Page 89 of Lost in the Dark
“My lord.” Gude appeared in the kitchen doorway, an eager glimmer in her eyes. “I cannot wait to serve you, or to make that rude slip of a girl into something truly of service.” She snarled at Anna, then her expression faltered and she bowed her head. “But my Lord, the feast is not yet ready. I am promised supplies will arrive this evening. Tomorrow, my lord. Let us cook at dawn.”
He gave a low growl. “Fine.”
Anna closed her eyes and wished the floor would swallow her whole—would save her from what came next—but the demons had no such mercy in them. An enormous hand gripped her arm so hard she thought her bones might break, and yanked her to her feet. “Come, wife.”
“No!” Even though it was pointless, she struggled against his grip. “Let me go!”
He laughed at her feeble efforts. “Pathetic little rabbit.”
“Please!” she cried, tripping and scrambling over her skirts so she wasn’t dragged along the stone.
They reached the twisting stone staircase and her heart pounded wildly in her chest, fear clouding her vision. He grunted, shoving her forward as he forced his bulk up the stairs behind her, heavy troll feet barely able to fit on the steps.
Oh, Gods.
Oh, dearest Gods.
For all her brave words earlier, she didn’t want to die. It was even more pointless to plead with him than it was to fight—trolls never abandoned a meal—and yet she couldn’t stop the words from tumbling out as they reached the top of the stairs. “I beg you. I will be a good wife. I will beget you heirs and—”
“You will prepare yourself for the feast.” He shoved her into her room and leered at her from the doorway, his mouth split into a terrifying grin. “Poor Anna. All that hard work. And for what? I’ve no interest in putting life in your belly, and every interest putting your life in mine.”
Anna sat in the middle of her bed and watched the moon rise over the moors.
She’d barely moved from that spot since Rathbytten had tossed her into the room that morning. Red damask pooled around her—blood red to match the stained pearls at her throat and the rage building in her heart. A futile rage. He had called her a rabbit, and she hated that he was right.
In this house, she was weak and trapped and about to be eaten.
“It’s notfair.” She stabbed her needle through the fabric.
All day long she’d worked to sew herself a new gown. Even now, as night settled over the castle—the last night she'd ever see—she focused on her task. Easier to keep focus on that than the chimes of the clock.
Or the remains of her ritual before the fire.
Before the hearth, the remains of the hair lay. Woven in a circle and surrounded by wax from her candles. She’d offered her blood, and burnt the hair and heather-tipped moss growing in the corners of her balcony—a common offering on the moors—and nothing had happened.
No mora. No gust of absolution.
Just… nothing.
She had failed in every possible way.
The mora weren’t free, Enulf lay injured—perhaps dying—in the kitchens. And Anna was alone. Now all she had left was her anger and her blind determination to leave this place as she came: in finery made from curtains. Wind whistled through the uncovered windows, but she barely noticed.
Nor did she note the pricks to her fingers or ache in her back.
“He promised me finery, fit for a queen.” With each stab of the needle, she imagined it puncturing Rathbytten’s green flesh, making him pay for his betrayal. “And finery I shall have, even for my last day.”
A rush of wind tore her hair from its messy bundle, swirling with voices.
The frantic pace of her stitches ceased.
Throat tight, needle paused in midair, she searched the room. “Are you here? How are you here? I failed…” The words dissolved into a sob, grief trembling through her. “I failed you.”
You found us, they whispered.You will set us free.
“I found you too late.” She looked for their shapes, and found nothing but shadows. Paler than before, as if their spirits vanished along with her hope. A sad laugh crept from her. “He has trapped me in here. When dawn comes, I’ll join you.”
Not too late, said the youngest.Just in time.