She lay in the bath, silvery hair swimming under her back, her stinging, shredded back. Castalline looked up at the ceiling, smiling because she knew his secret now. Merris was like her. God-touched. She whispered little prayers to her Goddess, even though Eryss wasn't listening to her anymore. The water was pink from her blood. She could smell the copper of it. It made her think of how he'd beaten her, the sting of the lash, his panting breath. She trembled.
And then he had vanished. He hadn't sneaked out of the room. Or hid in a closet. He was just gone, as though he'd never existed in that space before. Castalline didn't know which god granted him their power, but the room had tingled with magic and smelled of ozone when he was gone. He was like her. God-touched. She was certain that was why she was so drawn to Merris.
Castalline hadn't seen him in days. She'd searched the sprawling, dark manor. She'd gone down empty corridors, rooms with furniture covered in dusty, white sheets. She didn't know about the basement, about his "experiments." Increasingly, his undead servant Lauris followed her. No amount of yelling or shooing sent the Unquenched woman away.
So it was no surprise to find Lauris looming over her now. Castalline sat up, wincing. She brushed the sodden hair out of her eyes, wiped her face. "What is it?" she asked the almost always mute woman. She could speak, but rarely did so. By way of answer, Lauris tapped a spindly finger against her back.
Castalline frowned and looked up at the woman who now had a leather mask stitched to her face. It gave her a semblance of features, of loveliness. Castalline didn't know what Lauris wanted. Did she wonder why? "I displeased him," she told the Unquenched who canted her head and ran the pads of her cold, leathery fingers over an old scar. "I displease men... often." Castalline looked away. "It's fine."
Slowly, with a funny little "tch" sound, Lauris drew her hand away from Castalline's ruined back. The Unquenched in her stiff little maid's uniform retrieved a towel and held it out to the Muse. Castalline accepted the towel from the other woman and dried herself. Though she was loath to do so, she let Lauris dress her as though she were a child. The Unquenched draped the willowy Muse in ivory silks and lace. Like a little doll. Castalline wanted to tear it all away. She wanted to wear red and purple and lurid colors.
Lauris must have seen her displeasure, for she canted her head to and fro.
"Always white," she said, grumbling. She tugged at the high neckline, flipped the low hem that touched her knees. "I'm dressed like I'm a child. I'm not." But her words didn't seem to mean much to the undead woman. Of course not, Castalline thought bitterly. She supposed, in some strange way, she could relate to the near silent Unquenched. Neither one of them was allowed to do as they pleased. They were kept things. Dolls. She sighed.
"Lauris... That's your name, isn't it?"
Lauris nodded.
"Where is he?" Castalline had to speak to him. See him again. She had to explain herself. Anything not to feel discarded again. She knew she sounded desperate and she didn't care. "Please," she murmured when Lauris said nothing.
"Working," came the whisper of the Unquenched's voice. "Master is working."
She grabbed the woman's hands – perhaps a little too zealous, for she felt some of the skin give. "Please, Lauris. Where? I must see him."
Lauris said nothing.
"Please," she begged. "I love him. I do. I have to see him."
The leather-bound features never changed. Eyes glittered behind the mask but she said nothing. Nothing more. She drew her hands away and Lauris left the room.
Castalline stood in her doll's dress and stiff lace, heart pounding. No. No, she thought. Not again. Not another day would pass where she would be alone with only the dead to keep her company. Things lived in the walls. Cold, empty eyes watched her. Things brushed her skin. She couldn't stand it. She was going mad.
In a blind fury she tore the lace from her collar. Mother-of-pearl beads snapped off and skittered to the floor. She screamed. And screamed. Until her throat bled, until she was sobbing and breathless. She broke bottles in the bathroom. She sliced her lovely, delicate hands with the glass.
Merris didn't come.
Lauris stood in the doorway, emotionless mask just staring at her. Castalline was on her knees panting, weeping. Blood stained the floor, her perfect little girl's dress. Bewildered, she looked down at her hands as they wept and seeped crimson. Castalline closed her eyes. She couldn't bear to watch Lauris just stand there and do nothing. Say nothing.
"Door," Lauris whispered.
Over broken glass and smashed tile Castalline scooted across the floor, pressing her lacerated palms into the damp towel she'd dried off with. She ruined the white linens. Good, she thought through a haze of grief and confusion. She was glad to ruin Merris' things. She'd burn down his whole bloody house if he wouldn't come out and talk to her.
"Door," Lauris repeated, canting her head like a bird. She was a delicate Unquenched. Castalline had never seen one like her before. They were usually men, soldiers, or mad, hungry corpses. And if she didn't take her to Merris right now she was going to tear her arms off.
All god-touched struggled with some form of madness or melancholy. Castalline had been driven to great episodes of maudlin despair ever since she'd been dragged into the streets of the Artisan Quarter and humiliated and raped. She fought with herself now. Fought not to tear poor Lauris to pieces. All that kept her from doing so was the idea that she'd be truly alone then. She'd have no one to even rage at. Lauris, despite how much it annoyed and upset her, was her only friend in all the world.
"What?" she snapped dryly. "What are you saying?" She rose to her feet, white dress in tatters, blood smeared over her long, thin legs. She held the towel clenched in her stinging palms. It hurt, but the pain was good. Pain always helped her to think, to think more clearly. The Maestro had beaten her; she didn't know why, but it had helped her to see again. It brought her close to her goddess.
Lauris sighed, like the wind through dead leaves. She gestured out of the room and stepped into the dark hall. Then Castalline heard it. Sharp, loud knocks at the door, someone shouting. She frowned. "I can't go to the door like this," she said and Lauris nodded. The Unquenched scuttled away. The knocks continued.
Lauris brought her thick, black wool gloves and handkerchiefs to staunch the bleeding. She brought her a thick, navy housecoat with silver threads. It was beautiful, but for a man. Merris, she wondered. Was it his? She let the Unquenched help her, dress her all over again. "The door," Lauris crooned, a paper thin hand at her back, pushing her forward gently. "The door."
Though she was dizzy and a violent migraine blossomed behind her eyes, Castalline fled down the stairs on bare feet. She got to the door and tugged on the heavy iron handles, even as it hurt her hands to do so. Whimpering, she managed to tug one open enough to peek into the dying evening light. Gas lights outside lit the young man on the stoop, his hat in his hand.
"Evening, my lady," he greeted with a stiff, formal bow. He was dressed all in white and gold and red. The colors of the whorehouse she'd burned down.
Castalline flicked her tongue over her dry lips. She stepped outside. Let them try to stop her. She needed the air on her skin. She needed the slate gray sky above her. Her goddess couldn't see her in Merris' place of shadows and death. It clung to her skin. "Evening," she said, her voice barely audible. Too meek. He was just a boy.
For a moment, the young man smiled up at her as though she were a goddess herself. His eyes were glassy and wide, worshipful. It was like being home, where she had visitors in the temple, where people lay flowers at her feet, wine and other little trinkets to earn her favor. So that her mere presence would inspire them. Castalline forgot the pain in her hands, her lonely soul, her troubles, just for a moment as that young man stared up at her, rapt.
"B-beautiful," he murmured. But then it happened as it always did. She inspired poetry in his soul and he yearned to be away to complete it, to create. To be. He wouldn't think of her. They never thought of her after. He blinked, heavy as though waking from a dream and handed her a gilded envelope. "For Master Osterious," he said. He bowed once more and then backed away. Then turned.
He was gone and she was alone again.
I could run, she thought. I could run and leave here. Hide away in a ship and sail to the golden cities across the sea. Maybe they would appreciate her better. But even as she thought this she knew it would be the same no matter where she went. She inspired. Not what she wished to, not love or friendship. It had been fine before she'd tasted affection. Now? Now it was all too much. It hurt her too badly. She teetered on the steps, ready to sink to her knees to cry again, but thin, cold hands tugged at her arms.
Lauris and a ghoul dragged her back inside. They shut and barred the door. She was a prisoner again. And her jailer refused to see her.
Lauris tapped the envelope in her hands.
In a petulant fury, Castalline snatched it away from the Unquenched and opened it herself even though she'd heard the boy.
Salutations Mister Meriweather Osterious,
You have been chosen by the Oracle to act as the God of Flesh's avatar on this plane during the Feast of Saint Baellith. You are to lay with Lady Lillandyr Shadowglade and accept her sacrifice. A carriage will be sent for you at noon tomorrow.
The letter fell from her numb fingers, fluttering to the floor. "No," she whispered.
Lauris scooped up the letter and she tipped her head down. Clearly she was reading it. The ghoul chirped up at her, weaving around her spindly legs. She folded the letter carefully and tucked it into a lace-trimmed pocket on her stiff, white apron. With dainty, clicking steps, she started towards the winding ebon wood staircase.
Castalline thought she must be going to Merris, so she followed. Lauris didn't stop her or tell her to turn back so she took it as permission. Lauris pressed her fingers to the wainscoting under the stairwell and a door opened with a hiss. It slid back and a foul smell, preservative and death, assailed her. Castalline flung her arm over her nose. It was dark and the air was cold and dank, but she followed. She followed even though she was afraid.
She kept her hand on Lauris' pointy elbow because the Unquenched let her. Down a spiral stone staircase they went. Down, down, down. The walls had carvings gouged into them. Prayers and seals of Nehmain. She knew them. She'd seen similar when she'd gone down below. Venorith. She knew it somehow. The eye of Venorith on the walls. It sent cold terror to curdle the contents of her stomach. She feared she'd be sick. What was this?
Lauris just kept going and never answered Castalline's breathless questions. She never responded to the tugging on her arm. Click, click, click went her sharp little heels on the stone. Castalline's feet were dirty from the slimy stone and cold, too. But she kept going. Merris had to be down there. And she could talk to him then.
Finally they made it to the bottom of the staircase and Lauris led them down a long, narrow hall lit by flickering gas torches. She opened an iron door and it creaked and groaned in protest. Bright light stung Castalline's eyes and temporarily blinded her. There was clean, albeit stained, tile under her feet. It smelled strongly of disinfectant, lemon and other chemicals that stung her nose and made her eyes water.
Merris sharply glanced up. He wore his bleach white, double-breasted laboratory coat, heavy black rubber gloves up to his elbows, and goggles. He looked annoyed, as if disturbed. A lick of black hair cut across his narrow face. "Castalline?" he wondered with a mix of surprise and annoyance.
She just saw red. There was a table before him, something... had it even been a person? She gaped and staggered back. The housecoat was open and smeared in crimson, her blood. The stink of blood was copper in the air and she wanted to run. But he spoke her name. He was there. She opened her mouth to say something, to beg and plead that he not leave her alone anymore, but Lauris moved in front of her and offered her master the gilded letter.
His black eyes scanned the page, darting back and forth. A small oval of blood stained the page when he gripped it with his work gloves. He didn't seem surprised. His expression never changed. He merely placed the letter on the corner of the table. "Very well then," he answered coolly, throwing a glance from Lauris to Castalline. "Will that be all?"
She stepped forward, overly pale, frantic. Her eyes were wide, searching his face for any hint of warmth. "You can't!" she cried. "You can't do this!"
"I don't believe I really have a choice, Castalline," he said as he dipped his head and resumed working. He picked up the scalpel and began removing the eyes of... whatever person it once was. One could not tell if the cadaver had once been a man or a woman, pale skin or dark. It was pinned open and wide, as if it were student dissection. The organs were exposed, purples, blues, and shining pink. "I was chosen by a god."
The sight of the corpse was like glass sinking into her skin. She felt ill, dizzy. "Merris," she breathed, coming to his side, her gloved fingers on his sleeve. "Please. We can run away," she offered. "We can leave. They won't follow. She's..." She bit her bottom lip. Shadowglade had come to represent every evil it the world. And she was so jealous that it made bile rise in her throat. "She's a whore. A terrible woman. It's a trick!"
Merris carefully set his scalpel down with a look of irritation. He snapped off his gloves one at a time. They rolled inside out off his arms and cracked like a whip. "What, and defy the will of a god, Castalline?" he asked, lifting a very black, sharp brow. "Do you feel that is entirely wise?" he wondered as he addressed her, giving her his full attention. "You can't run from a god. It is part of what makes them divine. You of all people should know that."
Castalline flinched at every word. Why was he so cruel? What had she done? Her eyes stung with tears and she grasped his sleeves so he wouldn't leave. They always left. Everyone left her alone with only a near mute corpse for company. She couldn't bear it and she knew it was happening again. She knew that no matter how hard she pushed or how much she begged, he would slip from her fingers like sand. "I love you," she told him, the words cutting her as she spoke them. Her hands bled again – she could feel them seeping through the wool of her gloves, staining his white coat where she gripped it.
"Hm..." he said as he looked down and examined her outstretched hands like an experienced doctor. "I can help you," he said with patience and firm confidence. "It isn't like dead flesh," he said as he released her hands and turned away. He fetched black thread and a needle from a sterilized, steel, white box. "But I can help you. How did this happen?" he asked as he held up the small silver needle to the blaring white spotlight above the surgical table and open corpse. Skillfully, he threaded the black cord through the eye on a single try and turned back to her.
She watched him curiously, sniffling back tears. "I slipped and dropped a bottle," she lied. She couldn't tell him that she'd smashed it and... honestly, she couldn't precisely remember how she'd done it, that she'd rammed her hands against the shards of glass. The mad rage she'd flown into blotted out her memory and made it black and fuzzy in places.
He listened and nodded. He tucked his long black hair behind his ears and went to work. He stitched the larger, deeper cuts with very fine, small stitches. First one hand, then the second. It could not be determined if he believed her story by his blank, unreadable expression. The smaller cuts did not need stitches. He cleaned and sterilized both hands before wrapping them in cool, clean linens. "Do not remove the bandages," he warned, "For a few days. I do not wish to see your hands infected. I'll remove the stitches in a week or so," he instructed her.
It stung, but she hardly even flinched. Pain brought blessed clarity. She felt embarrassed for getting so upset now. She realized that perhaps she was not quite... well. Her brow furrowed as she watched him work, hissing through her teeth when the needle sunk deep into the meat of her palm. "I'll – I'll be better," she mumbled. "It's just been hard... being forced out of my home and... you..." she frowned and looked at his face. "You left me all alone." She didn't mean to sound accusatory, but she was certain it did.
He had turned away from her and begun washing his hands at a large basin at the end of the room. The water was running, and he scrubbed all the way up to his elbows with a fierce, vigorous enthusiasm. The soap smelled acidic and harsh. Afterward, he dried himself and began to unfasten the huge black buttons of his coat. "I did not intend to. I apologize," he said as he hung the coat inside of a metal locker on the far wall. "I sometimes lose track of time when working. You're more than welcome to ask Lauris," he said as he nodded to the silent Unquenched near the door, "if you need anything or wish to fetch me for a moment of my time."
She smiled. It was like the sun melted away gray storm clouds. It was kind, far kinder than the Maestro had been to her. She was never allowed to bother him and he kept her like a white, shining bird in his room and she was made to sing only for his pleasure. She didn't bother him further but graced him with the joy of a Muse. It was pure, bright inspiration. Nothing could compare. It was synergy like no other. He would want only to create. And she would give him his privacy.
She gestured for Lauris to follow her. The Unquenched canted her head to and fro but then tottered after her. Castalline decided that she liked the woman now. They were friends because Lauris had kept her secret about the bathroom and the fit she'd had. She would, in time, apologize to her too, for locking her away in that closet. For now, she wanted only to rest and try to put Shadowglade from her mind. He would see. He would see who was true and who loved him. It was only a matter of time.