A Fever Dream

CHAPTER 12. Haunted House

I woke up from dreamless sleep in the dead of the night.

This time the room was empty, no ghosts of princes to keep me company. Not that I missed the ghost (I settled on calling him that for the lack of a better term). The night was scorchingly hot and damp, the type that left sweat marks on your pillow and made your hair curl. I stared at the ceiling imagining I could see the stars through the wooden barks, entangled in bedsheets like a restraining cloth. I counted the pattern of the clock and tried to measure my heartbeat. I waited patiently for the sleep to return, but just like always when you wanted it the most it slipped away.

The diary, the letters, and the black dagger in the leather sheath stared at me grimly from the night table, and I turned away from them, but my gaze was constantly dragged back there, as if by magic.

I didn't even remember which book talked about the last wish bond and there were thousands of books. The castle library was my refuge for many afternoons. I loved getting caught in someone else's words, as the daylight sipped through the glass dome and all over my shoulders, making me yawn. Sometimes I fell asleep on an open page and dreamt of the things I've just read. I didn't come there to sleep, but I didn't come there to read either - surrounded by millions of books and letters I didn't feel so lonely.

I ran a hand through my tangled hair, which started resembling dog's mane as I fell asleep with a wet towel over my head. The golden ink was still on my wrist. Skin around it was red and angry from constant scratching. I didn't expect the tattoo to come off easily, now that I suspected its meaning, now that I suspected its meaning. 

I didn't feel particularly different though. At least for now. Perhaps, it was just a mark. Magic in Summer was a strange thing, much so for a mundane human like me to understand. The adjective came to my mind straight from Elliot's diary and I felt an unpleasant taste in my mouth as I rolled it on the tip of my tongue.

Mundane.

I didn't want to think about the reasons a simple diary entry touched me so much. The guilt still was fresh after reading it. Someone once said that reading someone's letter equaled to fall from grace. Was it better or worse than hating your family?

I threw off the silk sheet and jumped on the cool floor.

Perhaps, the kind of book that I needed wasn't in the castle at all.

Not this castle, to be exact.

Throwing on the light dress over my camisole - grey - just like the shadows which I wanted to blend with, I felt determination twist anxiously in my stomach.

If I ever was going to visit August Estate, it was better to be done at night, and certainly before the coronation.

I could only imagine the face of Alexander, once he would realize I was given a key to the house of his brother in exchange for a dagger to his heart.

That would require a lot of explanations from me. 

Coming back at night or not coming back at all - those were the only two options I was left with.

Following that line of thought, I shoved Elliot's knife into my bag, hiding the diary and letters under the broken tile under my bed. I traced the cover of the diary briefly, the texture of leather reminded me of the set of roads and for some reason setting me at ease. Not for long, though.

***

I made it quickly through the midnight castle, my sandals barely making a sound.

Lonely torches glistened along the walls, and the corridors stood quiet - but not as deadly silent as the day before when I walked on the broken glass with my hands stained red.