Domek ran a hand over his face. “I’ll have to look around,” he said, but his mind was racing. He had been so relieved when Bazil hadn’t followed him to the garden, he hadn’t stopped to consider where the man would go after their conversation. Domek should have known better than to trust someone like the mysterious stranger to take no for an answer, but he’d been distracted by Kája.
He fingered the cotton shreds that poked out from his torn mattress. It might not have even been the thieves, he admitted to himself. The pijavice too were on the hunt for the wisp. The pair that had attacked him in the Park of National Awakening might have had more allies. When they hadn’t returned, their friends might have sent someone to his flat to try to find the jar there.
The spirit was putting everyone in danger. Maybe it was time to weigh the jar down with bricks and then throw it in the Vltava.
A small voice inside him balked at the idea, twisting his heart with shame. Would the wisp eventually die after enough time without a vodník’s magic protecting it underwater? Or would it simply be trapped in its jar until someone dredged the river? And which option was crueler?
He pushed the thought aside. Either way, someone knew where he lived. Domek knew he only had one object of real value in his possession, and this burglary could not have been a coincidence. “I’m sorry,” he said, turning to Anton.
“I think they came in through the kitchen window,” he said. “Looks like it was broken so they could get to the lock. Someone must have realized we’re never home at night.”
“Right,” Domek said. He looked around the room again. “This is a mess.”
Anton shook his head. “They’re just lucky they didn’t come while one of us was here. We’d have shown them what a mistake they were making. You don’t work at your uncle’s shop today, right? And I know you’re not on shift on the streets tonight. You can stick around here, see if anyone comes knocking again.”
Domek rolled his shoulders, the idea of a fight making his fingers ache. He felt so helpless. He would have welcomed the chance to defend his home with his fists. “I doubt they’ll be back during the day. We’ll need to repair the window first,” he said. “Then we move on to fixing the rest.”
“With what money?” Anton asked. “Would your friend Cord help?”
“You know I don’t ask him for money.”
“He could spare it. It’s not his, anyway. It’s his father’s. He wastes it.”
“That doesn’t mean I’m going to ask him for help.”
“You’re too noble for your own good. Cord owes us for his soft, spoiled life. We hunt monsters on the streets for barely a krejcar while he’s going to parties. People like him are sitting alongside the demons who have been hoarding money for centuries to cover their crimes, and don’t even notice because they’re all the same.”
“Anton, he’s my friend,” Domek said. It was a familiar argument. “He’s not a monster, and he doesn’t pay us to do our job. We need to focus on the flat.”
Anton ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t understand. Why did they target us?”
“I…I don’t know,” Domek said.
“No ideas?” Anton prompted. “Not even a suspect?”
He had never been a good liar, and he had been friends with Anton since they were children, but Anton was overprotective. He would not understand Domek’s decision to keep the wisp.
He had never truly recovered from Evka’s death. Even when he had found his calling as a lamplighter, he had spent the first several months showing up late and drunk to shifts, bruised from reckless bar fights. Though he’d steadied out over the years, like a boat settling into the river, the fear was ever-present.
Domek turned back to him. “No,” he said, keeping his voice level. “Do you?”
“It’s just that you were out all night,” Anton said. “That’s not usual for you.” He put a hand on Domek’s shoulder. “If there’s something going on, you can tell me. Maybe I can help.”
And put his friend at risk? “There’s nothing,” he said. “I’m not staying here. I’ll help clean, but I need somewhere that hasn’t been pillaged to sleep for the day.” He pulled a string of fluff free from his ruined bed and tossed it aside. “Do you have somewhere you can stay today?”
“I can find somewhere. There’s always a willing lady to be found. Where will you be going? I may be able to find a lady with a friend who wouldn’t mind the company,” Anton said.
Domek shook his head as he pulled a set of fresh clothes from his closet to add to his satchel. “Don’t worry. I’ve got somewhere in mind.”
Lord Czernin lived in a palace by the Berounka River, a lazy waterway that would eventually meet the Vltava before it flowed through Prague. The palace looked down over the small villages in the valley below, so old it seemed part of the natural landscape. The dark heavy stone stacked to create intertwined buildings and towers roofed with orange tile. There were no windows. A great wall surrounded the estate, with a single gate connecting to the road from beyond. Unseen below was a realm of secrets: layers of tunnels carved deep into the hill, a respite in the hot summers and a warren of death.
The trip took nearly three hours from Prague, so it was past noon when the carriage made its way slowly up the steep hill. With the curtains tied closed to protect Ora from the morning sun, the small box of the carriage, with its wood frame, lush fabrics, and stale scent, felt like a coffin. Lina had spent the entire ride valiantly trying to take Ora’s mind off the impending meeting, but Ora’s fangs threatened to rip free from the tension.
Lina’s forced cheer faltered when the horses stopped. “Are you sure about this, my lady?” she asked. She had fallen back on using Ora’s title, which either meant she was irritated or anxious. In this case, probably both. “It’s not too late for us to turn around. Sokol is asking too much of you. Again.” Ora did not talk often about her time with Lord Czernin, but Lina had known her long enough to read her distress.
“I’m fine,” Ora said. “He’s right; this situation is worth getting to the bottom of, and if anyone knows something about these Zizkovs, it’ll be Lord Czernin.” She forced a smile until it felt genuine. “It’s fine, Lina. I can handle this.”
Lina huffed a sigh. “We’ll see if I can. You don’t need me with you.”
“But I’d miss your company,” Ora told her with a smile.
Lina left the carriage to announce their presence. Lord Czernin’s estate was built for the nocturnally inclined, which meant that the carriage had pulled inside the enclosed courtyard. She had heard the creak of the gate opening and closing, returning the palace to its artificial night. Without the sunlight to stop her, Ora could have gone on her own, but she appreciated the extra minute to compose herself. By the time Lina returned to lead her up to the door, Ora had her chin lifted and her gaze steady.
A valet was waiting at the door to collect her cloak, which she had worn from the carriage as a matter of habit. She could tell at a glance that he was a human, one of the staff sourced from the local villages. A palace like Czernin’s, with all the maids, gardeners, artisans, cooks, and other servants necessary for self-sufficiency, was expected to have a staff of at least fifty. No one outside the grounds knew how few of those jobs were necessary. Working for Lord Czernin was an honor many parents from the villages hoped their children would achieve. When a person was hired for the palace, money would flow back to their family.
The servant rarely returned home again.
The valet was pale—undoubtedly a combination of life inside the windowless palace and some level of blood loss. Good servants in Czernin’s employment were kept alive until they either grew too old to be of use or were selected for immortality. The latter was used as an incentive for many of the humans, though it was rarely granted.
Bad servants did not last very long at all.
All humans on the property were used as a steady stream of blood for the inhabitants, but Czernin carefully controlled the lives and deaths of his
servants. Accidental deaths were harshly punished. Czernin had lived in the palace for a very, very long time, and the pijavica who threatened to reveal his nature to the locals with their bloodlust was quickly eliminated.
She had spent more than one hundred years as part of Czernin’s family, draped in lace and soaked in blood. It had been as long again since Ora had walked the dark halls, but the memories swept through her mind in a vivid rush. If only long life came with short memory. Rather than the silks that Lina’s mother had used to decorate Ora’s home in the modern style, Lord Czernin’s theme was heavy velvet and wood. Ancient frescoes adorned the panels along the walls, portraying birds, fruits, hops, fish, and Czernin’s house crest in a classic style. The coat of arms, which Ora was certain Czernin had designed himself, showed a row of black spikes on top of a red field, all topped with a golden crown.
Ora expected to be led into the parlor, the opulent meeting place for the noble humans Czernin occasionally permitted beyond the gate. Instead, they turned left down a familiar hallway, and Ora glanced quickly toward Lina. She was looking around the lush interior with cautious interest, dark eyes wide. She could not know what waited at the end of this hallway.
Ora never should have brought her along.
“Do you have anything for mortal stomachs?” Ora asked, stepping forward to walk alongside the valet. “My maid, Lina, would love some tea and honey cakes.”
“Lady Fischerová—” Lina protested quietly.
“Of course,” the valet said. The cooks in the palace worked exclusively to feed the staff.
“Maybe you could show her to the kitchens while I wait for Lord Czernin?” Ora prompted.
The valet nodded. “Of course, my lady.”
Lina looked between them, uncomfortable being put under the spotlight of attention, before murmuring, “I can wait in the carriage if you don’t want me here.”
“Don’t be difficult,” Ora said. Sending Lina away now would show Ora’s concern. It was dangerous to admit the value of anything in Czernin’s domain. “Hackett is watering the horses right now, and it’s stuffy in here. Besides, I heard your stomach growling on the trip.”
Lina frowned at her. She disliked reminders that Ora, who was free of most bodily limitations, was acutely aware of the humans around her. “Very well,” she said before turning to the valet. “I would appreciate a snack.” After a beat, she added, “I have no desire to become a snack. I’ll scream if necessary.”
“And I’ll come running,” Ora assured her. “I’m sure Lord Czernin can imagine how upset it would make me for his hospitality to be so compromised.”
“Of course,” the valet said with studied neutrality. “Let me first show you to where you will wait.”
“I know where we were going,” Ora said. “No need to waste your time.” If Lina saw their destination, the scent of her fear would draw every pijavica in residence.
“I can take Lady Hahn from here,” said a cool voice from down the hall. A woman approached them, gliding over the stone floors like a tiger prowling the jungle. She was wearing a simple gown, outdated in style. Beside her, Ora would look like a peacock. Her dark hair was swept away from her face in a loose knot, and her cheeks were hollow. In the one hundred and fifty years Ora had known her, she had never seen Darina Belanova appear so homely.
The valet bowed and gestured for Lina to follow. She looked between Ora and Darina, but trailed after the valet down the hall without another word. Ora sent a thought blessing her for her discretion. Darina watched her go with sharp eyes, like a hawk over a field.
“It has not been long enough,” Ora said pleasantly, stepping forward and intercepting her gaze.
“I couldn’t agree more,” Darina said, and turned to lead her forward. Ora’s attention stayed with the familiar thud of Lina’s heart slowly moving away.
They walked down the precise halls Ora had expected, passing the same paintings that had hung there for centuries. The drapes had likely been replaced at some point, as even without sunlight fabric would begin to fade, but Ora could not tell for certain. Every inch of the palace was kept in its original condition, seemingly immune to the passage of time outside. It was a mausoleum, a stagnant testament to a death that hadn’t happened.
Finally, they arrived in their destination.
Ossuaries were usually reserved for churches. There, the use of bones in the walls of the building served two purposes: to save room for more burials, and as a memento mori—a reminder to the visitors that death would come for them all one day, and to make peace with God now rather than later.
Lord Czernin’s ossuary was a memento mori as well, though the peace in question was to be made with the lord of the palace.
The room was a pale contrast to the dark décor of the rest of the building. The circular room was built of bones from floor to ceiling—humeri and tibias on the floor, their knobs like river stones underfoot, skulls stacked in hollow-eyed columns, a chandelier dangling from the center of the room with jawbone chain links and dangling femurs. Even the chairs were bone, delicate and yellowed, though the seats were accented with embroidered cushions. No thought but for the comfort of his guests, that was Czernin.
“I was surprised when the valet began to lead me here,” Ora admitted. “The ossuary? Really? Has Czernin forgotten how to greet his guests?”
“Does it bother you?” Darina asked. Her smile was as beautiful as ever, bright white teeth behind dark lips, green eyes pale beneath long lashes. “I thought you’d want to see the new additions.” She gestured at the wall, where Czernin’s coat of arms had been painstakingly arranged with a variety of bones, large and small. A skull sat on top of the crown as a final touch. “After all, you helped build this place, when you lived here.”
“Where’s Czernin?”
“You’re not going to ask how I’ve been?” Darina’s lips stretched a touch wider, wider than a human’s could have. “It’s been nearly one hundred years.”
Ora hummed, looking around the room. “I don’t see why that would possibly interest me. You know I don’t care for boring stories.”
“You’ve always thought you were so clever. You’ve missed so much since you’ve been gone. You thought Czernin would greet you in the sitting room, possibly bring out a tray of venison for you to snack on while you caught up. You have no idea how things have changed.” Darina tilted her head. “You’re not going to ask after me. But are you not curious about Otto? Or Agnes? They were once your friends.”
Frowning, Ora tilted her head and sniffed the air again. When she had come in, she had been distracted by the many ways the palace had remained the same. Beyond the scent of ancient wood and bone, Ora could detect the sweat of a few dozen humans, and only three pijavice. Czernin’s scent was one she could have given shape to in her dreams, and Darina was the same. The third took a moment to place, though she should have remembered it at once. Jan Zdražil had been Lord Czernin’s personal butler in life and beyond, and was his sharp, unforgiving eyes that monitored the palace when Czernin’s attention was drawn beyond. Any other scents had long since gone stale.
Once, the palace had held more than a dozen pijavice.
“Where is everyone?” Czernin often sent his family out of the palace on missions across Europe. Ora had negotiated on his behalf as far abroad as Amsterdam, though she had spent most of her time helping him against the waves of hunters in Prague.
“Dead. Not in here, of course,” she added, tapping a nail against a skull. “No bones left behind when they turned to dust.”
“Even Agnes? She was the strongest of us. How did it happen?”
“Oh, now you care? Now you think to wonder about your family?”
When Ora had escaped Czernin’s hold, she had tried not to think of the pijavice she had left behind. She had expected them to live in stasis inside the dark palace for eternity, preserved in amber without Ora’s presence.
“If you thought our master was paranoid during your time here, that is onl
y because you did not see him after you left,” Darina told her. “He has culled down the family to those he can be sure he can trust.”
It was not unusual for Czernin to kill members of his own family. He had encouraged in-fighting, as anyone weak enough to die at the hand of one of the other family members could not be trusted to represent him outside the palace, and had slain anyone not meeting his expectations. Ora had lived in fear of losing the man’s favor.
But the entire family? Otto had been with Czernin since the early 1200s, if rumor was to be believed. Czernin’s authority came from maintaining a group of the strongest pijavice on the continent. Was Ora to believe that he was down to two? “Why you?” Ora asked. “I smell Jan. He makes sense. But you were turned after me. Czernin had no special affection for you.”
Darina’s smile grew a bit too wide, stretching toward her ears like a feline. “No need to sound so disappointed. You would miss hating me.”
Ora’s long relationship with Darina had been complex. They had been bitter rivals, both too ambitious and bold to speak without trying to tear each other into shreds. In the end, though, Ora had preferred the rival she respected to the enemies she didn’t. When they fought, the palace shook. When they fell into bed together—or, more often, slammed each other into walls and tables and floors—stone cracked. When they cooperated, they had devastated entire cities.
“Mostly, I stay out of his way,” Darina continued. “An approach I thought you had finally learned.”
“There you are.”
The voice made both of them straighten and turn toward the door. Ora had been so focused on Darina that she had missed the rasp of the approaching shoes. Lord Emil Czernin was a slight man, feline in movement and structure. Golden hair was slicked against his head like a perfect crown on top of his perfectly tailored clothing. The style of the cut had been popular centuries before Ora’s birth, so long that they now seemed traditional rather than dated. He strolled into the room, eyes intent on Ora.
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