Page 23 of House of the Beast

Chapter

I t shouldn’t have set in so early.”

“Have you seen how she speaks to herself sometimes?”

“Poor Lord Zander. Goodness knows he doesn’t need this after what happened to Master Ephrem.”

Not long after Aster had returned to my life as I acquainted myself with House Avera, the attendants began to gossip.

In the early days, I was not very good at hiding my conversations with my secret friend, so I couldn’t blame them for the things they said.

It always hurt a little—but the hurt was alleviated by the sheer joy of having someone to confide in about it.

There were times, too, when listening to them proved useful.

I would hear rumors of my uncle’s descent into madness, or their sentiments regarding Kaim, who worked so hard to shoulder all his father’s burdens, or, in one very illuminating instance, whispers about my dead half brother, Ephrem.

I recalled Euphina mentioning him only once, after I first arrived at the estate: After everything I have endured for you, everything I have given up for the sake of this House. Our son—

Of all the information I gathered about my relatives, I was most eager to know more about this missing sibling.

My life had been that of an only child, and in my loneliest moments I had often wished for a brother or sister to keep me company.

I wondered what he would have been like—and the answer, it seemed, was that he had been kind and mellow, the complete opposite of me.

While my family never spoke of him, the staff was happy to gossip, and I gradually gleaned whatever information I could from overheard half sentences as attendants milled about.

He had been rejected by the Beast. The tragedy of that had torn my father and Euphina apart.

Not long afterward, Ephrem had passed away in an incident that even the most talkative attendants were afraid to speak of.

I was Ephrem’s replacement—and, depending on how one looked at it, was either sorely lacking or perhaps too gifted by contrast.

Poor Lord Zander indeed.

With all the gossip, I wondered how much my father knew about my strange tendencies—but if he paid attention to the whispers, he never let on when he came to visit me. He continued to teach me the basics of being a vessel of the Dread Beast, like I was any other young disciple.

He was particularly adamant on instructing me in the practice of commune.

“It is our most sacred ritual,” he had explained as I sat in the middle of the floor, legs crossed, posture relaxed the way he had instructed.

The curtains were drawn, and the room was lit only by a candle, which I was told to focus on.

“Commune is our way of touching the part of our minds connected to the umbral gate—the true marker of our divine bond with the gods. It is what separates us from the rest. The people of Avera pray to the Dread Beast, but we vessels are the only ones whose words can reach him directly—and perhaps, if you are lucky, the Beast will respond.”

Aster, sitting at my side, had found this hilarious. “Yes, if you’re lucky,” he’d said, chin propped on his knee, hunched up like a little goblin.

I could have explained that there was no need for me to strengthen my focus with these little exercises.

No need to sit here in the dark, hoping to connect with a sacred power.

No need to pray the movement into my metal fingers, because my god was here with me, every minute of every day, acting like a nuisance.

But my father seemed content to believe that I was nothing more than a slow student plagued by vague neuroses, and I was content to let him.

It was better that he remained unaware of my gifts. At least until I was ready to use them to rip away the position he so coveted.

So, while he explained commune, I sat there obediently and listened.

Commune, essentially, was based on the art of meditation, which had been a common practice among certain schools of folk religion in the northeastern mountains of Kugara, long before the elder gods came along.

The goal was to focus on one’s being—to practice mindfulness of one’s body, and then, from there, to expand one’s consciousness to reach beyond mortal confines.

It was essential to create a space for your mind, my father had explained. To imagine a sanctum all your own, into which you could venture to find the Dread Beast waiting. This vision of a physical space would form a boundary to prevent the Beast from bleeding into one’s psyche.

He had no idea that it was already far too late. Somehow, Aster had bled all the way out.

Still, it had sounded like a nice thing to have at the time—a sanctuary that belonged only to me. At first, he’d instructed me to picture a temple: a place of worship, where subconsciously one was already prepared to greet the divine.

Unsurprisingly, the temple brought mostly bad memories.

So instead, the space in my mind had become my childhood home in Merey, with its narrow slice of ocean view between our building and the next and the familiar smell of laundry and cooking rice. The sun shone welcomingly onto the worn wooden floors, and the sea wind drifted faintly through the air.

It had been quiet. Peaceful. Then I had realized that it was too quiet.

Aster was gone. I had panicked at first, jolting myself out of my trance and incurring my father’s prompt admonition, only to find my monster sitting beside me like he had been there all along.

His eyes had been narrowed with something like frustration.

It was the first time I had ever seen him truly troubled.

He couldn’t find me when I was in my sanctum. I’d made that boundary my father described, and somehow, it was the only thing that could keep Aster out.

That revelation had annoyed him as much as it delighted me. It was the mental equivalent of slamming the door in his face. The irony of it did not escape me—where the rest of my family practiced commune in order to speak to the Beast, I did it to get away from him.

On the rare occasion when I needed to be alone, this was where I would come.

Sometimes it was after Aster had teased me too closely about my feelings and the embarrassment became too much to bear.

Other times, it was when I needed the quiet so I could apologize for all the little creatures’ lives I had taken in my long journey for revenge.

And this was where I went, after the trial.

I walked out of the temple without another word while everyone fumbled to get their bearings.

I’d passed the test, and I wasn’t sticking around for the fallout.

The consequences of my actions would find me sooner or later.

So I had run back to my guesthouse, plopped myself down in the sitting area, and closed my eyes.

I’m sorry , I said into the memory of my childhood home, unsure as always of who I was saying it to. Perhaps to the broken soul I had just brutally butchered for everyone to see. Perhaps to my mother. Perhaps simply to myself.

For about ten blessed minutes, I sat there and prayed in my own private way, mourning the Thing that had joined the long list of lives I had ended for my own means.

Then, somewhere, a door banged open.

The ocean shimmered into nothing, and the sunlight evaporated. I blinked myself awake. I was always a little bleary after commune, and doubly so if it was interrupted.

The first thing I saw was Aster, situated on the couch across from mine. His eyes were soft. He often told me these little sessions were a waste of time, but over the years he had come to accept they were simply something I needed.

“Feeling better?” he said.

I nodded, appreciating his care.

“Good. Because someone’s here to see you.”

In stormed my father. He had clearly used the time I spent unwinding to work himself into a righteous fury.

“What,” he roared at me, “were you hoping to achieve out there?”

“A place in the Pilgrimage,” I responded easily, shaking the last of my sanctum’s comfort away to straighten my spine and face him head-on. “Which I fairly won. It is my right, as one of the blood—”

He stomped over, ominous like brewing thunder in his black Avera coat. “Do not be cavalier with your answers, Daughter,” he snarled. “You understand the gravity of these events. You know how the success of the Pilgrimage will affect this House!”

How the tables had turned. My father had never before considered me a threat. Or perhaps he had only convinced himself that I wasn’t. Because I still remembered that night when he’d told me my mother was dead. That mote of fear in his eyes when I lunged at him before he managed to collect himself.

I’d been glad to make him flinch then, and I could not deny my petty glee at this confrontation now. The way Aster hid a smile behind his hand, I knew he could tell.

“I thought you’d be pleased I’m going to such lengths to bring glory to Avera.”

“Your role,” he growled, “is to support me. I am your father. I have given you everything you could possibly need—a roof over your head, a proper education, every luxury a girl your age could only dream of. All I ask in return is a crumb of obedience, and for you to fulfill your filial duty. To honor your position as one chosen by the Beast. Instead, you undermine my authority and embarrass me before the entire province!”

“I honor the Beast,” I told him slowly. “Not you.”

His hands curled into fists. His shoulders shook. For a moment, I thought his anger would drive him to strike me.

He collected himself with visible effort. Then he scoffed. “You have no plans for this House. Nothing drives you save for your petty need to be a thorn in my side. You are ruining years of ambition with your selfish impulses.”

How simple the world must have been in his eyes. To disregard the lives of everyone around him, to see nothing except what he wanted.