight sleeveless white shirt with dark leather sides, and boots and pants to match. There was a coat, too, white and short and made of fine leather, but he didn’t think he needed it. He wanted his skin to acclimate to the cold climate as fast as possible.
He’d never cared about fashion, but as he walked down the stairway and caught a glimpse of himself in a window reflection, he couldn’t help but think he looked decent in Vatolok clothing. They were so different from the baggy, colorful silks back home. So sleek. So modern. So not like anything he’d worn before.
In the foggy light of day, the castle didn’t seem so ominous. He heard metal clinking and followed the sound. The scent of fried ham and garlic washed over him. He reached what he assumed was the kitchen and poked his head inside.
Rye sat hunched in a chair, mulling over a paper in his hand. He sipped a cup of black coffee. “Bread’s in the wooden box on the counter,” he said without looking up. “Meat’s hanging in the pantry. Cheese is here. You’ll have to brew more coffee if you want some.”
“Not really a coffee drinker,” Tahki said. “Tea would be nice.”
“There isn’t any.”
Tahki lingered by the door. The kitchen had a stove and exactly one pot, one pan, and one spatula in sight. There were a few eggs in an egg tray and some garlic. An island took up most of the room. Long windows let in light beside the table where Rye sat. Outside the window, he could see the dark wooden waterwheel, motionless in the fog.
He had never seen such a small kitchen. Castles were supposed to be grand estates, and kitchens should be large enough so the servants could make feasts. But Dyraien had said they didn’t have servants. Did that mean the castle was built intentionally like this?
Tahki’s stomach growled again. He stepped up to the counter. Eggs sounded good, but he didn’t know how to make them. He could probably crack one open, but how long did they cook for? Back home, he ate curry omelets almost every morning but never saw them made. He decided to make fried bread instead. If he undercooked it, it wouldn’t make him sick.
He found a knife and sliced off a piece of bread. The first time, he sliced too thin. It crumbled into tiny bits. He tried again. This one came out jagged but thick enough to fry. He put the pan on the stove and found a match in a jar. The stove was a great black clunky contraption built into the counter space. It looked nothing like he’d ever seen, probably a newer design. The ones back home utilized an open flame, but even those were only used by the servants. They did the cooking and cleaning and all the other simple tasks that suddenly didn’t seem so simple. But he was only frying bread. It
