Page 14 of Beyond Those Gilded Walls

“Just two so far. But there are far more in Jura.”

She let out a long breath. “Well, don’t go looking for any more. I mean it.”

“Do the other girls have marks? Is there anyone else in the castle who has fallen ill while here and survived?” I hoped the widening of my eyes would aid in selling the innocent curiosity. I hoped the shroud would aid even more.

Silence fell over us and a chill ran down my spine like spectral fingers.

“Odyssa—”

Clanging from down the hall interrupted whatever she had been about to say. I wanted to curse whoever it was, but when Talyssa, the one with eyes like sapphires and hair like burnished copper, entered the room, already seeming to curl in on herself, I couldn’t find it in me to be cross with her. I wanted to reach out, to reassure her that I meant her no harm, but I couldn’t bring myself to speak. I needed that comfort for myself, I supposed.

“I apologize for interrupting, but Zaharya, we need you down there.” Talyssa kept her hands clasped in front of her, her head bowed as she spoke.

“Come, Odyssa,” Zaharya said, pushing back into standing. “Take one of those trays and follow my lead.”

My heart thundered against my rib cage, but I wiped my damp palms on my dress and reached through the slits in the sides of the shroud.

“Wait.” Her hand came out to rest on my wrist and I barely caught the flinch in time, pushing it back down into my bones before it could escape. Her touch lightened, along with her voice. “You did nothing wrong. Be calm. We need to find you gloves to cover your marks first, that’s all.”

I wanted to ask why they needed to be covered, why they should have to be hidden when they meant I had survived. But I said nothing, nodding instead. The prince, too concerned with his parties to even set his own coronation, would not want that reminder of the suffering he left his people to.

Moments later, my hands and arms were covered up the elbow in lace gloves so intricate you could not tell the underlying swirls of my marks from the design of the lace. Beneath the shroud, it would be impossible to see the difference.

With my Death marks now appropriately covered, Zaharya placed a tray filled with small pastries in my hands and adjusted her own shroud before leading me out of the kitchen.

I felt the music long before I heard it, the deep notes vibrating in my bones and shaking the tray as we neared. As we entered the ballroom, I was grateful for the willpower I’d cultivated over the years. My steps did not falter and the tray did not shake in my hands, even as my mouth opened slightly and my eyes widened to take in the scene before me. The awe quickly faded and my mouth clamped shut, the vein in my forehead throbbing once more. Smoke washed over my tongue, and I kept my focus on Zaharya’s back.

The midnight-blue material that covered us was clearly not a standard uniform but specifically chosen for tonight. It matched the room perfectly. The ceiling of the long arching ballroom was clearly intended to be the centerpiece of the room, adorned with swathes of deep, midnight-blue velvet drapes that cascaded down the walls, creating the illusion of a starlit sky as the room stretched out on either side of a large, raised platform, arching down on either side.

My eyes followed the fabric down to the walls, embellished with intricate tapestries embroidered with depictions of some of Veressia’s gods—Kalyx, god of Death; Ratka, goddess of war; and Jaryk, god of the wilds—their likenesses interwoven with silver and gold threads that caught the light and gleamed like distant stars. Tall candelabras stood sentinel in corners, their flickering flames casting dancing shadows.

The floor, polished to a glossy obsidian sheen, reflected the starry ceiling above, and at the center of the room, a sprawling black marble dance floor, encircled by ornate wrought-iron railings resembling twisted branches.

It was beautiful. It was horrific. I could not decide how to react.

“There you are; I’m starved!” A man’s deep voice behind me made me startle, but I kept hold of the tray. “Good god, you’re a skittish one, aren’t you? Best not let the prince see, hmm?” He swept nearly all the pastries into his large palm and spun away, disappearing back into the fray.

My anger spiked at the careless indifference of the man, and I bit down hard on my tongue to keep from responding. Already, I was threatening to break the rules Zaharya had given me. I stood there, watching as the other revelers followed suit of the man, smiling and laughing with each other as the music picked up, spitting out a lively tune. People began dancing as they laughed, entirely unhindered as they twirled around, ignorant of the bloodbath occurring just below their gilded walls.

Zaharya had moved away, now standing at one of the long tables that spanned the sides of the room. With one last glance at the growing crowd, I rushed to her side. She raised her head at my approach. “You may be wearing a veil, but you need to be mindful of your expressions, Odyssa,” she murmured, resuming her task of setting out glasses on the velvet tablecloth.

I hurried to help her, ducking my head to hide my face from any curious stares.

She stretched her hand out from her veil, setting it on mine to still my movements. “I know how you feel. You cannot show it here, though.”

“It’s horrible,” I murmured, pulling my hand away from hers and continuing to set out the items on our trays. All these people, easily numbering a thousand, were reveling in the opulence and wealth while their kingdom suffocated. It was obscene.

“It is.”

“Why does he do this? Why won’t he take the throne and help his people?”

“You shouldn’t ask such questions where anyone can overhear.” Her words were barely more than a whisper, but I heard the caution in them. An unspoken warning, and one I both appreciated and cursed. I needed information, and I could not get that by being cautious.

We lapsed into silence as we unloaded the last of the trays before she led me around the room to collect the already empty glasses from those attendees. Wine was certainly not in short supply here inside the castle, not as it was down in the heart of Veressia. Down there, outside these walls, everything was in short supply, including hope and joy. Yet, here, as with everything else, it thrived in abundance.

Zaharya appeared at my side suddenly, thrusting her own tray full of empty glasses into my hand along with my own. She leaned in close to me, her eyes flicking about the rest of the room. “Get back to the kitchens now. The prince is coming, and you should not be here for that now. You will not be able to school your reactions to him.” I stood there clutching the trays, frozen, my eyes still fixed on the crowd of crooning and celebratory revelers. “Odyssa,” she hissed, finally pulling my gaze to her. “Go. Now.”

The sharpness of her words pierced through the haze of my stupor and I nodded once, before making my escape to the small door at the back of the room. She was right; if I was unable to school my features well enough in reaction to the prince’s chosen partygoers, I certainly would not be able to control myself in the face of the Coward Prince himself.

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