“Beautiful?” Cerené wondered, afraid Shew wouldn’t like it.
Shew nodded at a loss for words, her eyes shiny.
“Friends!” Cerené squeaked like happy doe-eyed girls in a Manga. The word ‘friends’ cut through Shew again. It made her want to stay in this dream forever, and slay dragons to take care of Cerené.
Shew held the sword by its grip. The Pommel was glass. She held it in front of her, feasting her eyes with its beauty, feeling spiritually connected to Cerené.
The blade was made of glass, not any glass, but Cerené’s secret ingredient glass. The edges were sharp enough you could feel a light cut in your eyes if you stared at it too long. The glass itself wasn’t transparent. It was white, milk white.
“You used Mermaid’s Milk on it?” Shew wondered.
“All of it,” Cerené bragged, standing up. “It gives it incredible strength. I wanted the sword to look like you.”
“Like me?” Shew wondered.
“Black hair, white skin, and blood red lips, so its grip is black and the blade is white.”
“But I don’t see any red?” Shew wondered, carefully flipping it around in case she missed something.
“I thought I didn’t need to add red. That will be your part,” Cerené giggled. “The red on the sword will be the blood of your enemies.”
“But I’m not going to use this sword,” Shew said. “I don’t plan to kill anyone.”
“I think you will,” Alice said, her eyes reminding Shew of Loki. “The perfect sword for the perfect ending,” she whispered behind Cerené’s back. “We’re wasting time.”
Shew realized that this was part of her memory when Cerené designed the Chosen One’s ultimate sword. She had once heard her father say ‘if you’re going to show me a sword, you better use it.’ Suddenly, she remembered all the training her father gave her. She’d been trained to ride horses and kill with her sword. Her father had prepared her for war.
So my power isn’t just my silly fangs and scary looks?
“You have to kill Loki,” Alice insisted again behind Cerené’s back.
Shew shook her head ‘no’, and Cerené noticed.
“What is she telling you?” Cerené said. “Don’t listen to her. She isn’t your friend.”
“If Cerené leaves again, you will be shifted to the memory of your birthday, and you don’t want that to happen,” Alice spoke aloud, neglecting Cerené’s confusion. “The only way to wake up from this dream is to kill Loki, or he will kill you on your birthday. You still don’t remember how you met the Lost Seven or how Loki fell in love with you because of Charmwill’s spell. If you’re transported to your birthday scene, it’s unlikely you can survive it.”
“Now she’s talking about dreams and Loki and all kinds of madness again,” Cerené puffed. “She is crazy.”
“I will not kill Loki,” Shew gritted her teeth with the sword in her grip.
“No, you will. You have to get back to the Waking World and find a way to go to Murano,” Alice whispered the ‘Murano’ word, pointing at Cerené. “You need to go to where you can find out what the clue is,” Alice looked up as the bathhouse’s door sprang open again.
Shew and Alice stood paralyzed as the Queen of Sorrow appeared slowly in front of them.
“Shew?” Carmilla inquired. “What are you doing in the bathhouse?”
“I—” Shew stuttered.
“I asked you a question, Shew,” Carmilla’s demanding voice stirred the air and sent shivers into the princess.
Shew wasn’t concerned about explaining her intrusion into the Queen’s forbidden bathhouse. She worried how she’d explain Cerené and Alice standing next to her. Trying to stall, she turned at Alice but was surprised to find she wasn’t there. Then she turned to look for Cerené, who was also gone.
The fluttering curtain by the window suggested they’d escaped. Cerené must have escaped, fearing the Queen. Alice must have followed trying to stop her or Shew would be transported to the next part of the dream.
“Answer me!” Carmilla was in her face now.
Shew felt dizzy already, knowing that she was about to be shifted to the next part in the dream. She wanted to seize the moment and tell the Queen to go to hell. A perfect line before she escaped this scene. Unfortunately, Shew was too late. The dream had shifted and Shew was worried she was the one going to hell.
30
The Weighing of the Soul
Shew was standing in front of the Schloss. The world around her was quiet as if everyone had died.
It was noon. The beautiful sun slanted its rays upon the huge curvy design of the Schloss’ facade. Shew held the rim of her dress with both hands and entered the unguarded castle. She was expecting a surprise celebration for her sixteenth birthday—her intuition told her this was the day Alice had mentioned.
Inside, the Schloss was strangely vacant. She could find no one. The blue curtains covered every enormous window inside. The curtains looked like wall tapestries with golden curvy drawings, and they blocked the sunlight from peering at the wide hallways. A single, stubborn sunray still managed to peek its way through the thin gap between the curtains, slicing the brownish walls with thins lines of gold.
Shew nudged her toes free, kicking her shoes in the air, each shoe landing on one of the cushiony chairs on both sides of the hallways. They were made of mahogany and cypress with tulip poplars. Everything in this part of the dream was detailed and sharp.
She lifted her dress up with both hands again and walked barefoot beneath the shades of the curtains. She felt comfortable walking barefoot. The sound of her feet flapping on the marble floor was her only company.
The castle’s residents must have hid somewhere to surprise her, she told herself. Important day or not, it still was her birthday and she was longing for celebration. In fact, it was Shew’s last birthday. She knew she’d never grow older than sixteen.
The further she walked in the hallway the more the silence grew on her. Silence usually made her feel uneasy. It made her think that life had stopped, and she feared it would stay that way forever. The silence in the huge castle was deafening today.
Where are Cerené and Alice?
As Shew swallowed, a butterfly broke the silence, fluttering before her eyes. It had blood-orange wings with black spots all over.
Shew followed the butterfly’s path as it fluttered underneath the thick curtains shielding it from the sun. It looked like a ballerina dancing on air in the shades of her private dreams. The butterfly continued its flight up high toward the mosaic cross-arched ceiling. Shew watched it with fascination as if it were her first time in the Schloss.
Looking ahead again, Shew realized she was walking toward Carmilla’s private chamber, a special place she’d built while Angel was away. It featured Carmilla’s individual throne and it was a part of the castle where no noblemen were allowed—she’d only allowed the Huntsmen in when one of the Slave Maidens resisted.
Shew’s bare feet walked her, almost hypnotized, to the huge double-sided, heavily engraved door leading to the chamber with Carmilla’s throne.
There was a circular handle on the door, made of shiny brass. It was the shape of a snake curved all the way around so it’s mouth looked like eating its own tail. She grabbed it and pulled the head apart from the tail. The door opened on its own, the sunshine widening Shew’s pupils.
The butterfly fluttered into the large place, which was illuminated with the light coming through the huge windows on the left and right.
Shew stood at the threshold, examining the place behind the door. It had a bluish golden hue to it with a cross-arched frescoed ceiling even higher than the hallways. The large windows were framed in gold, and were so large that a carriage could pass through them, allowing infinite amounts of golden and dusty sunlight to fill the space.
A few feet away from Shew, a red carpet led the way up to the throne where her mother, Carmilla, sat elegantly, chin up, with a conservative smile on her face.
Light didn’t hurt vampires like Carmilla after all.
Carmilla’s throne, made of black obsidian stones, had her full name engraved on top:
She Who Must Be Obeyed
Queen Carmilla Karnstein.
The Queen of Sorrow.
The throne was framed with engravings, some that Shew had known of and knew how to read, and some written in the same undecipherable language Loki’s necklace was written in. Few of the readable names Shew could read now were Mircalla, Carmilla, and Ayesha, all among a number of other name that didn’t mean anything to Shew.
Looking at Carmilla, Shew thought her mother was born to be a queen, unlike her who never felt she fit the role of a princess.
Carmilla’s golden, voluminous hair trailed down her shoulders. Part of her hair was braided into a headband at the top. Of course, it was also attached by a braid to her thin crown on her head, except that this time the hair waved like an Uraues poisonous snake, protecting the crown from harm as if it would lash out and bite whoever dared to take the crown from her.
Everything was so vividly detailed in this part of the dream, Shew couldn’t take her eyes off her mother. Carmilla had icy blue, cat eyes; devilishly innocent, seductive, and smart. Thin eyebrows crowned her majesty’s eyes. Her eyelashes, black like raven feathers, were so beautiful they looked fake—they weren’t.
Carmilla had her hands rested upon the sides of the throne and two panthers with green eyes slept at her feet. The panthers weren’t sedated. They behaved out of fearing the Queen of Sorrow.
The Queen’s favorite mirror stood at her side, along with a thin old woman with milk-white hair at the other.
In front of the panthers, three steps down, stood Shew’s birthday cake, three feet high, all white like a wedding cake, topped with dark chocolate with red cherries scattered on top.
On both sides of the red carpet leading to the throne, stood a number of peasant girls. They were young, ripe, and beautiful.
The girls were the first to break the tension and welcome Shew with their eyes, standing firm in their place, somehow afraid to move because of Carmilla. They had their hands laced behind their backs and heads bowed down a little, wearing their own poor dresses.
Immediately, Shew scanned the girls, looking to see if Cerené was among them. A sigh of relief escaped her when she didn’t find her. It made sense. The Queen wouldn’t sacrifice the Phoenix’s blood, no matter what.
Shew knew all these girls were going to be slaughtered and the Queen was going to swim in their blood. Finally, Shew broke the tense silence by stepping into the chamber.
The girls started clapping and Sirenia Lark, the Queen’s favorite singer, started humming while playing her magical harp. Sirenia was a siren who Carmilla had met on her journey with Angel, escaping Night Sorrow. She used to lure men with her voice and eat their flesh. The Queen liked that.
Shew walked among the girls, tenderly glancing at them one by one.
You have to save those girls, Shew.
When she reached the three steps before the panthers, Carmilla signaled for her to stop. The Queen stood up slowly, and the girls held their breath, pulling their feet together and adjusting their dresses.
Carmilla’s presence sucked the air out of the room; even Sirenia held her breath and stopped playing the harp. The two panthers jumped up straight from their eternal sleep and padded slowly next to the Queen as she descended from her throne.
Carmilla walked as if she were a panther herself. Even the sunshine disappeared where she laid her foot on the floor, pretending a horde of clouds had blocked its path, leaving the candlesticks to provide the light.
Carmilla’s hair floated over her shoulders as she walked. She stopped before Shew.
“You’re a princess now,” Carmilla said in a voice submerged in womanhood. “Being sixteen,” Carmilla followed, not bowing down to face her daughter. “It’s a special day for you, Shew,” she stretched her long arms to hold Shew by the shoulders, then hesitantly knelt down and hugged her. “But before celebrating, we need to weigh your heart one more time. Dame Gothel!” She summoned the woman with milk-white hair.
“Majesty,” Dame Gothel paid her respects.
“Did you weigh all the girls’ hearts?” Carmilla asked.
“All but one, majesty,” Dame Gothel said.
“Then weigh it here in front of us before we weigh Shew’s heart,” Carmilla demanded and returned to her throne.
Shew heard the girls whisper something so she took some steps back, trying to listen. She heard them mention that in order for the Queen to swim in a girl’s blood and benefit from it, the peasant’s heart had to weigh twenty-one grams. This, or the Queen wouldn’t slaughter the girl but would keep her for later.
So that’s why she wants to weigh my heart. Unless mine is twenty-one grams, it’s no use to her. Why twenty one grams?
Shew watched as Dame Gothel laid a peasant girl on a special table with a scale underneath. The girl resisted for a moment but gave up eventually, intimidated by Bloody Mary’s voice, cursing her from the mirror.
“Could you explain out loud how the weighing process goes, Dame Gothel,” Carmilla demanded. “We’ve never told Shew about the process before,” Carmilla followed.
She wondered if they had sedated her before they weighed her heart in the past.
“But of course, majesty,” Dame Gothel sounded neutral. She didn’t sneer or try to look evil. She was doing her job. “First, we let the girl eat the Sanguinaccio cake,” Dame Gothel pulled a cake heavily topped with white cream and showed it to Shew. “It’s a rare recipe from Italy, an exotic land beyond the Missing Mile.”
“Shew already knows about the shoe-shaped island,” Carmilla nodded at her daughter. “Continue, please.”
“Before we feed the cake to the girl, we have to cut her arm slightly,” Dame Gothel made one of her servants cut the girl’s arm with small knife, collecting the drops of blood into a cup, which looked a little bit like Cerené’s, only it wasn’t glass. Dame Gothel took the blood and spattered it upon the Sanguinaccio cake as if pouring sugar on a pie. “Now the cake is ready for the girl to eat,” Dame Gothel said. “But first we have to check the girl’s weight on the scale underneath the table,” she explained. “And then I will feed her the Sanguinaccio cake,” she let the girl only take a bite from it. The girl fell asleep instantly.
“And what happens when she eats the cake?” Carmilla said.
“She dies,” Dame Gothel said bluntly, pulling out a snake from somewhere under the table.
“What?” Shew took a step forward but stopped when Dame Gothel waved the snake at her. “You can’t do that!” Shew grunted.
“Don’t mind my daughter, Dame Gothel. Continue,” Carmilla waved her hand as permission to proceed.
“Now, we check the weight of the scale underneath the bed,” Dame Gothel said.
“Explain why to my daughter,” Carmilla said.
“The weighing of the heart is actually the weighing of the soul,” Dame Gothel began. “The soul, or the Ka, how ancients like to call it, is a mystery even to the greatest wizards and mentors. We don’t know how it looks like, how it smells, or even what it really does. But we knows that it’s somewhere in the heart. The soul leaves the body when it dies, and thus the body ways less. The difference between the weight of the body before and after death equals the weight of the soul. If it’s twenty one grams, then the girl is ready for sacrifice. I see the difference isn’t twenty one grams yet for this one, majesty,” Dame Gothel pointed at the poor girl on the bed.
“This is crazy,” Shew protested. “She’s dead. What good is it if you know how much her heart weighs?”
“Within forty two minutes after she dies from biting the cake, she still can be resurrected,” Dame Gothel said. “Do you want me to resurrect her, majesty?”
“Please do,” Carmilla authorized.
Dame Gothel tapped her snake’s head before it spat poison into the girl’s face. Unlike
the usually deadly poison, this one brought the girl back to life.
The servants helped the girl sit back up and leave the room.
Carmilla gazed back at Shew with a slight smug smile on her face. Shew got the message. Carmilla was giving her a choice. Either swim in the girls’ blood or fully turn into a vicious vampire, part of the Sorrow’s family, or Carmilla would have to rip out her heart. Of course, she couldn’t rip Shew’s heart out unless it was twenty one grams, which meant she had to have her heart weighed now.
Shew glanced back briefly. The chamber was a huge ambush. A couple of huntsmen stood by the door behind her, and she guessed others waited for her outside if she managed to escape. She had nowhere to go.
“What do you say, princess?” Carmilla said. “You could stay one of the Sorrows, surrender to your nature and family ties, or you could be stupid enough to think you’re the Chosen One.”
Shew’s only hope was to allow Dame Gothel to weigh her soul and hope it weighed less than twenty-one grams. What would happen if it weighed enough? All Carmilla had to do was prevent Dame Gothel from bringing her back with the snake’s bite.
Stay strong Shew. If you have really managed to split your heart in the past, then you found a way out of this chamber.
It crossed her mind that maybe Charmwill would interfere and save her from this room. He was there for Loki, and she thought he might do the same for her. In her heart, she knew Charmwill was dead, and she didn’t know if the dead still appeared in the memories of the Dreamers.
As all of these thoughts were spinning in her head, the Queen was becoming impatient.
Two huntsmen grabbed Shew from the back and pulled her toward the weighing table. Carmilla had decided Shew was never going to submit.
Cinderella Dressed in Ashes ( Book #2 in the Grimm Diaries ) Page 19