Page 45 of Crown of the Courtesan

I keep moving.

A pebbled path twists and turns inexplicably under my numb feet.

After passing by the spot twice, I grab hold of the naked body of the Spirit Goddess statue next to a gurgling stone fountain, the water sounding distorted and distant.

Something is wrong. My thoughts swirl and tangle with one another. Where am I going again?

Help help help.

Oh… yeah, I have to help… someone. I stumble and stumble and stumble until I collapse in front of a garden bench. On the ground, I sit and clutch the hard stone of the seat, hoping it will anchor me. The world tilts and whirls until I think I might become sick. I lay my forehead on the cool stone surface, breathing for a second and trying to figure out what is happening.

But thinking hurts.

My ears prick.

Out of the shadows of the bushes⁠—

Growls. Angry growls. Growls that feast on flesh.

Snapping my head up, I tighten my grip around my makeshift weapon as my feet try to regain their balance.

Yellow eyes gleam through the foliage. Something primal takes over. I don’t think.

I run.

But the castle is getting farther and farther away.

And the growls grow closer and closer.

Through the thicket of dying rose bushes, a wet nose and the scrape of teeth skid across my calf. My heart pounds like it’s trying to attack me from the inside out.

I lurch forward against the tall barrier wall separating the castle grounds from the moat. With my breath held, I focus on forming fire in my palms—anything to scare the beasts off.

Perspiration trickles over my eyebrows and down my temples. Weak licks of flame fall from my outstretched hands—useless.

My back presses against the wall as I search for something to help me. The wolflike eyes reflect a soulless yellow, their smoky-black bodies inching closer and closer.

Putrid breath skitters across my skin.

The tips of my fingers lace into the ivy. There’s no other choice. I’m unsure if the vines will hold me without Klara’s steadying help, but I refuse to discover what will happen if I don’t try. I pull with every muscle and ounce of strength I possess. My bare toes look for any grip, any indentation in the stone, to lift me.

I let out a shriek as pain shoots through my body. Teeth rip into the skin of my left foot. I kick wildly with my other leg, but it meets only shadowy air. Panic seizes me with every ticking second. I dig deep for the willpower to finish pulling myself to the top.

This time, being on the wall is different. There are no trees to aid my descent in this part of the garden—only a sheer drop to the moat below. My breath tears from my burning lungs.

There’s no need for me to wait to see if these beasts can climb because they are already on either side of me, stalking along the narrow stone ledge. A flash of lightning illuminates them. They resemble giant wolves, and around their black edges, smoky shadows puff and curl, blurring their form except for their canine teeth.

I do not think.

I jump.

Down.

As the moat slaps into my body like a million little cuts, I’m pulled under, and the letter opener slips through my fingers into the swirling depths. I grasp and clutch for it in the cold, relentless dark, but it sinks out of reach. I cry for help, but nobody hears me over the rumbling fountains pouring from the battlement walls.

The moat sweeps me away as fat raindrops fall from the stormy sky with such force that the water splashes up into my mouth and nostrils, making breathing almost impossible as the current threatens to take me under.

Lightning shatters above, and thunder cracks as I flinch from the overwhelming violence. I try to swim out of the rapid current, but every time I grab at the bank, the soil breaks away in my hands, and the water pulls me in all over again.