Ligia Nunes
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(Short Story) Halloween Special - "Familiar"
🕑 Added 2025-11-03 05:07:12 +0000 UTCHello, everyone, and happy Halloween đŠâš
This short story started as something simple and cute and ended up becoming something completely different (although still cute xD haha). You'll see a little more about Mand, Val, and a very special character that I love to death, but who can't really show at all most of the time (and for good reason).
I hope you'll enjoy these 5.6k words of supernatural-tinged fantasy that gives "a visit from beyond" a little taste of familial wonder, haha ;)))
Big hugs.
Familiar
Year 8:40, one year after your Graduation at the Dragon Order Academia of Opala.
â Halloween Special â
Itâs close to three in the morning when Mandra shakes you awake, widened eyes filled with urgency. The night is still cold with the last remnants of winter, but not cold enough to justify lighting the hearth in the half-abandoned winter palacete. Because of that, your widened eyes search the room for any signs of danger, yet find nothing but darkness and a narrow slice of moonlight. Behind you, much closer, people snore softly.
A fire striker hits a flint, and the gale outside pushes a tree branch against the window full force, making your shoulders jerk and your muscles jump into action.
Your body moves before you can think, automatic in that way that dangerous situations require, so you place a hand on Mandraâs shoulder and pull them down to the floor beside you. With a frown, you twist your body to jab a knee on the ground and put yourself in front of them, all but straddling their waistâbut when you reach for your sword, ready to defend your royal, it isnât there anymore.
Before you can despair, thereâs a chuckle somewhere to your left.
âDonât worry, thereâs nothing on fire.â ValĂȘnciaâs voice. Close to where it came from, a small puff of sparks finally manages to light one of her favorite brands of scented purple candles. âThere. Is it better?â
The smell of clove and bergamot reaches your nose.
âBy a very small margin,â you say in a groggy voice, sitting back to rest on Mandra's stomach (they scoff underneath you). The light is just enough to see something in the room. A few unlit candles, a forgotten cheese board, cushions positioned in a circle, two bodies slumped behind you. You blink slowly and rub your eyes. âWhatâs happening?â
Mandra grabs your arm, and with a very hardâand very preciseâopen-handed strike to the inner part of your elbow, they rob you of your balance, and you fall on their chest with an undignified oomph.
The brown in their eyes seems even warmer from this distance. âOne year has passed since you stopped your daily training, and youâre already getting rusty. Thatâs whatâs happening.â Mandra nudges you to the side, one hand lingering on your arm as they stand.
âOr maybe I just wanted you to tuck me in bed again, have you considered that?â Youâre still in your Hematitian pirate costume, so you have to brush the feathers of your cravat away to avoid eating them as you yawn.
Mandra scoffs, their eyes lingering on yours for a heartbeat. âRight.â And pointing at the cushions, âCan you move? Weâll lose our window.â Mandra adjusts the whiskers in their cat costume and sighs. âI doubt weâll be able to wake Mattie and Mel up, so itâs up to us three.â
And then it comes back to you. The winter palacete, the people sleeping on the cushions at your back, the candles.
You, Mandra, Mathias, Mel, and ValĂȘncia came here for a sĂ©ance-turned-party.
But, well, despite the noise, the costumes, the food, and the very reason you came here in the first place, itâs still late night on a Wednesday. Itâs way past Melâs bedtime, and Mathias must be exhausted after what happened at court today with Ser FĂ©res. Theyâll be passed out until morning.
If only the other people in the palacete were doing the same. Sleeping.
There are others spread throughout the old houseâit was the only way to make Your Majesty Yvana allow your group to enter this âcursedâ place, after all. The people who accepted the invitationâa few courtiers Mathias invited, some knights Mandra knows from the Academia, one or two (very) distant cousins, an artist, two musicians, and a few servantsâare here to party at the expense of the royal siblings. And considering the crash coming from somewhere in the house and the laughs it elicits, it seems like theyâre all having the time of their lives.
Mandra groans and stares toward the noise as if the daggers in their glare could pierce through walls. âThey really wonât shut up, will they?â
You stop a yawn. âThereâs enough fruit and cheese for an army and an entire wine cellar that only the Queen used to have access toâso no, I donât think they will.â
âGoddess, this is infuriating,â Mandra whispers. âSomeone give me a sword and sic me on those beasts.â
âThereâs one right there,â Val pointed at something in the dark. âHave fun,â she adds with a wink.
Mandra lets out a dramatic sigh. âLetâs just begin. Weâre losing time.â
âOkay,â you mumble. You pivot around to tug Mattâs and Melâs blankets up to their chins, then walk toward Mandra. âDo any of you know how to conduct a sĂ©ance? Our two arcanos are asleepâcan we do this without them?â
Mandra tugs at the rucksack at their side and pulls a book from it. Itâs old, itâs thick, and itâs so dusty that the title is hidden beneath a white layer of dehydrated allergy.
You glance at ValĂȘncia, whoâs already rubbing under her nose. When Mandra is about to blow on the book, you don't think; you stick a finger into their puckered lips. They gasp and curse, aiming a hard punch at your arm.
âOuch!â and as vengeance, you try to plug your wet finger in their ear, which then turns into a short wrestling match that ends with you locked in a naked rear choke, your back pressed tight on Mandraâs chest, your cheeks growing hot for, maybe, more than one reason.
ValĂȘncia lets out an exasperated sigh. âCan you two stop? Goddess is my witness, every time you meet, itâs like going back to the Academia.â
You twist an arm around Mandraâs leg to reach behind their knee and tickle it. They let you go with a sharp, muffled laugh.
âMand was going to blow a cloud of dust in your face,â you say in a loud whisper. And to Mandra, âVal becomes unwell when thereâs too much dust.â
âOh.â Mandra clears their throat. âI didnât know.â
ValĂȘncia brushes the thought away. âCan we start? Iâm sleepy.â
Mandra nods and cracks the book open; the dry leather of the cover and the thick glue inside the spine complain whenever they turn the page. âHere. How to conduct a sĂ©ance.â Mandra runs a finger across the text. âWe have the candles, the bare minimum number of participants, and the timeââ
âFive minutes to three in the morning,â you provide.
âAnd we almost have the right time.â They sit back and look at ValĂȘncia. âAre we still missing something?â
âThe wine?â ValĂȘncia asks.
âIâll get it,â you say.
The full-bodied wine hits the bottom of the chalice in your hands; the scent that reaches your nose is rich, herbal, butteredâa good wine, like the ones your mother used to drink on cold nights, sitting by the fire of your small townhouse in the heart of Opala. She used to caress your hair and read for you when Father wasnât around. She almost acted like a good mother when he wasnât looking.
You set the first chalice down and take another with a deep breath.
Nights like these are often more trouble than theyâre worth. For whatever reason, you always seem to remember shreds of the past during the night of Everysaint.
Thereâs a cold breeze coming from an open window in front of you, so you finish filling the second chalice and lean in to close it.
Maybe⊠just maybe you should try visiting your mother one of these days.
With the three filled chalices in hand, you sit down on the cushion across from Mandra.
âThank you,â ValĂȘncia mutters, helping you put the chalices down on the rug. She hums and lights the final candle. âMand? Did you bring the object?â
Mandra nods and stops reading the book to fish for something in the rucksack again. They take a big conch from it, worn at the edges as if it were someoneâs favorite keepsake. ValĂȘncia points at the center of the circle of chalices and candles, and Mandra carefully places the conch there.
âIs it cleansed?â ValĂȘncia says.
âI did as you asked. Salt, clean water, and moonlight.â
âPerfect.â
You know this conchâyouâve seen it in Mathiasâs room, in Mandraâs bookshelf at the Academia, and you remember little Melike walking around the castle hugging it tight, talking to it as if it were a doll. You know itâs important for them, but you never really wondered why.
With the way they treasure and share it between them, youâve never really felt comfortable inviting yourself into that secret.
That, apparently, changes today.
You pluck a grape from a nearby plate. âAre we ready, then? And where did you find that book, anyway?â
âI asked the Sand Manor to find it for me.â Mandra narrows their eyes and twists the conch this way and that, until theyâre satisfied. âThere. Now weâre ready.â They crack the book open again.
âWait. Did you say you asked The Sand Manor for it?â You scoff, staring at them for a heartbeat. Then, lips pursing, you try to snatch the book away, but Mandra frowns and outstretches an arm, keeping it away from you. You continue, âYou know what happened the last time we tried a spell from one of her books, Mandra.â
âWell, it will be different this time.â
âMandreis.â
âHow long âtill three?â ValĂȘncia cuts in.
âIt should be time,â Mandra says, motioning you to sit. âWe should start.â They narrow their eyes at you. âUnless you have a problem with the owner of the book?â
âOh, I have several.â You frown. âBut Iâll leave that choice to you, Your Highness. If some monster threatens to devour us again, though, then Iâllââ
âThat wonât happen. Now shh.â
Mandra shares a look with ValĂȘncia; she nods, reaching for the book. Val narrows her eyes, twists her nose this way and that, takes a deep breath, and starts reading.
âOh AnhangĂĄ, monarch of the forest, heart of the dark. Oh defender, oh light.â
The words donât mean much, but the shiver on your spine every time you hear that name surely does.
Mandra continues, taking the book from ValĂȘncia, âAnhangĂĄ, protector and killer, warrior King, Queen of all souls, we ask you to heed us. â
Outside, the wind grows stronger; branches bend and snap, hitting the glass. The sound of cicadas fades away. Another shiver, more intense this time. Mandra passes you the book and taps a specific verse for you to read.
You swallow.
âAnd if the memory we seek is near, oh AnhangĂĄ, we ask you to point it to us.â Your voice cracks a little, so you clear your throat and continue, âAnhangĂĄ, with this wine, we ask your permission.â You lift your chalice and, mirroring Mandra and ValĂȘncia, take a small sip.
Together, the three of you complete, âIn this night of Everysaint, allow this spirit to touch us.â
What happens next feels like a scene from a bad comedy novel.
Two things happen at the same time.
First, an especially strong gust of wind bashes the palacete windows, causing a loud crash down the hall. Second, your shoulders jump when a heavy hand rests on your back, and the movement is enough to make you spill most of your wine, locking a shriek of horror in your throat.
âWhat in the ashes?â Mandra stands and frowns at the closed door. âThose damned vulturesâthatâs enough.â
In the same heartbeat, ValĂȘncia gasps. âThe book!â
And your eyes widen. âGoddess. Itâs my fault, Val, Iâm so sorry!â
There are large wine stains on its open pages. You tug your feathery cravat free to clean it while Mandra marches out the door, already barking questions to the guests. In your rush to dry the wine, your hand hits one of the purple candles, which falls on the rug and comes to a stop near the book, the edge of its pages growing dark.
ValĂȘncia gasps again, and you slap it to safety, but the feathers on your other hand catch fire instead.
âShit!â You stand and toss it aside, extinguishing the fire under your boot as ValĂȘncia blows at the still-lit candles, then put out the fire starting to consume the rugâand the book.
Behind you, Mathias and Mel groan; Mathias shifts, rolling around until his back is turned to you.
You sigh.
The room is back in semi-darkness, nothing but a dim light now pouring in through the open door. Your eyes meet ValĂȘnciaâs. Both of you do your best to hold back your laughter.
She smiles and takes the book. âIâll look for a way to clean this.â
You nod. âThere must be an initiate among the servants. One of them will know what to do.â You hum, scratching at the back of your neck. âShould I⊠go instead? Iâm to blame for all this.â You gesture at the spilled wine, the scorched rug, and the singed book in ValĂȘnciaâs arms.
She smiles and shakes her head. âThere are way too many guests coming and goingâstay with your highnesses; I wonât be long.â
You nod and sigh, stepping back. She gestures at the door, and you nod. It closes behind her back with a soft click.
âThat wasâŠâ
âGreat inspiration for Mandraâs next play,â you answer without thinking. âIf they want to write something ridiculous, that is.â
And then you frown.
You turn around slowly, already stepping toward Mathias and Melike to protect them, but what you see makes your shoulders relax.
Thereâs a tall man in front of you, sporting an expensive-looking cape and the type of ensemble youâd expect to see in a play rather than a party. A frilly shirt laced all the way up, proper white gloves, black hose, polished shoes, and that type of ridiculous, long socks one usually sees in childrenâs portraits from the past century. The only thing that is remotely scary in his costume is the crown of dried-out roots around his forehead.
âIâm aâwait.â He hums and, carefully, removes an odd porcelain dentureânothing but two very long, pearly canines tied by a metal threadâthen massages his gums. When he smiles, itâs with white, perfectly human, if a bit crooked teeth. And when he speaks, his voice is much clearer, smooth, and kind. âIâm a vampire king,â he explains with an amused smile, showing you the denture. âI made these myself, especially for today. They clip to the teeth; very comfortable.â
âHuh. Did you?â Rich people. You glance at the door, wondering when the man had time to enter the room.
âIâm sorry for startling you earlier,â he says.
Of course. This is the person who touched your back and made you cause this whole mess. âThatâs okay. Although you should know Iâm a Knight; had I been armed, I mightâve hurt you by mistake, so be more careful next time.â
He hums, eyes narrowing, lips curling up. âAh, yes, Knights can be a little jumpy in dark, scary nights like this one, canât they?â
And something about the way he says it makes the tips of your ears grow warm with embarrassment. âThatâs not what IâI just meant⊠that weâre trained to act on instinct, so⊠you know.â
He laughs, a cheery and musical laugh that itches something in your memory. âI know.â His sweet smile turns into a smirk. âI was trained in the art of sword combat as well.â
The art of sword combat. Thatâs what someone who has never trained for war would say.
You lick your lips and clasp your hands at your back. Thereâs a spell of silence, in which you glance at the man and then at everything else around you. Every time you look at him, heâs already looking at you, the intensity in his eyes growing every time.
Finally, the man takes a deep breath and rocks on his heels, turning to the side to look at Mathias and Melikeâs sleeping forms. His expression softens, lips bending into a smile.
âIâm MâMathiasâs old friend. We grew up together until I had to depart from Opala. I was hoping to talk to him, and maybe to his sibling and sister as well, but it seems I didnât have much luck this time.â
âAh, I see. Val, well, Knight ValĂȘncia will be back soon, My Lord. She can keep you company while I search for Your Highness if you wish. Highborn Mandreis is still awake.â
He grins. âOh, thatâs marvelous news.â
Silence. Stillness.
His gaze remains locked on yours, that soft smile still on his lips. He reminds you of someoneâor several someones. Warm, naturally-tanned skin, deep brown hair, thin lips, and a nose that begins very angular and slowly curves into an upturned, squared tip. If you glanced at him quickly enough, you could mistake him for the brown-haired version of Mathias, with a build that reminds you of Mandra when they were younger, and a kind, intelligent smile that you only ever saw on little Melike.
You click your tongue. âI am sorry, My Lord, but it does feel like we know each other.â
His smile broadens. âWe should have, thatâs for certain.â He takes a deep breath and pivots around. âCome.â
You hesitate. âI canât let Your Highnesses alone.â
He doesnât turn back. âWe wonât leave this room.â
The man walks up to the closest wall, directly to the left of the door, and reaches for an unlit torch.
âHow is little Ms. ââ doing?â When he tugs at the torch, a wooden panel on the wall opens with a soft click. He slips his fingers beneath it and tugs the secret entrance open.
You school back your confusion in time to arch your eyebrows in surprise. âIâm sorry. What did you say? And how did you know there was a room there?â
He chuckles; something crosses his expression, too quick for you to recognize. âIâve spent many winters in this place when I was younger. Father and I adored to adventure together, so Iâm pretty sure weâve found all the secret rooms in this house.â He pats on the open door. âThis one is my favorite. I used to spend so much time in here, drawing plans. Here, Iâll show you.â
The man slips into the room, and something within you urges you to follow. Still, as you do, you stay between the stranger and the door, making sure he wouldnât be able to separate you and the royals.
âSo you visited the winter palacete when it was still lived-in?â
âMhm. Mathias did too, in fact, although Iâm not sure how much he remembersâhe was much too young at the time. Iâm four years older. Well, for most of the year.â
That earns him a smile. You nod. The man doesnât seem much older than you (around five years if what he said was right), but thereâs nostalgia laced in every one of his words. The Everysaint Day surely must have a magic of its own to make people want to remember the past so much.
âThenâdo you know who it belongs to? No one does nowadays, all the records of the original owners were burned.â
His smile shrinks a bit. âI do, but this is not my secret to share. Instead, here.â He motions you closer, expression softening when you step toward him. âCome closer and feel this.â The man flicks aâwhatâs that?âa little handle (button?) beside the door. Gently, he takes your hand and places it on the dark, worn wallpaper. His skin is smooth, soft, and impossibly cold. âWait for it.â An odd noise fills the room, mechanical, whirring, like the opening of the old gates in the castle, and arcano, like the weaving of a spell. âItâs collecting unused particles of mana in the ambiance. There.â Another clack. âNow⊠itâs not ideal, but it needs some time to charge. There we go.â
With an especially loud noise and a clack, something purrs under your hand. Light flickers above you, coming from a round opal on the ceiling, in the very center of the room. You gasp. Sun-golden light, dim and flickering, fills the place, revealing a collection of canvases, puzzle-like statuettes, and an alchemy workbench, all of them covered in dust.
Your eyes go back to the opal. âWhat is this? Is it magic?â You turn to the man, but something twists within you when you meet his face.
Dead serious as if in a trance, eyebrows lowered, shoulders tense, lower lip stuck between his teeth. His eyes, darker than before, are set on your touching hands as if that touch were a mystery to be solved. Slowly, he brushes a thumb on your knuckles, spreading a shiver down your arms. The coldness from his hand spreads, reaching down your wrist with a wave of⊠what is this feeling?
He clears his throat and whispers an apology, stepping away.
âUhm.â Thereâs some color back in his face, you notice. He takes a deep, calming breath. Huffs out a little laugh. âSorry. Yes.â And with a louder voice, âThere!â He points at the light. âImpressive, is it not? The perfect mix of magic, alchemy, and engineering.â
âOh. Yes. Yes, very impressive.â You rub the hand he touched. Itâs taking much longer than normal to warm up again.
The machinery grumbles, sputtering like a dying animal. With a curse, the man rushes to a closet beside the entrance. He finds a three-candle candelabra and sticks half-molten candles in each of its slots. Not a second later, the machinery gives another loud clack, and the room grows dark.
He sighs, long and pained.
âItâs⊠not perfect, of course. Probably wonât be for a few decades still.â He lights up the candles. âWhat happens is thatâand this is my current theoryâwe donât have a way to store unused mana, which means the arcane machine uses the ambient mana all too quickly, leaving nothing behind. But if we manage to, chemically, Iâd wager, develop a strong enoughââ
Whatever words leave that manâs lips after that, they sound like ancient Common to you. He gestures wildly and walks around the room massaging his chin, and you have a feeling that he completely forgot the reason why he brought you here in the first place.
So, instead of paying attention, you study the room itself. As he passes by you, blabbering about âbatteriesâ and âthe perfect metal for the tubes,â you take the candelabra from his hands. He gives you a smile and a thankful look, now using both hands to make grand gestures at the crystal on the ceiling. You canât help but smile at his excitement, nodding along as if any of what heâs saying makes sense.
The paintings, though⊠theyâre something else. They arenât covered or missing, like those in the rest of the house, meaning that no one knew to check this room. And some of them are big, standing on the floor and all but reaching the ceiling. Besides a hidden laboratory, this place looks like a store room.
Or maybe a treasure room.
You place the candelabra on the nearest surface and leaf through the paintings like you would a book. Eyes narrowed, you tug at one in the middle. Itâs smaller than the others, possibly the type of painting one would see in a study.
Something cold upturns in your stomach. Youâve⊠never seen a painting like this in the castle.
Queen Yvana and King Elias rest on a settee surrounded by their kids. You see Mandra in the center, maybe two or three years old, sitting on the Queenâs lap and wearing a frilly green dress. Mathias, five, stands on King Eliasâs thigh, dressed as a small copy of his father, grinning. And beside them, with a soft smile on his lips and a full living crown around his headâ
âCrown Prince Murdoch,â the strange man whispers. âThese are all good mementos, wouldnât you say?â
Another shiver, this time from how close heâs standing, his breath cold against your neck, the vibrations of the voice in his chest causing a tingle down your back. He slides a gentle hand on your shoulder and outstretches the other in a silent request. You let him hold the painting, and the time he takes to grip the frame and step back is exactly how long you manage to suppress a sharp breath.
The man tries to smile again, but a silvery tear runs down his cheekâone he is quick to dry with the back of his hand. He offers you a sad smile.
âLook at them,â he says. âItâs⊠hard to accept how much everything changed. I understand why someone would want these paintings removed from sight.â With a heavy sigh, he brushes his fingertips on Mathiasâs and Mandraâs faces. The man places the painting on the workbench and steps back as if to properly look at it. âThe only thing that comforts me is to see that youâre now in their lives, Commander.â
You frown, your cheeks growing a bit hot. âYou mistake me for someone else. Iâm a knight, not a Commander.â
He chuckles. âIâm sorry.â
You two share a long look, studying each other. It is⊠odd for a stranger to make you feel so comfortable and (weirdly) so tense at the same time. You swallow, words forming in the base of your throat.
âAndâŠâ
You hesitate. The man notices it and turns around to look at you. He waits, his gaze kind, his hands clasped at his back.
âI donât think it was a fair... trade,â you say. âMurdoch. I heard stories about him.â
âDid you?â he says, eyes narrowing with a smile.
âConsidering what Mathias and Mandra told me, he was a joy to be around, if only a bit⊠strict at times. Maybe a little weird." You smile; he chuckles. "Above anything, he was their brother.â Your gaze must grow too intense, because, for the first time that night, the man averts his eyes.
He lets out a hum. âI donât knowâat least youâre better with people. I⊠I donât think Murdoch was.â He looks down, fidgeting with his hands. âAt ten, his only conversation topics were his favorite alchemical reactions and the Sixth Lineage of Opalean History; Iâm not sure how much fun he was to be around.â
You canât hold back a laugh. âI donât know about you, but I like seeing people who are passionate about things. Iâm sure he was a good kidâI wish I had met him before... well.â You shrug, palms facing up, then falling heavily at your side. âOr maybe I wish it hadnât happened at all.â
With a sigh, you lean back on the wall beside the door. Maybe the man can read your expression. Maybe he knows that your wish is for Mandra, Mathias, and Melike's sake, not for yourself.
The man smiles, and you catch your gaze lingering on his face.
âTell me something,â he says, almost whispers. âWhat are they like today?â
You arch an eyebrow. âThe royal siblings?â He nods, and you frown, thinking. âIâm not sure if I shouldââ
âPlease.â
That simple word twists something within you. Itâs the desperation lacing it. The open, raw vulnerability you see in his eyes.
Such familiar eyes.
You weigh your choices. And in the end, you decide to answer himânothing you say here will make your shield crack or your blade lose its edge.
With a sigh, you relent. âVery well. Hum. Melike is⊠brave. More than her siblings, I believe. She knows herself, her shortcomings, and most of all her strengths. She does what needs doing, faces who need facing. She can also be a little headstrong at times, mainly when sheâs risking herself too much. Oh, and she clings to Mandra and me like a baby sloth and treats us as her personal servants.â You chuckle. âWorst of all, she does it in a way that I like, for some odd reason.â
The man grins. âShe does have a way with words.â
You agree, your smile widening. âIâve once read that you donât need to know everything, you just need to know who to go to for whatever knowledge you needâthatâs Melike.â
He whistles an impressed si, eyebrows all but touching his hairline. âThatâs impressive for someone so young.â
âThatâs impressive for anyone.â You smirk a little, maybe with a hint of pride for the little one sleeping in the other room. âThen thereâs Mathias, but you know him already. He didnât change much from when he was a child, at least not since Iâve met himâand I met him when I was six.â
His head tilts back in surprise. âThatâs a really long time.â
âIt is. And heâs still kind and curious like a boy. Lazy, sometimes, but not to the point of skipping whatever practice he must finish.â Your smile softens. âHe knows what fairness looks like, and he wants to become a good leader. For that alone, I believe heâll be a good king when the time comes.â The edges of it harden a little, growing sharp. âIf he learns to think before he acts, that is. And if he manages to win over his fears.â You hum and cross your arms. âMathias can be very short-sighted when someone he likes is⊠suffering.â A deep breath. âHe has a really long way to go before finding out the type of Monarchâthe type of personâhe wants to be.â
âDonât we all?â the man whispers with a smile.
âAnd then thereâs Mand.â Your hands meet at your back; the pads of one hand feeling the hardness of the fingernails on the other. âMand is⊠kind when thereâs no one looking. Intimidating when they want to. A little unhinged at times,â you say with a chuckle, cheeks warming up. âThey once stopped a fight between the King and Queen by putting fire to one of the curtains of the room. It⊠didnât work well at all. They alsoâŠâ Your voice loses strength, dipping into a whisper that is every bit certain, but maybe not ready to be said aloud. âTheyâre the one person in this castle who sees me. Fully. Who trusts me to stand on my ownâand who steadies me when I falter without even an ounce of judgment.â Shit. You said too much. âIâŠâ Clearing your throat, you scoff. Itâs hard, but you manage to school your expression.
âYou love them,â he says.
At length, you nod, not sure if theyâre talking about Mandra alone or about the three siblings.
âWhich is why I agreed to go through this stupid sĂ©ance in the first place.â You tug at your neckline; without the feathery cravat, your neck is defenseless against the coldness in the room. âMandra thought they could find a memento of their deceased brother if they managed to contact a spiritâbut thatâs not what spirits do, is it?â
The manâs grin turns sharper, impossibly wide.
Your shoulders quiver as the room turns even colder.
âI donât know.â He gestures at his surroundings, one long finger stopping at the paintings beside him. âIs it?â
The muscles on your face slacken. You glance from the man to the paintings, the alchemy workbench, the button (switch?) beside the entrance, the toys, the dolls, stuffed animals, then stop at the painting behind him.
Your eyes are attracted to two very dark ones on the canvas. Eyes that are also staring at you right now, glued to an older face that, logically, makes little to no sense at all.
The crease between your eyebrows deepens. When you gaze at the dried-out crown around his head, you shiver again.
Somewhere in the house, a clock announces four in the morning. How. It doesnât. Make. Sense!
Murdoch chuckles, scratching the back of his neck as if he knew whatâs going through your head right now. As if enjoying the sightâthe tasteâof it. When he stops, his hand resting on his chest, he straightens, an easy smile covering his lips.
In that moment, you see a King.
âAh. I canât say I like having to go, but⊠at the very least,â the manâMurdochâsays, smiling, âI heard a little about them.â He narrows his eyes. âAnd about you. It's good that my siblings don't have any more competition." He laughs.
The door to the room opens.
âI think youâre just in need of a nap, Your Highness,â ValĂȘncia says.
âBut donât you think itâs odd, Val? I could swear we left the room at three. How is this possible?â comes Mandraâs voice.
You turn toward it, throat dry, voice weak. You feel Murdochâs presence at your back, and pin it with your mind, wanting to keep him in placeâto show him to Mandra, to help them meet.
They stop talking when they see you stumbling out of the secret room. Mandra and ValĂȘncia rush to you, clasping your arms, cupping your cheeks. What happened? Youâre pale. Letâs bring them closer to the fire. Light it, ValĂȘncia. We should brew them tea. We should bring her home!
You stop them with a shake of your head. You grab ValĂȘnciaâs arm with one hand and the front of Mandraâs cat costume with the other, dragging them both into the secret room.
Murdoch is not there anymore.
Still, the opal above you flicks and buzzes, shedding light onto the painting atop the alchemy workbench for a few brief seconds. Youâll have a lot to explain and even more to ask them, but thereâs one thing you know for certain:
âVal, Mandâcongratulations, that sĂ©ance worked." And looking at Mandra, "Here are the mementos you wanted.â
