Page 4 of House of the Beast

Chapter

T hough there was none of the pomp and ceremony that I would later learn usually accompanied this ritual, the Dread Beast had accepted my offering of flesh.

My father informed me that I would be given my own rooms in a guesthouse away from the main estate, and for the next few days, I would be allowed to stay in bed and recover.

None of this mattered as I was led out of the temple.

My arm was gone. My stomach felt hollow.

I had lost something—something more important than a limb, I feared, for the very shadows were now watching me.

A healer was brought to me; I was given a sedative, and when I woke up again, the stump of my arm had been stitched over with loose skin and tied off neatly like a roll of pork to be braised for dinner.

“Congratulations,” the healer said warmly as he wiped away the leakage from my sutures. “You are a very lucky young lady, to be chosen by the Dread Beast.”

I wanted to scream, but all I managed was to close my eyes again.

The ache that dug its way into my arm deepened over time until there wasn’t a waking moment free of its relentless throbbing.

There were times when it seemed to throb all the way into my fingers, and I would look down, desperately hopeful, only to be startled all over again by their absence.

When the awful surprise faded, the energy in my body faded with it.

I slept, but my dreams were restless and full of shadows.

Whenever I stirred from my exhausted slumber, I’d peer around the new rooms assigned to me by my father.

The pain and the medicine I’d been given to dull it made it hard to focus, and sometimes I thought I could see things moving in the dark.

I would cover my head with the sheets and squeeze my eyes shut until sleep overtook me once more.

Days passed. After my bandages stopped coming away red, my father came to visit.

“The Antecedent wishes to see you,” he informed me. “Get dressed.”

I had no time to ask questions before a black-clad attendant swept into the room, ready to help me into clothes that clearly did not come from the battered little suitcase I had brought from home.

It was strange to be assisted with something so basic as dressing myself, but I soon realized it was necessary.

My movements were off-balance and my remaining hand flailed uselessly, like it had forgotten how to function without its counterpart.

“Lift your head,” the attendant quietly instructed, holding out a dress to slip over me. I did so and felt myself swaying, even this simple motion taking its toll.

My father did not care for my struggles. His narrowed gaze measured me coldly as I was wrapped in layers of heavy black fabric, like even this was a test I was failing. Apparently, he expected I would have already adjusted to my new reality as an amputee.

My mother’s presence had always inspired comfort. My father’s inspired efficiency.

As soon as I was bundled up in my new clothes—a knee-length dress with a high collar and knotted buttons down the front, and white tights tucked into neat black shoes—he motioned for me to follow him.

My empty left sleeve trailed behind me like a wisp of shadow.

My footsteps were uneven, as if my body knew something was missing and was figuring out how to make up for it.

My father tutted as I staggered from the guesthouse onto the stone path outside, where the crisp mountain air blew over acres of pristine grass to immediately rumple my skirts.

“You have a weak constitution,” he said. “Have you been eating properly? To be chosen as a vessel by the Beast is an honor, and you must treat your body with the respect it is now due.”

There was no sympathy in his tone for the ordeal I had just been put through. It was very clear that he did not consider it an ordeal at all. Rather, it was a blessing.

“I want to see my mother,” I said. “When can I go home?”

“You are home,” he impressed upon me again. “A daughter of House Avera belongs here. I have sent a healer to your mother, so I expect you to approach your training without any further distraction.”

That made me put aside my discomfort momentarily. I felt awake for the first time in days. “Really? How is she? Is she all right?”

“She is fine.”

“We sent a letter to a school of doctors in the capital,” I barreled on. “They’re researching her illness and know people who can make medicine for her. The physician back in Merey told me it was her best chance.”

My father’s lips began to twist with annoyance. “It has been handled. Everything she needs to keep her condition at bay, I will provide.”

“I want to talk to her.”

The metallic fingers of his left hand flexed. “Don’t be ridiculous. You only just got here; you cannot possibly be homesick already. Now, hurry up. The Antecedent is waiting.”

***

I HAD IMAGINED THAT A VESSEL OF A GOD WOULD LIVE SOMEWHERE fancy, but it wasn’t until I was being led through seemingly endless hallways of dark wood that I realized exactly how grand the Avera estate was.

It was a complete departure from the life I had known, a whole new world that soon had me feeling lost in all its ornate staircases, towering ceilings, and tapestries large enough to carpet the entire floor of my old home.

Many of them were difficult to look at; they were depictions of the Beast, wrapped in shadow and bathed in blood.

By the time we walked through an interior courtyard, I was glad for the morning sun.

We went in and out of at least three buildings, each one more imposing than the largest temple back in Merey, and through excruciatingly curated gardens tended to by attendants in black robes who bowed low as my father approached.

Guards in shining black armor saluted him from their stations.

As we walked, the wall of dark trees around the estate opened up to expose our view from high on the mountaintop, overlooking a town nestled at its base.

Tapered rooftops tiled in dark colors sat in tidy, severe rows, so different from the tumbledown pell-mell I had grown up in.

My father began to drill me on how not to embarrass him in front of his family, but I could barely stop staring long enough to listen.

“The Antecedent is the oldest member of House Avera,” he explained. “He has watched over our affairs for many years. He is your great-granduncle—but you are to use only his title, as a matter of respect. You will introduce yourself as Alma Avera, using my name, and not your mother’s.”

The view of the city below disappeared as we stepped through yet another stately entryway, into a hall that was wider than the others.

Attendants carrying trays and armfuls of linen plastered themselves to the wall and bowed as we passed.

Our footsteps echoed against the polished floors—my father’s heavy and sharp, mine halting and timid as I tried to make myself as small and quiet as possible.

We stopped at a set of large double doors, upon which was carved a design of multiple monstrous hands, each holding a sword.

“Stop slouching,” said my father. “And straighten your collar. Do not speak unless spoken to.”

The doors opened before he could reach for them.

A woman stepped out to face him, bringing with her the scent of jasmine.

Her golden hair was set in perfect curls and her posture was immaculate.

Even the folds of her dress fell into place with nothing more than a lovely whisper against her heels as she stopped before us.

“Ah,” said my father. “Alma, this is my wife, Euphina.”

I’d known, of course, that my mother had been the “other woman.” But nothing could have prepared me for the look of sheer hatred aimed my way by my father’s lawful spouse.

“Surely you aren’t going to let her join us at the table,” said Euphina, not even bothering to pretend that she wasn’t talking about me.

“The Antecedent has summoned her,” said my father.

“She doesn’t belong here.”

“She has my blood. She is one of us.”

Euphina’s knuckles turned white as she gripped her hands together. “I cannot believe you would do this to me. After everything I have endured for you, everything I have given up for the sake of this House. Our son—”

“You would deny the Beast his decision?” interrupted my father coldly. “You are welcome to enter the temple yourself and entreat him. See how much he cares for your reasoning, and then tell me I’m mistaken.”

Euphina did not answer, though her painted lips quivered.

My father made a noise of disdain. “We are not having this conversation again. Step aside.”

She turned that cold, furious gaze on me. I think she would have thrown me onto the stone floor if my father hadn’t stepped forward in silent warning. Her gaze broke away then, and she swept past us in a rustle of perfume and perfectly tailored silk, disappearing down the corridor.

Completely unperturbed, my father pushed open the wooden doors.

Chilly daylight spilled onto the floor from wide windows overlooking that spectacular mountain view.

The room was larger than my guesthouse, its walls decorated with magnificent paintings of the estate hung in gilded frames.

An enormous table took up the center of it, lined with chairs carved with swirling patterns so intricate they must have left a craftsman’s hands in agony.

“Is that Zander?” came a warbling voice from within. “About damn time; the tea is getting cold. Have you brought your bastard for my inspection?”

I was directed farther inside. At the head of the table sat a man who resembled a walnut.

His bald head was small and puckered with age, and he was draped in a coat heavy with gold embroidery and black pearls, gleaming in the late-morning sun.

Under this fine outer layer, I could make out a pair of baby-blue silk pajamas.