(Skeleton Key) Into Elurien (3 page)

“Did you get hurt last night?” I asked, nodding at her leg.

She patted the limb she’d been limping on. “Old injury from early training days. I um… I don’t like to talk about those times.” She sounded about to cry.

“I’m sorry.” An awkward silence followed. “You’ve done a good job protecting me,” I added. “So that Zinian fellow should be pleased.”

Auphel sighed, and her shoulders slumped. “I was supposed to be ready for this. Mama tried to say I was too small and girlish, but Zinian corscrupted me because he thought I could be a benefit to the rebellion.”

I kept my expression neutral at the idea of this huge and well-muscled creature being considered too feminine for anything. I hated to imagine what a big male would look like.

Corscrupted,
I noted. Not conscripted. A mistake I might have made when I was a child.

“How old are you, Auphel?”

“Old enough for a lot of things, I guess.” Her nose wrinkled.

A lump formed in my throat. I’d been afraid of someone who now seemed young and friendly, and perhaps even scared of me. This monster hardly qualified for the title, as far as I could tell. To be fair, she’d had an axe over my neck, but I decided we could leave that in the past. Besides, she might be helpful when I needed to escape.
Assuming any of this is real.

“Where are we?” I asked. “Not the building. This place.”

“Elurien,” she said, sounding surprised.

At least it sounds nice.

My stomach growled, and Auphel squinted at me. “You’re hungry. I shouldn’t leave, but…” She went to the door and looked out. “There’s no one else. If I go get you something from the palace kitchens, you’ll lock the door behind me and let me back in?” She gestured toward the door, which I now saw locked from inside the room with a simple deadbolt. “Zinian gave me the key, but my hands will be full.”

“How will I know it’s you?”

“I’ll knock like this.” She leaned over the wooden chest at the end of the bed and laid out a long series of thumps with no pattern to them at all. “See?”

“If you do that, I’ll know it’s you.” Polite knocks would go unanswered, I decided.

“There’s a toilet room through that door if you need it,” she added, nodding to a sliding pocket door near the bed, and left. The space felt safer once I’d turned the lock.

I used the bathroom quickly—with great appreciation for the running water and flushing toilet, though I was disappointed by the lack of a bathtub—then stood in the middle of the floor and looked around the room. Verelle’s room, whoever that was. The rug beneath my feet, which covered most of the floor, depicted images set out in concentric rings, each one its own scene. I crouched to look closer. The middle of the rug held the sun, burning bright and yellow, sending out wavy beams that touched the rings closest to it. The first and smallest circle showed a pair of pale hands cupped around the sun. The next showed the same figure several times over, in different scenes. A white-robed woman with flowing blonde hair, sometimes wearing a crown with tall spikes. She touched people, stood in crowds, lifted her hands over them. It was all very Children’s Story Bible, or would have been if Jesus had been a blonde white lady.

The next ring showed more people, becoming violent. It seemed out of place in this peaceful room. The next had them battling a dizzying array of monsters. The blonde was there, larger than she’d been in the previous ring, but no more detailed. Angels flew overhead, also fighting the monsters.

The outer rings, where the sun’s rays no longer reached, were filled with more monsters. I scanned my memory for the words. Centaur, harpy, ogre, goblin, troll, fairy, dragon, and many I couldn’t identify. I spotted a unicorn running a man through with its horn, and a horse with four wings.

Though only depicted in carpet and not intricate tapestry, the images became clearer the longer I watched them. I stood and looked away. It had been lovely from a distance, and the craftsmanship was undoubtedly superior, but what I saw there made my stomach hurt.

These were the monsters who had surrounded me last night, and I felt certain that Verelle was that human woman.

So what’s happening to the rest of the humans, if this is their city?

My throat tightened as I toyed again with the key. Never had I wanted to return to boring old Fairbrook so badly.

Couldn’t have dreamt up one of those nice worlds, could you, Hazel? Nope. You had to invent Monster Murder Land. Fan-fuckin’-tastic. Well done. Really.

I went to a window, where a chess set was laid out on a small table. No, not chess, I realized as I looked closer. Something similar, but with squares of varying sizes as the playing field. The pieces on one side were humans, monsters on the other. They were like tiny stone gargoyles, but carved with the features of different creatures.

I turned to the books next, housed on tall, whitewashed bookcases that matched the rest of the room’s furniture. Book collections are always a good way to learn about someone, and I’d snooped bookcases at parties back home the way some people snooped medicine cabinets. I opened a leather-bound volume at random, not expecting to be able to read it. I never could read print in dreams.

I traced my fingers down over the page and found that I understood the words before me, though the shapes of the letters were unfamiliar. My eyes travelled naturally from right to left, as the curved and dotted text seemed to indicate, and the meanings were as clear as if I were reading English.

And in those days the monsters roamed the land, living as animals, without understanding. The humans came among them, living in peace, sharing the words of the Mother.

I snapped the book closed. “Living in peace,” I repeated. The words sounded right to me, but the movements of my tongue felt strange. I wasn’t speaking English.

I opened the book again to a later page, and read again.
Beware the liar, the disrupter, who seems to come in peace. Beware the true monster, fair of face and black of heart, with words of honey and claws of poison.

Pleasant,
I added to myself, and shivered. A beautiful monster. I hadn’t seen those yet, though the amalgus thing might have fit if he hadn’t had blood on his skin and murder in his voice.

The door clicked open behind me, and I put the book back on the shelf. “Managed the key with full hands, or couldn’t find food?” I called over my shoulder, then turned.

My heart sank. It wasn’t Auphel who stood in the doorway, but Zinian.

I
stepped back
until the edges of the bookshelves dug into my spine. My mind went blank. Zinian made no move to come closer, but he closed and locked the door behind him. My heart pounded. The sword rested at his side today, but neither that nor the daylight made him any less terrifying. He wasn’t as tall as I’d thought when I’d looked up at him from the floor. Maybe a little under six feet, if you didn’t count those horns. They reminded me of a type of wild goat I’d seen at the zoo.
Markhor,
I remembered, and the information grounded me.
I’m dreaming. I put him together from stories and animals and… I don’t know. Nightmares. He’s not real.

He’d cleaned up since the previous night, though he hadn’t changed his clothes. Scratches and cuts marked his skin, but he had apparently come through the night just fine.

Zinian stepped further into the room. His shoulders were hunched forward, and he held his wings lower than he had in the heat of thwarted victory. He frowned, though not at me. At the room and its contents. His fingers rolled into fists that only did a mostly decent job of hiding his claws as he stopped in the middle of the carpet. He looked down and flexed his toes, digging his thick talons into the image of the sun.

I sidestepped clear of the bookshelf.

Zinian turned to me, and his expression sharpened as he stalked forward, muscles tense under his scarred skin.

“Please,” I said, knowing how stupid and weak it sounded, but not knowing what else to offer. “I told you, I’m not—”

Though he stood close enough that I could have touched him, he ignored me. Instead, he reached up to take a delicate doll off the shelf next to my head. No terrifying baby doll, this. It was a woman, honey-haired and beautiful, with deep rose lips and bright blue eyes that sparkled over high-boned cheeks. She looked to be made of fine china, her white skin smooth and perfect. Her dress was petal pink and she wore a golden crown.

“Who is that?” I asked.

Zinian gripped the doll tight in his claws, tearing the delicate fabric. “Verelle,” he said quietly. His voice sounded hollow, with a hint of an animal growl at the edges. “Queen and protector of the humans. Bane of monsters. Sorceress. It’s a good likeness.”

He held the doll up, letting sunlight glint in its long tresses. A strange expression crossed his face, something beyond rage. In one quick motion he placed his clawed thumb under the doll’s pointed chin and snapped her head clean off. It fell to the floor and rolled under the bed, looking like a golden dust bunny.

He dropped the body and turned to me. I tried not to stare, but it was hard. He was so
other.
The human aspects of his appearance—his ruggedly masculine face shape, the well-formed torso and arms—only made the monstrous bits seem stranger. I focused on his eyes. Unnatural in their brightness, but something I could look at without feeling I was going crazy.

“Like what you see?”

I swallowed hard. “I just—I’ve never seen anyone like you before.”

He snorted. “I get that a lot.”

Arrogant in the bargain,
I thought, but was far too frightened to offer a dismissive roll of my eyes. Instead, I gripped the key and reminded myself again that it was a dream.

And yet, in the light of day, it all seemed so real. Every detail was perfect, from the gentle whisper of his feet over the carpet to the faintly smoky smell he’d carried in with him.

“Who are you?” he asked.

“Hazel,” I said. No one else here had offered last names.

“How was it done?” He spoke calmly, but I felt no less threatened. He stood too close to allow my nerves to settle.

“How—What?”

Excellent. Blow the enemy away with your wit and intelligence.

Zinian’s lips tightened, hiding the fangs that were so easily visible when he spoke. “I knew when I looked in your eyes that you weren’t her. She’s never been able to hide herself from me quite that well, but few know what to look for. Jaid’s instinct to kill you was a good one.”

“Oh.”

“But something happened. Everyone says the same thing, that they had Verelle cornered in her outer chamber, at their mercy. And then she was gone, and you were there. How was the exchange done, and what has she offered to make you take such a risk?” He tilted his head slightly, and his eyes softened. “Or what did she threaten you with?”

“I’ve never met her. I’m not from this world.” The words came slowly, like my brain refused to believe they were necessary.

“You speak our tongue well enough.”

“That’s surprising to me, too.”

His lip lifted in a silent snarl. “Magic.”

He leaned in closer, and in spite of myself I looked away from his eyes. My gaze landed on his cheek, where four thin, jagged scars followed the line of his cheekbone. Well-healed claw marks, though I didn’t know what would have dared attack him.

“Tell me where she is, and we’ll see that you’re well treated.”

“I can’t.”

“She’s gone. You don’t have to fear her now.”

I laughed nervously. “No, it’s not that. I’m seriously not from here.” I motioned to my pyjamas. “I haven’t seen much human fashion in this place, but I doubt this is usual. Right?”

He frowned as he took in the scuffed knees and pink polka dots on my pants and the fuzzy slipper-socks that covered my feet. His gaze moved up over the black zip-up hoodie, which covered my upper curves and did a half-decent job taking the place of the bra I was now thinking I should have thrown on before I went exploring. His gaze lingered a little too long, and my face grew warm. It had been a while since anyone as attractive as him had given me that kind of a once-over.

Not attractive, Hazel. Monster. Devil.
If I found that even remotely attractive, I definitely had a concussion.

“No,” he acknowledged. “Your attire is most unusual.” He crossed his arms. “You’ve had no contact with magic-workers?”

“Um… No? Well, besides a magician at my cousin’s birthday party when she turned eight. And we played with a ouija board this one time, but that…” I cleared my throat. “Not real magic. Not until last night, I guess. If that’s what the key is.”

My stomach clenched.
Not possible
. Magic was for silly books and fairy tales. I put my hand in my pocket and pinched my thigh hard. The sharp pain brought tears to my eyes, but did nothing to wake me up.

Zinian’s hand went to his sword. “What are you doing?”

“Checking.” I counted to five and forced myself to breathe calmly. “This is how I got here. Not some exchange of bodies. Not helping anyone escape.” I pulled the key from my pocket and held it close to my body. High-pitched panic flooded my veins when he plucked it from my hand. My chest tightened. “That’s mine.”

He arched a dark eyebrow. “I know.” He lifted it, testing its weight, and examined it in the light of the window.

“I used it to open a door in an attic,” I explained. “I stepped through, and fell.”

Zinian said nothing to that.

My mouth went dry. “Can I have it back, please?”

“There are others who will need to see this.”

“But it’s not yours.” I felt like a child, whining about fairness and not wanting to share. But if I chose to accept that this was really happening, that key was my only hope of getting home.

He nodded. “I’ll see that you get your key as soon as we determine that it’s not dangerous. I know little about magic other than recognizing its presence, but there are others who will be able to tell us about where it might lead.”

“Fairbrook,” I said, almost under my breath. It didn’t matter. I cleared my throat. “That’s fine,” I added, knowing there was no point trying to wrestle it away from a monster with a sword.
An amalgus with a sword,
I corrected myself. The name was easy to remember. He was as much an amalgamation of random shit as he was a creature in his own right.

He pocketed the key and paced the perimeter of the room. He moved with more grace than I’d expected after seeing him the night before. But he’d been exhausted then. And probably stiff from all that killing.

“Is Auphel coming back?” I asked. “She was bringing food.”

“The kitchens had already been raided. She might be a while.” He continued to pace.

“Oh. Did you need anything else from me, then?” I wanted him gone. He reminded me of a caged lion, and I didn’t care for being trapped with him.

He looked over his shoulder at me, a maneuver that required shifting one wing aside. “I suppose not. We’ll have to decide what to do with you, of course, but I think General Grys will accept my assessment of you.”

I swallowed a lump in my throat. “Which is what?”

“That you’re a victim here. Verelle somehow called you to take her place and went somewhere else. Those who understand magic better may find a way to track her down.” He walked to the bookcase and the doll’s body crunched under his bare foot, shattering into sharp pieces that didn’t seem to bother his scaled feet.

“So this isn’t over for you?”

His lips curved in a dark smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Until I see her head roll, it’s not over.”

The room was quiet. Even the streets outside had calmed since the previous night.

“What did she—” I began, and stopped. It might be too personal a question, given his obvious hate for her, and I didn’t want to get on his bad side. On the other hand, I didn’t know when I’d be getting home, and needed to know what the hell was going on. I forced my way past my nerves. “What happened last night?”

Zinian grimaced. “You joined us at a bad time.”

“But you won, right?”

“Bad for humans,” he clarified. “Which you are, correct?”

I remembered the order he’d given the night before.
By morning, this one should be the only human living
. Were the rest dead, whoever they had been? My knees trembled. I forced them to hold me up, though collapsing to the floor and begging for mercy seemed like a valid option. “I am. I’m not a part of whatever is happening here, though, I swear.”

He narrowed his eyes at me, not unkindly. “You can relax. I have no desire to see you harmed, and I hope for your sake that you can return home. This is not a good time or place to be human.” His mouth quirked in a rueful smile. “It’s not even a good place for those who resemble humans.”

I took in his blue-bronze skin, wings, and heavy-looking horns, and wondered how that could possibly be a problem for him. But then I remembered Auphel, the felid Jaid, and the strange crowd from the previous night, and understood that to them, he probably appeared to be very human. It was all a matter of perspective.

“They all seem to respect you,” I said. When he turned to me, I quickly added, “Not that I think you look human. I just thought you meant that—”

“It’s fine.” He almost smiled, but not quite. “The fact is that my appearance is a liability. I’ve only come as far as I have because my skills and knowledge have been vital to us reaching Verelle after hundreds of years of trying.” He shrugged. “So while my instinct is to hate you for what you are, as any monster would, I have a certain sympathy for your position. It won’t be an easy one.”

It seemed the word monster wasn’t an insult here as it was at home. Perhaps he was using another word, and this was the only way my mind could translate it.

So we’re accepting that this is real?
I asked myself.

On a provisional basis,
I answered.
Err on the side of caution.

“I’d actually like to keep that key,” I said, forcing my voice to keep steady.

Zinian reached into his pocket, but didn’t return my property. “As I said, you’ll have it soon enough.” He went to the windows and looked out at the city below. “I should get out there. Would you care to see exactly what kind of world you’ve come into?”

My heart skipped. I really didn’t want to. I wanted to get back in bed and sleep until I woke up at home. But if I was going to move forward as though this were actually happening, the first step to finding control and making a plan was to gather information. I would feel lost until I oriented myself.

“Can I dress first?”

He nodded toward the wardrobe. “Take what you wish.”

I opened the white doors, which were painted in pale florals. The wardrobe was filled to bursting with clothes. Long dresses, mostly. Not tailored and fitted, but flowing and comfortable-looking. Kind of hippie-ish. I’d thought these fantasy settings were all about the corsets, and couldn’t say I felt disappointed. The loose fit would work in my favour if this Verelle had been as dainty as the doll indicated.

I slid out the long drawer at the bottom of the wardrobe, and turned to Zinian. “This is a joke, right?”

He shook his head.

I’d expected shoes, but not like these. Six pairs of boots filled the space, all of them heavy, with vicious iron spikes studding the leather from the toes up to the ankle, covering the foot. Some of them had additional spikes dotting the leather up to knee-height or covering the bottoms of the soles.

Kinky.

“How does a person even walk in these?”

Zinian stepped closer. His shoulders tensed as he approached and his wings spread slightly, like the hackles rising on a dog. “It’s all humans wear,” he said quietly. “Good for kicking disobedient servants and slaves, and a visual reminder of who rules this world. Or who did, until last night.”

I shuddered. “That’s horrid.”

“I’m so glad you think so.” He returned to the bed and found a pair of golden slippers beneath it. “See if these fit you. They were only for wearing in her chambers, not in the streets, but I think they’d suit you better.”

“Thanks.”

The slippers were small, but the fabric had some give to it. Though they wouldn’t offer much protection, they would have to be enough. I wanted nothing to do with those boots.

Zinian turned away as I slipped into a pale blue tunic-style dress. It trailed on the ground but didn’t squeeze too badly, except across the bust. I resisted the urge to throw my hoodie back on to cover myself.

“We’ll have to see about getting you something more practical,” he said as he looked me over. “We might be short on tailors for a while, but someone should be able to make you something less…. Well.” He cleared his throat and offered me his arm. I appreciated the gesture, but realized he was probably keeping me close for everyone else’s safety as much as mine.