“Yes.”
“How many lay dead? How many souls are gone now, in the hopes of keeping me here?”
Gideon paused for a long moment before he answered slowly. “I fear…I did not keep count. Twenty or more. Perhaps forty.”
With a cringe, she felt the tears rise up in her again as she grappled with those numbers. They did not seem real. Dozens of poor, innocent lives were ended because of her. If she had only stayed here…if she had sacrificed herself to the monster, they would still be alive. Guilt and shame wracked her worse than it had before, easily eclipsing her act of infidelity. When she spoke, her voice was caught in a whisper. “It cannot be that I am so important to you as to take the lives of an entire village. I cannot be worth all those lives.”
“To me…you are. Without a shadow of a doubt.” He let out a long, heavy sigh and pushed up to his feet with the weariness of a man far older than he appeared. “There are no other towns that you can reach. The horses are all my creations, and they answer only to me. They shall not give you passage. My servants shall not aid you. All doors leading from the castle shall remained locked at all times. All windows shall be kept closed. I shall not confine you to this room, Marguerite, but you shall not leave these walls without me at your side.”
The reading of her rights as a prisoner. “Let me go, Gideon.”
“Never.”
And with that, he turned on his heel and left the room.
Sliding down the surface of the wall to the floor, she sat there and did the only thing she could think of to do.
She wept.
* * *
It wasas the sun was setting that starvation sent her from her position on the floor in search of food. She had not eaten a proper meal in two days, and the bread Gideon had brought her had only done so much to settle the growling in her stomach.
I would make a terrible peasant.
As she walked along the hallways and corridors that she had slowly become familiar with, she found their nature entirely soured in her mind. She jumped at every shadow and recoiled from every servant who passed her. They looked at her in sadness, as if they were well aware of the reason for her newfound avoidance of them.
They are all dead.
They are all his creations.
She truly was such a naïve thing, wasn’t she? To have dabbled so readily in dark magic, not understanding the reality of it? The true darkness that beat at its core? It was one thing to be tempted with the promise of the power to speak to her beloved dead.
But to command the flesh of corpses? To make them stand, and walk, and feign life?
It raised the bile in her stomach.
I am a child. He is right in that. I know nothing of the world around me. Least of all…him. What was I thinking?But for the moment, her self-loathing would have to take a step back. Her stomach was attempting to devour itself in desperation, and she could smell food coming from the dining room.
As she passed the door, she saw Gideon sitting at the table by himself, a plate in front of him, the silver cloche still covering his plate. Another one sat at his righthand side. His elbow was propped on the arm, his temple resting on his closed fist.
He looked…
Miserable.
Utterly miserable.
And if she were not mistaken, his eyes were tinged red as if he, too, had been crying. Certainly not. A wraith—lich—certainly did not weep. Yet had she not just been ruminating on her ignorance of the world? What did she know of such things?
What am I to do?
Her stomach growled, answering the question for her. And it did so audibly enough that Gideon’s attention lifted from the covered plate in front of him. He glanced to her briefly before returning. “You may take your plate and go, if you wish.”
Did she wish to dine with him? No.
Was she starving? Yes.
Did some strange, pathetic part of her feel guilty for causing him pain? Yes.