A Princess for the Witch Doctor (Legends of Rahasia Book 3)

Chapter Forty-Seven

I slump at the end of what must be the eighteenth wrong hallway. The kraton is thrilling and splendorous during the day, but at night, it might as well be a labyrinth. I've paced in circles, wearing the cool floor thin with my booted tromping.

That's when I feel a tickle against my calf. When I look down, I see a spider. Black, with a circular bottom that's as thick as a thumbnail. On it, I see the telltale hourglass, and I suck my scream back in through my teeth to keep from freaking out and alerting the nightly servants of my presence here.

I attempt to shoo it without antagonizing it, but the dumb, deadly creature just sits and looks at me. Almost... staring.

I look at the hourglass, then back to its eerie, unflinching standstill.

An hourglass...hours...

Time.

"Kaliya?" I lean down, and the spider turns in a figure-eight pattern. "Do you talk too?"

The spider darts back and forth.

"I'll take that as a no."

It points a single, slender leg forwards.

"I just took that hallway."

It keeps pointing. This time, it extends its fangs when I refuse to budge.

"Alright, you little creep. I'm moving."

My dagger bounces against my hip as I follow the demanding little critter down a web work of hallways. Finally, we come across a plain, unassuming room. Clean, and decorated in the showy style of the rest of the palace. Yet, even the cracks in the doorway of this room are covered in thick curtains that seem secured permanently to the structure. The batikcloth's so thick, it doesn't even flutter much in the breeze that's coming from the open-air.

I set the spider down, and it crawls between a loose batik flap. Apparently, the cloth's there because the door was forcibly removed from its hinges.

Like someone particularly clever I know had sabotaged it and tried to escape.

I scrabble at the door as best I can, pulling the cloth back so I can peer inside. I see a figure, hunched over. Hair grown longer, and an uncharacteristic beard. They swivel around, their glasses glinting on a beakish nose. The food on the table in front of their legs, plentiful and fresh, yet completely untouched. Instead, they carve designs into the wood of their walls, numbers and letters that mean nothing unless you studied them for hours on end.

My heart breaks to recognize him. Boaz. Letting himself wither away for what he perceives as his sole failure.

"Arni, is that you?"

***

ME: Arni isn't here right now, please leave a message at the beep.

Arni: (puts head into hands) How degrading.