I began to climb.
Thick dust muffled my footsteps, but in the dense silence, they boomed like a war drum. Around and around I went, clinging to the wall to ease my weight from my ankle. My thighs began to cramp as my skin grew hot under my layers. My breath rattled like the chains of a mournful ghost.
Around and up, and up and around. Over and again. A ceaseless climbing spiral.
Seconds turned to minutes, each one dragging on for its own eternity.
God, would it never end? Panting, I strained to see around the corner, hopeful I’d glimpse the top of the flight. Steps awaited me. No matter how high I climbed, how many steps I conquered, there were always more. The fire in my thighs grew with every step, and sweat slicked my spine.
A stitch seized my abdomen and I ground to a halt, buckling forward as I clutched the wall and waited for the cramp to ease. Ahead and behind, the stairs spiralled out of view, hidden by curved walls. My heart thudded frantically. At least it wasn’t from fear this time.
What I’d give for a breeze, but the air was still and musty, undisturbed for hundreds of years. I stowed my dagger in its sheath and took a glug of water from my bottle, gathered from the icy stream I’d plunged into under the glare of an advancing spider.
The stream. When I made it back, I’d strip off and douse myself in that fresh, chilled water. But to make it back, I first had to make it up. I stowed my drink in the side pocket of my pack, drew my dagger, though it hung limply at my side, too heavy for my weary body to lift, and set off again.
I climbed for what felt like hours, until sweat ran in a river between my breasts. Until each breath was nothing but a short, sharp stab to the lungs. I was going to vomit. I was going to collapse and roll all the way back down to the bottom. I was going to combust into a ball of flames and become just another layer of dust on the endless, cursed steps.
Just when I began to seriously consider admitting defeat and sliding back down on my bum, a glimpse of faint light met the glow of my lantern, and the most beautiful breath of cool air kissed my overheated skin. A breeze. A window.
Swallowing my sob of relief, I forced myself to continue. With every step, the light grew brighter, until a landing slid into view, adorned with an enormous, glittering window. An open window, its glass criss-crossed with lead strips. Below it, near where it had been thrown wide open, a low, broad sill waited, inviting me to sink down and take the weight off my feet while resting my hot forehead on the cool glass.
Just for a minute. I could spare a moment to cool down.
Straightening my aching spine, I approached, my knees threatening to buckle in anticipation. The breeze danced over my skin. When had I ever felt anything quite as blissful?
Through the glass, I glimpsed the cliffs beneath a cloudless sky, and slopes of long, thick grass swaying in the breeze. The view was almost worth the climb. Despite what lurked inside those cliffs, the valley was beautiful from up here, lush and green.
Turning away from the view, I let my knees bend with a groan.
Green?
The grass had been dead. Yellow and as dry as hay. Not green.
Question everything you might see or hear.
Too late, Sage’s warning clanged through my memory. My bum touched the sill as a chill that had nothing to do with the breeze that couldn’t possibly exist shivered over my skin. The tower had no windows and the grass was dead.
The sill disappeared from beneath me just as I attempted to lurch back to my feet.
The world opened into a yawning chasm, and I threw my arms out wide, my fingertips skimming the velvety layer of dust encasing the walls. This was a trap, and I’d fallen right into it.
My stomach flipped, lurching to my throat as gravity dragged me down. The edge of the stone pit collided with my belly, and all the air left my lungs in a bark as my nails clawed at the floor, searching for purchase. They dug into the shallow crack between the floor tiles, clinging to the scant few millimetres of rock. Cold, stale air whooshed up around me, stirring my braid.
Visions of massive spikes and skewered skeletons filled my mind. Or maybe a starving beast, waiting for the first meal in centuries to fall into its enclosure. Whatever awaited me, it would not be pretty. The toes of my boots scraped the wall of the pit, searching for a foothold to propel me back to safety. I found none.
God, I was an idiot. Why did I have to be so fucking unfit? I was pathetic. If only I’d bothered to do a few squats now and again, the stairs wouldn’t have left me desperate for a seat. If I’d curled a few dumbbells, my arms might have been strong enough to haul my weight from the lip of the pit, digging mercilessly into my lower ribs. Now I was going to die. I was still alive only thanks to my moment of realisation, the brief propulsion I’d given myself as I tried to stand. It was only a matter of time before my trembling, white-knuckled fingers lost their grip on the edge of the stone tile and I slipped into the waiting abyss.
Spikes would be quick, wouldn’t they? With any luck they’d skewer my brain, killing me instantly. Or maybe my luck had run out. Maybe they’d spear through a shoulder, leaving me trapped and wounded, but not mortally so. Maybe I’d be left to bleed out slowly, alone in the dark. Or would infection or dehydration claim me first?
Would Pansy argue when the second moon set and the witches packed up their tents? Would she beg for another day, another hour, while I festered, far from help? Would Sage shoulder her disappointment at yet another human failure, putting on her impassive mask and doling out efficient orders? Would she claim she’d never believed in me at all, that her words at the gate had meant nothing?
You’re really her. It’s you.
It was me, Goddammit. I might not be the Human Queen, but I was going to break this fucking curse. Maelgwyn would not finish me off this easily. I would not allow it.
Grunting, I scraped the toes of my boots over the wall. The brief moment of resistance was enough to shift my weight forward onto my arms. I could do this. I had to. Again, I shunted my weight slightly in favour of survival. My knee scraped the wall, but I barely felt the sting. Sage would fix it with her magic paste. My arms trembled as, bit by bit, I shoved and scraped myself up the wall. By the time the lip of the pit dug into my belly, my fingers were numb and stiff, my elbows raw from taking my weight. With a last surge of effort, I swung my leg to the side, hooking my knee, and with trembling thighs, I hauled myself up and over.
With a sob of relief, I rolled away from the pit, collapsing on my back, the beautifully solid floor beneath me.
“Fuck you, Maelgwyn,” I panted at the cobwebs, swaying innocently overhead. Hopefully the old bastard heard me with his weird magic. Actually, no. It would be better if he had no idea I was here until it was too late. Still, fuck him to Hell and back.
My body resisted my instructions to stand, reluctant to leave the solid safety of the floor, but I scrambled stiffly to my feet, the trap beckoning wide and dark beside me.
I’d almost died. Again.
Shivering, I retreated a step. That had been too close. A cat’s whisker from disaster. Too easily I’d have become nothing but a broken skeleton, locked away in some lightless pit forevermore.
My legs began to quake violently. I was going to die here in this God-forsaken world. There was no point worrying about rifts, or monsters, or even making it back through the tunnels. This was it. This tower was the resting place of royalty, and everyone claimed I was destined to become a queen. It was my grave.
18Yeah, That’s Not Creepy At All
Ihurried along the landing and away from the pit before my legs gave up and tossed me back in. All traces of heat had evaporated from my body, leaving a feverish chill in their wake. I wasn’t sure which was worse.
The landing was long. Too long. A patterned carpet, its colours faded with dust and age, stretched endlessly ahead. More torches flickered on the walls. It was magic. Sorcery. The tower was round and not especially tall. There was no room for a corridor, and yet, there it was. Worse still, faint music drifted from the far end.
What now?
The hairs on my arms rose. I’d seen enough horror movies to know that approaching the strange, faint music was a bad idea, but there was no other way unless I wanted to give up. Did I? Could I turn around and crawl meekly back to the witches, telling them I’d almost made it but lost my nerve?
