Her throat tightened with understanding.
The afternoon sun began to fade, the gold and amber beams cascading through the narrow windows to splay across the floor. Lyra couldn’t gauge if the same passage of time occurred outside this slipstream. Either way, her father wouldn’t be home tonight, and burdened with Melinda’s secret, she didn’t feel safe returning to her stepmother. Most of the kids she knew had worried parents who would call the cops if they didn’t come home. In her case, no one waited up for her. Whenever she went to Jess’s, she never bothered leaving a note or text and Melinda didn’t follow up—both she and her nightmare of a stepmom understood no tears would be shed if the other didn’t return.
Besides, Lyra would be lying if she said she wasn’t curious to hear more of Moro’s story and what secrets the castle held.
“This place is magnificent,” Lyra murmured, “unlike anything I’ve ever seen.”
“All the better with company as well.” His smile arrived as slick as the way he slid onto the throne like he belonged there. His pale hands contrasted the wrought iron of the massive seat, though his long, sharp nails mirrored the clawed feet. A lonely ice prince in his lonely ice castle. “Forgive my rudeness; you must be starving. Care for something to eat?”
Before she could respond, her stomach rumbled, the sound echoing throughout the room. A flush rose to her cheeks.
“After your grueling journey here, you need to restore your energy. Follow me.” He hopped off the throne, and the sound of his footsteps traveled to the rafters as he set a quick pace to the hall.
Lyra rushed to catch up with him, not able to resist the distracting twinkles of the decorations in the elegant room, in case the glimpse might be her last. After all, who knew when Moro would send her on her merry way, back through the storm.
“What’s behind all the doors in this place?” Lyra asked while they strode along. She kept catching her appearance in the dozens of mirrors along the corridor, which sent a jolt of surprise through her the first few times until she grew used to the flow.
Moro flashed her a smile. “Truly? It would take a lifetime to explore the entirety of this castle.”
She couldn’t fathom anything so immense. If the closed doors they passed contained anything as grandiose as the room they’d just been in, the place would put palaces like Versailles to shame. Moro walked with energy she didn’t have, not while her limbs weighed as heavy as lead and her stomach throbbed with a hunger that grew by the second. Lyra glimpsed the familiar entrance of the room she’d woken up in, but he didn’t bother to stop along the way.
Instead, they continued down to where the corridor ended, a connecting one stretching out to the right. Moro grabbed the knob of the nearest door and pushed it open. The hinges creaked from disuse, but he slipped inside and gestured for her to follow.
Heat wafted her way in gusts once she stepped into this room, and the spicy scent of cinnamon and clove tingled her nose. Despite the ice walls, a hearth fire roared on the opposite end, framed by a fireplace made from obsidian that soaked in the orange glow. Unlike the forbidding elegance of the room they’d entered before, this one brimmed with comfort from the rich green pennants decorating the walls to rustic wooden end tables, and the flickering glow from the fireplace glided across every surface.
Moro strolled right up to the hunter green chairs circling the fire and patted the top. “Why don’t you take a seat here,” he said. “I’ll be right back with something to eat.”
Lyra tucked a strand of hair behind her ear as she approached, the heat causing her extremities to tingle. Moro nodded and slipped past her with the fluidity and grace of a cat. By the time she’d turned in his direction, he had slunk through the door.
She took a seat by the fire, the warmth making her bones ache. How could the surrounding ice keep form with these flames climbing the sides? Between the floors that weren’t quite cold, the flames in the icy walls, and the way the blizzard halted inside the perimeter of the castle gates, this realm didn’t follow any of the rules she knew.
The golds, ambers, and deep crimsons of the flames mesmerized her, holding her captive. The last time she’d seen a bonfire was five summers ago when her father had taken her camping. She had held onto the memory until it nearly broke her heart. They’d sat under the starlight and shared quiet conversation and had both read together during the day, happy amidst all of nature’s splendor. On the days the urge to run away grew too strong to bear, she remembered for dear life. Because as soon as her father had brought Melinda in, all of that changed.
Moro returned before long, his footsteps a gentle rustle by the door. The shadows of the room sloped along his features, sharpening his ears and the hooked end of his nose to impossible points as he tried on a smile. He carried one laden plate of food in each hand and approached the seats by the hearth fire. A delicious aroma wafted her way from the cloud-like mashed potatoes with a pat of golden butter in the center, along with rich, roasted beef, the juices dripping from the hefty slab.
Lyra lifted a brow, unable to conjure the logic of how he’d prepared a feast so fast. She couldn’t imagine electricity wired through the rooms or a microwave awaited wherever the kitchen lay in this castle. All attempts to reason vanished the moment he offered her the plate and utensils balanced on the side.
Moro took the adjacent seat and began fluffing the potatoes with his fork. Lyra’s stomach growled at the scents of butter, garlic, and oregano, of the perfectly roasted meat from whatever slipstream in space and time he’d conjured it from. In fact, she didn’t quite know what sort of meat he served, despite the appearance of beef, or what his kind even ate—or who his kind even were.
Moro lifted the first forkful to his mouth, the movement as quick and elegant as all the others. Even though her stomach squeezed with demand at the sight of food, she found herself staring at the plate, torn between asking more questions and trusting the man enough to eat the meal in front of her.
Moro arched a brow as his glance swept her way. “You know, if I wanted you dead, I would’ve left you out in the snow. Eat something.”
“Sorry,” she responded, offering an apologetic grin. “I’m trying to wrap my brain around all of this, and I keep falling short.” Hunger won out. She lifted a forkful of potatoes as a peace offering.
The first mouthful of mashed potatoes almost caused her to swear—she’d never tasted anything so good in her life. Boxed mashed potatoes and microwaved meals were her norm, and this was a rich and complex burst of flavors, between the butter, garlic, and a saccharine note she couldn’t quite place. The piping hot, solid food soothed the ache of her hollowed stomach, and she ate a couple more forkfuls, careful to not overload.
Moro finished his plate in a record time, placing the empty dish on the ground beside his chair. She felt rude with so much on her own, but she couldn’t help the war of anxiety that gripped her from being in an unknown place and the ravenous hunger she wanted to appease. However, the prolonged glance to her plate from her gracious host gave a clear signal he found her lack of appetite rude. Lyra sucked in a deep breath and speared a piece of the roast beef with her fork, working on the rest of the plate. Who knew when she’d get to have another meal this delicious again?
“I’m sure you have plenty of questions. I wouldn’t mind entertaining some to place your mind at ease,” Moro said, his fingertips dancing along the arm of the chair. All of his movements were precise, and Lyra envied the control. She placed her now-empty plate onto the floor to mirror his and relaxed into the seat as best she could.
He’d added the definitive to the statement for a reason. Based on her conversations with Moro thus far, he was far cleverer than the idiots who paraded around her school, more akin to the characters she read about in books. If he would only answer certain questions, she needed to word them well. “Why are you alone in this castle?”
His golden eyes twinkled with amusement. “I’m not alone. You’re here with me.”
Lyra�
�s mouth quirked to the side. Of course, she hadn’t phrased that correctly. Still, she wanted to know more about why he stayed here, who he was, and what sort of creature sat before her. “Where were you born?”
“Not here, if that’s what you’re asking.” He stared into the fireplace, the flames reflecting in his gaze. “I spent my youth in a land of ice similar to this, forbidding crags, caverns that stretched deep into the earth, and blizzards that made it difficult to move one foot in front of the other. Instead of the damning sunlight day in and out, we lived in the shadows, often in the depths of caves in the comforting dark.”
Lyra shivered. Holed away in blackened caverns sounded like her personal version of hell. Whatever place he came from wasn’t Earth. “Then why stay here?”
“Because we don’t always get to choose.” The sadness in his smile and the simple truth of his words struck her to the core. Life had taught her the lesson at an early age when her mother got diagnosed with cancer, and those lessons hadn’t ceased, between the near-disappearance of her father into work and the daily trials with Melinda.
Out in the corridor, the rays turned from gold to burnt sienna with the sun’s decline. Night infiltrated faster than she could’ve anticipated, yet she had no desire to return to the trailer park.
“You’re right,” she agreed, staring at her lap. “We don’t always get to choose.” Because if she had the choice, why would she have ever picked the prison she grew up in? Her skin prickled at the way she’d unveiled the vulnerabilities she kept burrowed deep inside her.
“I suppose the physics here don’t follow the same rules I’m used to.” She switched the topic on purpose, not wanting to dive deeper with this stranger, no matter how comfortable the current of their conversation.
Lyra glanced his way, waiting for an answer. The more she accepted that some sort of other existed, the more readily she could wrap her mind around things like hearth fires not melting the surrounding ice walls and prepared roasts appearing out of nowhere.
“No, nothing like human realms.” The firelight elongated the shadows under his eyes and sharpened the bridge of his nose. This foreign creature was as distant as the snowy peaks she’d caught a glimpse of out the windows earlier.
Lyra let out a huge yawn as weariness hit her like a brick. Despite the fact she’d slept most of the day away, the exertion from yesterday hadn’t ebbed, and with the solid way the meal settled in her stomach, she longed for a bed again. She didn’t have the slightest clue as to what path she needed to take home, and in all honesty, she didn’t want to return—not yet.
She swallowed, not wanting to impose on him another night. Already, her host had been refined and courteous, and curiosity lit her up inside at what other treasures the castle contained. The idea of abandoning the glittering throne room and the cavernous halls to return to a dingy once-blue trailer, pathways filled with crumpled soda cans, and the overwhelming scent of mildew grew too much to bear.
Before she opened her mouth to speak, Moro interjected.
“Please, you must stay. You had such a long journey here, and it’d be cruel of me to send you out in the bitter cold tonight.” He stood from his seat and, with a clink, placed her plate on top of his. “You’re welcome to sleep in the chambers you rested in before.”
Relief flooded through her at his words. After all, her limbs weighed like lead and the gentle heat from the hearth fire dulled her mind and senses in the most blissful way. With effort, she pried herself from the comfortable seat and followed him out into the corridor again. They walked through hallways now slanting with shadows and cooled by the darkness. The walls had glittered like diamonds under the sunlight but now contained deeper, more cerulean tones, as if she and Moro waded through a pool of water. However, despite the fugue state as she followed him down the hall, the occasional chilly breezes drifted through the open windows and sparked her senses back to life.
Moro opened the door to the room where her combat boots sat on the floor and her peacoat lay draped over the armchair. She walked inside, each step slower than the last. The bed, though the sheets were rumpled, looked more inviting than ever. Lyra opened her mouth—she should try to hang in there longer, try to converse with Moro more, but she could barely keep her eyes open. They’d begun to shutter on the walk over, and when she saw the temptation of the bed, she couldn’t wait to close her eyes and let the embrace of sleep take her.
Moro lingered by the door, his hand on the knob. “Sweet dreams,” he murmured with a genuine smile. He closed the door behind him.
Lyra climbed under the blankets, and their heat and comfort lulled her at once. Her eyes slipped shut, and the tug of sleep grew so strong she could no longer resist. As she slipped into sleep, only the sharp prickle of surrounding ice tickling her nose and the saccharine taste on her tongue remained before the darkness claimed her.
3
Sunlight streamed through the windows by the time Lyra awoke, just like yesterday. She sat up, searching for her broken nightstand, her weathered mattress cushion beneath her, and the piles of books that consumed the remaining surface of her bed. Except, she wasn’t back in the trailer. The memories crashed in as she absorbed the polished furniture surrounding her and the open arched window that helped the crisp, wintry air circulate.
A silver platter with a cup of black tea, sugar cubes, and milk waited on the dresser beside her, far fancier than the microwaved cups of Tetley she usually downed. She stretched her arms over her head, surprised the aches and pains from yesterday weren’t holding her muscles hostage. Steam curled from the tea. Moro must have stopped by. She added two cubes and a splash of cream before blowing away the tendrils and taking the first sip. Even though it scorched her mouth, the warm liquid brought her to life.
A pristine quiet, like untouched snow on a winter morning, settled through the place. As much as she strained, she couldn’t hear any rustles or footsteps from further into the castle. Lyra slipped out of bed and approached her boots, but with the comfortable way she’d been walking about barefoot, she couldn’t bring herself to tug them back on. She stepped in front of the mirror to finger comb her pale strands into place before wandering out into the hall.
The corridor gleamed under the fresh morning rays, and light glinted off the dozens of mirrors lining the place. She passed the room they’d dined in the night prior and walked to where the corridor ended, branching into a darker hallway with fewer mirrors and windows to light the way. The first step she took gave her pause. Maybe the shifting shadows or the brazen chill hadn’t affected her until now, but she couldn’t help the shiver rolling down her spine.
Instead, she turned toward the hallway she came from and walked in the direction of the throne room Moro had showed her the prior day. He’d more likely be roaming those open, inviting areas, not dank, abandoned corridors.
She took a couple of steps in the direction of the throne room, pausing when she caught a flicker from one of the mirrors. Lyra squinted, peering at her own reflection. Despite her attempt to finger comb, carefree strands of hair roamed, and she paused for a moment to assess her appearance in a mirror. As she flattened the wisps, the back of her neck prickled like someone watched her. Lyra glanced behind her shoulder but didn’t catch anyone around.
Footsteps echoed from the direction of the throne room, growing louder upon approach. Moro turned the corner, approaching with a confident smile on his face. She’d barely woken up and gotten out of bed, yet already he waited for her. Perhaps the loneliness had taken a toll on him. In the morning light, she couldn’t help but notice yet again the careful construction of his features and how different they were from her own. While she had always considered her skin pale, his seemed devoid of blood, and despite the human shape of his eyes, she’d come to realize in a short time that he didn’t often blink.
He extended a hand, an old-school courtesy she’d expect offered to those raised in wealthy circles, not her pedigree of trailer trash. However, unlike most of the folks she’d
encountered in her area, Moro didn’t seem to care about her social stature. He treated her with courteousness regardless, and Lyra could admit she appreciated his effort. She placed her hand in his, and together they headed down the hall. But instead of making the turn to the left into the throne room, they continued closer and closer to the looming stained-glass window. Sapphire, emerald, and indigo beams cascaded onto her skin as they passed it before turning to the right down another corridor.
Along the way, the glint of the morning sun against the mirrors made her blink spots from her eyes. Why they infested this place was a mystery to her, unless whoever designed this castle had a narcissistic streak or some failed plan with refracting light. The manors she’d read about were filled with paintings decorating the walls, but this castle contained mirrors of every shape and size—oblong, rectangular, or even weighted by dark wooden frames. When they reached an iron door with roses carved into the metal, a slight chill emanated from it. He cracked open the door, and a gust of cold air swept in, causing her toes to curl in defense.
Moro glanced at her bare feet and lifted a brow. “Perhaps showing you the gardens wouldn’t be the best right now.”
“Not quite,” she responded with an easy smile. “I’d prefer my toes intact—after all, I’ve got a long hike home today.” After spending a night in this place, she wanted to explore more of the castle.
If she were being honest, she hadn’t realized how much she needed this escape from reality and how much her life back home had worn her to the bone. Here, she lifted her head and looked at the world around her rather than scanning the ground or burying her nose in a book. Still, she’d imposed on his company for long enough.
Moro frowned, a line forming between his brows. “That’s quite a shame. I’ve been enjoying the companionship after such a long stint by myself.” His voice grew more distant, reminding her of the heartbreaking melody he was playing when she first woke up in this place.
A Reflection of Ice Page 3