A Ghost in the House of Iron

Chapter Thirty

Chaos creeps at the corners of my mind, even as I sleep. In my dreams I'm floating alone in inky blackness, or swimming untethered in a sea of stars that laugh and laugh... The laughter fills me up, bubbling out of me when I'm awake, uncontainable.

The only thing grounding me in the physical world is the lingering feeling of that warm touch gliding along my skin, gentle fingers tugging my wounds closed with a tingle of magic. Somehow he seemed to soothe even the hidden injuries, left by the spell that squeezed and clawed its bony fingers along my insides, but also by that crushing grip around my neck. It's like I can still feel it, cutting off my ability to breathe as I hopelessly gasp and kick.

The king's huge hands used to remind me of my papa's. They don't anymore. Too many invisible scars have been left by the cruel hands of men, each memory leaving an imprint deep within. Ezebel's assignments always had their risks, but she'd say it was worth it, that a grab or a squeeze mattered very little in the grand scheme of things. A price worth paying. No real damage done. Yet I can still feel Gregorius's knobby fingers, skin thin and veiny, pinching like the covetous talons of a bird of prey.

The next time I blink into consciousness the cave is dark, the campfire died down to embers. Aisling is sitting beside me in my little sleeping nook, her knees up and her head resting against the rocky wall. Her eyes are closed, but I can tell she's still awake. She's got a hand on the hilt of her dagger, ready to pounce at any second.

"Where is he?" I ask, my voice thick with sleep.

"Huh?" she gives a start, her honey-blonde hair falling over her face as she looks down at me."The prince? Resting. Like you should be."

I drop my head back down. "I'm sorry, Aisling," I say, the words muffled against the blankets. My body shakes with joyless laughter, but I'm able to swallow most of the sound.

"We'll talk about it when you've gotten some more sleep," she says softly. She must think I'm crying, I realize. "He said he only healed the cuts on a surface level, and there was so much blood..." She sighs, rubbing her face.

"He fixed the outside" I say, my voice thin with suppressed giggles, "but inside I'm all messy. My threads got unwound. Drifting loose."

Aisling frowns, brows furrowed with concern. "Rest, okay?" she says. "Go back to sleep."

...

I wake up to a soft fluttering near my head, alerting me to the pixie's arrival. The cave is dark, with the fire dying down to embers and sleeping forms huddled next to its dwindling warmth. Aisling snores softly not far away.

The pixie darts around me, trailing glowing blue fluff, before dropping something on the ground beside my chest.

"Lady left treats!" it says, zig-zagging above the delivery, which is larger than the pixie itself—a familiar napkin-wrapped bundle.

"You went back?" I try to keep my voice down so I don't wake the others. "You shouldn't have done that," I scold. I'm trying to be stern, but a smile twitches at the corners of my mouth. I reach out to touch the present.

"No nibbles for me. Only you!" the pixie says. "Eat! Eat!"

I push myself slowly into a sitting position, crossing my knees before me. Something about the rich taste of chocolate and the crumbly sweetness of the biscuits melting in my mouth calms my trembling fingers; momentarily quiets the tormenting laughter.

"Thank you..." I say to the pixie. "I don't know your name. What are you called, little one?"

"Me? A name?" it gasps. It lets out a bashful giggle and flies in a loop around my sleeping area. "I only have one, lady," it chirps. "I give to you?"