Utterly undone by his artless charm, I stroke his cheek while dodging away from his kiss. “None of that. I’m on a mission, and I won’t stop, no matter your blandishments.”
29.
Even after all these years, the baron and baroness’s bedroom is opulent.
I expect the white and silver motif to continue here as well, but instead, everything is green and gold, real gilt by the look of it. The fittings on the dresser could feed a family for a year. Though I haven’t cleaned, no dust has formed on the furnishings, and the bed curtains are pristine, a deep, mossy velvet with golden tasseled cords. Somehow, I anticipated a sinister sanctuary with signs of evil writ large. If not in blood on the walls, then the decor ought to show some sign of how wicked the prior occupants were.
But no. Down to the peaceful, pastoral paintings on the walls, this is an elegant, well-appointed room. Silver-backed brushes wait on the dressing table for someone to sit on the padded bench and admire themselves in the clouded looking glass. A shaving kit is placed beside the wash basin, razor still bearing whiskers from its last use. This . . . is eerie.
“You didn’t get rid of their things,” I say, mostly to see what Njål will say.
“It seemed like wasted effort.” He doesn’t explain that statement.
Nor do I press him as I open the nearest wardrobe, which is stuffed full of dresses. He must have brought clothes other visitors had left behind, nothing that belonged to the baroness. I appreciate that.
Next, I target the baron’s armoire, an ornate piece with green cloisonné panels inset into the doors. He has fewer garments than his wife, but they’re all expensive and luxurious. I rummage through various boxes, chests, and drawers, finding ear cuffs and lapel pins, jeweled rings and a larger set that looks like an embellished set of manacles. I can imagine what that’s used for. Unfortunately, I don’t locate the necklace Njål mentioned.
“A pity, but I don’t think the talisman is here.”
As I slump on the floor in dispirited exhaustion, he squares his shoulders. “Wait a moment. I think I know where it is.”
Before I can say a word, he rushes off. I know damn well he’s going to the east wing, possibly to wrest the thing from the baron by force. With every fiber of my being, I want to follow, but innate caution holds me back. When I face them, I want every advantage, and that means destroying their objects of power first—but it will be a slow process, requiring all my limited patience. Acting on impulse will mean the end of both Njål and me. I might’ve been ready for a grim conclusion when I first arrived, but that’s not true any longer.
Both of us deserve to live. I want to travel the world and have adventures, not grow old within these walls. At best I have one chance to set things right. I’ll wait for the perfect opportunity and strike, so swift and sure that they have no chance to mount a defense.
Even Njål doubts that I can do this; he fears me destroying myself like a moth flying into a flame. Best for him to carry that impression back to our enemies.
I have no intention of falling asleep—hell, I’d never drift off in their room of my own free will—but suddenly I’m falling, and I hit the ground with a thud. It hurts. The stairs loom before me and I recognize the descent into the bone room, though with torches lit, it isn’t as terrifying as when I found it. Carefully, I descend step by step as an audible chant rises from below, syllables repeated in a language I neither speak nor comprehend. It’s nothing I’ve heard, not from Njål or any foreign traveler who’s passed through Bitterburn.
I creep to the edge of the wall and peer around. Young Njål is strapped to a table, as is his betrothed, Gilda. Their eyes are wide and terrified, but they can’t scream against the metal and leather pieces fitted across their mouths. The baron and baroness are chanting, and the baron smiles as he raises the knife, etched with occult sigils.
A touch startles me and I flail, arms swinging, until Njål steadies me. When I open my eyes, I’m curled on my side in front of the bed in the green and gold state room. He kneels before me, eyes lambent with worry. “What happened?”
As I push upright, I smell fresh blood. “You’re hurt!”
“Just a scratch,” he says. “Here, I got the necklace.”
He unfolds a blood-stained handkerchief to reveal a large yellow fang with a hole through the wide end, a crude leather cord strung through it. This looks nothing like a powerful treasure. It’s a brutal, violent talisman, and before I even touch it, my inner arms warm with the heat it radiates, like fresh blood hot from a kill.
Njål likely expects me to ask where he found it. I don’t because there’s no reason to make him lie. I can smell the fetid aura attached to this thing, as if it’s just been plucked out of putrid flesh. No matter how terrifying this gets, I must not waver. Grimly I accept this hideous token and wrap the cloth edges about it.
Njål pulls me to my feet and I tuck the baron’s amulet in the pocket of my dress. For a moment, I let myself rest against his strong chest and listen to his heart, the one that shouldn’t still be beating, the one that will destroy me if it stops. I’ve already lost one person I love; there’s no way I can survive another parting where I’m left behind. All or nothing, then—we both leave here safe and well, or neither.
Yet I’m also resolute. No retreat. No more making do.
I gaze up at his face, so rare that he lets me look my fill without trying to hide, at least a little. We’ve done so much
