Page 46

Chapter 45

Rolf

R olf opened a random door midway down the stairs—one that hadn’t been there before. The castle’s layout must have changed, because he could not figure out his way back to the servants’ quarters. The door opened onto a darkened hallway, and he slipped inside. He kept to the shadows, quiet like the ancient specters that surely roamed these halls. Time was running out, and the longer it took him to get down to the enslaved fae, the less time he had to start the fires in the lower levels.

He crept down the hall, checking every window, but they were either nailed shut from the inside or they opened out to the sea cliffs. At the last window, he stopped, cursing his luck as he looked at the sea below. Waves crashed into the cliffs, battering into the rocks below. Then he glanced skyward.

Two hours left .

The moon rose higher, casting an eerie glow on the sea as it lingered on the rocks below. His breathing was labored, and he was running out of energy when a guard called out at the far end of the endless hall.

Gods damnit!

He hung his head one last time, dredging up the last burst of energy he had, and then made his way to another door. It didn’t creak, and he blessed the stars above as he shut it quietly behind him. He held his breath, hoping he had slipped inside in time. There was no lock, so he took an unlit torch from the wall and shoved the end underneath the door.

A dark room yawned before him, only lit by the moon outside. The stagnant scent of dust and decay filled his nose. But he had to keep going despite the quietness behind him. He knew vampires loved a hunt, and right now, he was the only prey. A small servants’ door was in the corner, and he crept over to open it. Behind was a simple wooden landing, covered in cobwebs, that led to rickety wooden servants’ stairs.

The stairs hadn’t been used in what looked like decades, and they wound several stories down. He hoped they would lead him back to the servants’ quarters.

A faint pulsing threaded through his chest. Mate.

Mate , he sent back and rubbed his sternum.

Gratitude for the tether to Adeline eased his worries a little. He stepped gingerly onto the wooden platform at the top of the stairs, testing its durability. It creaked under his weight but held.

He sighed with relief. While he made his way down, he kept checking to see if his wolf was with him. It would snarl and then go back to listening.

As long as he’s still here, I know I’m not back in one of those illusions.

The stairwell was punctuated by thin windows, some of the glass broken and in disrepair. The wind had carried moisture from the sea inside, and it coated the walls and stairs with a sheen of mildew. He slipped a few times on the moss-covered wood.

On every landing, he would stop and press his ears against the door, waiting to see if his exit lay beyond. But neither he nor his wolf could hear anything. And the handles wouldn’t budge. He didn’t possess anything he could use to pick a lock.

The air turned warmer with each level he dropped, and he figured that, eventually, he would find a way back to the servants’ quarters.

When he reached the bottom of the stairs, three doors stood before him. The landing was well-kept and had been oiled recently, a sure sign that at least this juncture was used frequently.

One of these doors would be his way out.

Rolf leaned against the middle one; he heard raucous laughter and immediately shirked away. The one on the left was quiet and cold but smelled of barley and hops, and most likely led to the pantry the servants used. It would be a dead end, and he’d have to find his way out through a more public area.

He took a deep breath and opted for the door on the far right. It was quiet and slightly warm, indicating that there had been a fire behind it recently. Hopefully, the fire had gone out, and the space beyond was vacant.He prayed to the gods that the hinges had been oiled recently as his hand gripped the handle, and it turned.

Thankfully, the door opened without a sound, and he peered through the crack.

The whir of pedals filled the room.

Five spinning wheels lined the wall, and at each sat a hunched-over dwarf, their feet pressing the pedals, their gnarled hands spinning gold and silver nuggets into fine thread. Candlelight flickered in the room, catching on the mounds of silver and gold.

“Hello, wolf,” one of the dwarves said. They didn’t turn to face him, just kept spinning. “Are you here to rescue us?”

Rolf stepped forward, unsure which one to acknowledge. He squared his shoulders, knowing that what he told them might be a lie. “Yes.”

Dwarves were not ancient mysteries, then, but well and truly alive.

Trapped , his wolf snarled.

Imprisoned, he agreed.

Rolf closed the door quietly behind him. He watched as the dwarves worked in such low light that he had to strain to see the finished product on the spool.

How could they do this in these conditions?

It was unacceptable. First was the enslaved fae under a glamour. And now ancient magical fae kept in this filth and expected to work until…when? Until they dropped dead?

Deplorable, his wolf growled.

There would be no way for them to recover quickly enough for him to get them all free. He was sure they were well on their way to the Forever Night. Besides, there was no telling if they were under a glamour or?—

“Come,” the dwarf said, not even bothering to gesture.

Rolf stepped forward to the front of the room where the spinning wheels were located. He faced the dwarves, trying his best to keep the shock to himself.

His jaw dropped. Each dwarf was gnarled, skin and bones sticking out against their burlap clothing. Ratty, sparse hair covered their scalps, and they barely had enough hair to braid into what was left of their beards. Their eyes were clouded over with white.

“You’re all blind,” Rolf whispered.

“But not unseeing,” the same dwarf said. This time, Rolf noticed it was the dwarf in the center who spoke.

Another one spoke up, never once missing the rhythm of the wheel as they spun. “You smell like the Northern Mountains.”

All the dwarves hummed in agreement.

“Yes,” said one.

“Home,” said two others in agreement.

“Mother,” said a meek voice at the end.

Rolf was gripped with sadness. He wanted to gather them all up in his arms and carry them back home. His wolf raged underneath the surface, wanting to tear the spinning wheels and the vampires apart.

“You will not save all of us,” the first dwarf said.

The rest of them hummed in agreement.

“But—” Rolf began, and then he realized what the dwarf said was true. They were all so weak that there was no way they would be able to get out before he started the fires to burn the castle down.

“You must choose who you wish to help,” the dwarf said. “Because for those who cannot go, you must finish the job before the vampires can feed off our magical blood.”

His heart dropped. The vampires fed off their magical blood?

Rolf was no stranger to the unfairness of death, but he had done his time.

In his previous life, the military offered no shortage of death. Countless times, he would have to choose who deserved to get medical care. And those who could not make it, Rolf stayed with them. He would hold the soldiers’ hands as death was ushered in, telling them that their mother was proud of who they were and that they would soon find relief. If they had no hands, he would stroke their foreheads, trying to remember how his mother had swept the hair from his brow as a child at bedtime. He figured that if they had been willing to sign up and fight the senseless battles of those in charge, the least he could do was make sure their deaths were not in vain.

Rolf withdrew the keys from his pocket and the knife from his boot.

He would do the same for these dwarves. They no more deserved their fate than the young men he had fought beside.

“Which among you is the youngest?” he asked, his voice tight with sorrow.

They all raised their hands and pointed to the dwarf at the end, the one with the meek voice.

“What is your name, dwarf?” Rolf asked gently as he walked over to the fae. The keys jangled in his hand. One of them glowed a soft blue as he knelt next to the ankle restraints.

“Arlo.”

“Arlo, let’s get you out of here.” He slid the key into the lock and turned it, and the cuff clicked open. But Arlo continued to spin.

“Arlo,” Rolf said, his large hand swallowing the dwarf’s shoulder. “It’s time to get you home.”

The dwarf’s feet finally stopped pedaling. His hands dropped. He tilted his head up to the ceiling and sighed. “No.”

“You don’t have a choice in this,” the first dwarf said. “This is the way it is supposed to be.”

Rolf scooped the dwarf up in his arms, and Arlo didn’t even bother to fight back. He sank into Rolf’s chest and wept silently, shoulders heaving, but no tears came.

Rolf opened the door he’d come through and set Arlo on the stairs, propping his back up against the railing. Thankfully, it was warmer in here than it was in the spinning-wheel room. Arlo’s white eyes stared straight ahead. He said nothing; he knew what Rolf was going to do.

“I—” Rolf began, but then he snapped his mouth shut and walked back into the room.

He closed the door behind him. The wheels had stopped spinning, and the dwarves all held hands.

“Be quick, pup,” the dwarf said. “We need time to bleed before they come back.”

Rolf fought back a sob as his heart broke. He inhaled, searing the image before him into his head. If he were to do them justice, then the least he could do was remember the cruelty they faced. He would be the one to carry their memories, he would be the one to help them meet a peaceful end. The swiftness of his training came back, and he moved down the line, grabbing each one by the forehead, whispering a prayer to the gods before he slit their throats.

Their warm blood spewed all over the silver-and-gold thread, the walls, and the spinning wheels before them. It poured down their malnourished bodies. They didn’t make a sound when he did it, and when they stopped twitching, Rolf gently folded them over their wheels and wiped his knife on his pants.

He sent a final prayer to the gods above, doubting they were even listening, and shoved the overwhelming feeling of anguish deep, deep down into his heart.

Arlo was curled up on the stairs, shivering and asleep. Rolf gathered him into his arms and rubbed his back. He spoke over and over, in soothing tones, “I’m here. It’s going to be okay.”

Arlo whimpered in reply.

Rolf’s wolf rumbled underneath his skin, eager to get out and do some damage, to protect the creatures who were part of his fae family. But the full moon power was long gone, so Rolf would have to be the one to avenge all of them. He hadn’t been able to save the countless lives that he had led into battle decades ago, but he could try his best to save these creatures now.

He turned to the remaining two doors and pushed open the middle one.