A Fever Dream

CHAPTER 15. The Darkest Debt

Rays of the morning sun pierced the leaves, bouncing off my skin like drops of honey. The forest was slowly waking up, little creatures drinking the morning dew, as I rushed through. Branches lashed out at me and roots tripped my feet but I didn't care - away, away beat the thought in my head, away from the shadows behind.  I cradled the lamp to my chest, squeezed the keys from the house I didn't have a right to so that they didn't make a sound.  Far ahead, morning bells rang in town, waking up the Kingdom. 

Maybe if I dared to stop, and look around, I would have found no chase after me – only dust settling down in the wake of my feet. But I couldn't stop, not until I was back in my room, sneaking through the castle side doors, nearly tripping one of the servants carrying the tray heavy with meats and fresh fruits. Not after I heard the sound of the lock to my bedroom turning, tossed off my sandals, and closed the curtains, drowning the room in semi-darkness, beads of sweat falling from my forehead in handfuls. Even then - in bed, with the diary in my hands, I still felt like I was being chased. Even if by my own fears.

***

I felt his presence long before he uttered a word. It was the shift in the air, the slightest whiff of sulfur mixed with datura. If I was in a mood for small talk I would have asked him if all ghosts had a smell. But I wasn't.

It's been hours since my night adventures and I could feel the crease in between my eyebrows morph into a permanent frown, as I stared at the empty parchment. The afternoon breeze toyed with the curtains and pieces of paper crumbled at my feet, next to the broken wax seals, which used to guard the letters Elliot left me.

I tried everything - sprinkling apple juice and vinegar, throwing sault, pouring wax, holding them over the candlelight. Nothing worked. All of the letters were blank.

"Go away.  You only bother to show up when you feel like it."

Instead of listening to my command,  the ghost approached me in leisurely stride. Somewhere, in the gardens behind the windows, a musician played her violin and fountains overflowed. A couple of weeks ago I would have been there, wandering in the green maze, gorging on strawberry wine and refusing to see the cracks. Now, all of it seemed like another life.

"What are you doing?"

I didn't move. I was almost beginning to see the letters take shape and swim in front of my eyes.

He barked a laugh, breaking my concentration.

"What do you want?" I scowled.

"Did you really think he wouldn't count this possibility? That you would try to read them?" 

"Why would I try and deliver them, not knowing what they say? Do I look like an idiot? What if they say "kill the messenger"?"

"Fair point," He smiled the same annoying smile and snatched the letter from my hand. He held the parchment to the light, which fell through the narrow gap in the curtains. Drowning the room in semi-darkness was another attempt of mine to discover the masked ink. "But they only show themselves in the hands of a recipient."

I scratched the golden ink on my hand. The words 'unfair' died on my tongue, as I thought about the glass tomb in the August garden. I wasn't sure if the ghost copy of Elliot could be trusted but I had no one else to ask.

"I've heard things," I said, looking into the empty hearth of the fireplace, gawking like a toothless monster. 

"Things?" 

"The guards were looking for something." 

"The guards?" He frowned. 

"The castle was attacked," I frowned in return. "Where were you? I could have been caught. And all this plan would have been ruined."