Heartless

❆ Five ❆

Five

As soon as Lumea showed me me to my door and left, I instantly shot off in the opposite direction to find Kenji's. I recounted my steps back and paused at the intricate carvings on the walls. This was the hall, right? Did I take a wrong turn? This place was so easy to get lost in, especially for someone who had grown up in a one-room hovel. I rapped my knuckles on the wooden door and whispered a silent prayer that it was the right one. The candle flickered in my grasp. "Who is it?" his small  voice called out.

   I rolled my eyes. "Who else would it be, you oaf? Open the door!" A gust of wind blew outward when he cracked it open. I pushed my way in with a quick glance over my shoulder. He shut the door firmly behind me and scurried back under the blankets. I limped over to his bed and sat down on the edge of it. "How are you feeling?" I pressed my hand to his forehead as he sat down beside me.

   He shook out from under my touch. "Who are these people, Ada? What are they going to do with us?" His eyes searched my own, and my heart twisted painfully with the fear I saw breathing inside them.

   It pained me to be honest, but he already knew when I was lying. There didn't seem to be a point in trying anymore. I sighed, tilting my head back against the grand headboard. "I don't know," I said quietly, my voice sending a shiver down my spine. His hand slid under mine. We sat in silence for several moments, watching the candle flicker and dim. The room was something from a fairy tale: the large, double-stuffed canopy bed with white curtains, a beautifully crafted table and bureau. The hide of a black bear was spread out on the cold stone floor just at the foot of the bed. A shelf of books laid to our left, its contents layered with a coat of dust. It isn't very often we get guests, Lumea had said. From the state of the room, it looked as if not for some time. I wondered why that was.

   A light snore rumbled out from his throat. I turned. His chin rested on his chest, his eyes closed. Looking at him, I could feel the same exhaustion washing over me. My eyes drooped lower on my cheeks. "Kenji," I whispered. His eyelids fluttered drowsily. I pushed at his shoulder and moved him down to lie on the pillows. I pulled the thick blankets up to his chest and stood.

   His warm hand clamped around mine like a vice. Panic and fear mingled in his green eyes. "Don't go. I don't want to be alone." I frowned down at him. "Please."

   Sighing, I pulled my hand from his grasp and planted it on my hip. I was half tempted to tease about still being afraid of the dark, but stopped when I realized that, in this situation, so was I.  "Move over."

   He shuffled to make room for me. I slid in beside him and snatched up the blanket from the bottom to cover myself. "What do you think they did with Hendric?" He studied my face seriously, his lips thinned in a tired pout.

   I bit the inside of my cheek. How could I tell him a reasonable answer? It'd been years since someone in our village had contracted the blood rose; not since Mother. I don't remember exactly how it reached within our walls, but soon people were dying in drastic numbers. Gabriel's entire family died within two years. Bromm and the other men of the village decided to separate those that were infected to keep the disease from spreading. I supposed these people did the same with Hendric— taken him away so he wouldn't infect anyone else. They had contained the problem.  If they were anything like the villagers back home, he would remain there until he died. Then they would burn his body.

   But I couldn't tell Kenji any of this. I had to keep hoping for the best, even if we were damned. "Go to sleep, Kenji. We'll talk in the morning."

   If we live to see it.

   Something about this place didn't feel as perfect as it looked. It wasn't the way the paintings watched me as I walked, or the way the halls echoed when no one walked them; nor was it the whispers crying out when no one spoke. No, it was none of those things. It was them. The petite Lumea, her terrifying brother— whose name still remained an eerie prize in a game I didn't want to play— and all the other occupants of this enormous palace. It was how they talked in hushed voices and exchanged secret conversations with their dark eyes. How they never seemed to actually mean what they said. How they watched us. Just this morning I'd been the hunter staring down my prey. Now it felt like I had become the hunted.