When Mavyn's senses worked again, she stood in the heart of the most opulent place she has been in all her life. An eerie shade of teal and gray overlaid the sparkling floor carved out of marble, the surface polished to the point of reflecting her skirt. The ceiling stretched to the heavens, decorated by festooned arches attached to pillars formed with the most intricate details. In each capital and pedestal, glittering diamonds the size of her outstretched hand sat unbothered. Flowers with pretty bells of purple and blue flowers climbed around the shafts, millions of tiny, fairy lights dancing over their petals and vines.
Without her permission, Mavyn's jaw hung open.
Valen dropped them in an atrium of sorts—a feature of a manor she only saw in the estates Abnegem brought her to. They belonged to his upper-side friends, pampered loaches who never knew a day of need during their puny years. But this...
An enormous skylight hung overhead, casting an ethereal beam all over the empty space. Its grails were wrought iron, boasting more artistry than all the cathedrals of Krauss combined. The stairs curving from the atrium split in the middle, leading to opposite directions. From there, more steps diverged and connected elsewhere in an endless maze. The floors went on, but the manor only seemed to stretch wider. The more she looked, the more inconsequential she felt.
If this was a dream, it was the most ridiculous one she ever had.
A hand wrapped around her wrist, pulling her away from the stairs. Her eyes landed on Valen's broad back, heading deeper into the immediate wing from the atrium. His silver locks accentuated the rush of frigid air blowing them back and the green-gray film over her eyes. They passed a tall window, giving her a complete view of what lay beyond.
It was...nothing. A barren expanse of obsidian rocks, jutting from the ground, cracking in serrated edges, and looming in imposing mesas and plunging crags. The light-powered lamps attached to the gaps between windows shed enough illumination on the thin sheet of fog rolling over the hills, attempting to hide something she wasn't privy to. And the expanse bled on. Just like the manor, it went on forever. It was nothing; it was everything—all at once.
Mavyn of Krauss, a countryside witch in the middle of nowhere, made it to the Land of the Dead.
Before an amused and triumphant chuckle flitted off her lips, a tug reminded her of her current predicament. She squirmed out of Valen's grip, but her arm wouldn't budge. Wouldn't it bruise later on? What would his family say about that? Her muddy boots tramped across the pristine floor, trailing dirt all over. What was the use of disappearing into a decrepit corridor when their trail was before them as such?
She ought to tell Valen that, but he shoved her into a brand new room and closed the door behind him. "What in Mordelle's name—" she started demanding.
"Best not be seen out in the open while we continue your...uh, transformation," Valen said, scratching the side of his face. If not for his blood-red eyes and silver hair, she might have mistaken him for a human. "Bringing a Living is enough risk."
Mavyn kissed her teeth. "Say that to the mud I left on your floor."
A look of confusion passed across Valen's near-perfect features. "What mud?"
She clawed the air, frustration welling up in her gut. If there was anything she hated, it was attention she didn't want but still given. "The mud—" She looked down. "Oh."
Not only was she not in her mourning clothes, a tight ball gown whose skirts resembled the Queen's formal wear hugged her body. Tight. She had only seen one on a person during a seasonal parade, but never did she imagine she would be in it. But compared to the Queen's, this one didn't choke her to death with cloth tied to her neck. Instead, it slid down, down to her breasts, showing her something she didn't want to acknowledge. Her plum locks, previously flat and uninteresting, watered her shoulders in luscious curls, bringing out the magenta streaks more. When did he...?
"I cannot have you facing my family wearing rags," Valen answered a half-formed question in her mind. For an immortal who saw through every soul's life and death in mere seconds, he had the gall to look bashful.
She forced her jaw to stay together. It has been dangling far too long. "What do you mean by 'continue'?" she demanded instead.
Valen strode towards her, closing the distance between them in two steps. He reached out as if to claim Mavyn's soul, red eyes flashing in urgency. She squeezed her eyes shut and waited for pain. Only silence and a smooth whish of air kissed her skin. Slowly, she cracked her eyes open. He was back to where he was, leaning against a shorter pillar and regarding her with a passive look.
"What did you do?" Mavyn asked. One foolish question after another, it seemed. Nothing like the sage witch she prided herself as.
The Kathari blinked. He took his sweet time doing it too. "I masked your energy by shrouding you with Death Matter," he explained as if it was the end of reasoning. "You shall be able to walk around without causing alarm."
"Because the dead feed off the energy of the living?" Mavyn prodded.
Valen raised an eyebrow. "Not quite." He pushed off the pillar and started pacing to a bejeweled pedestal in the middle of the room. Another skylight smaller than the one in the atrium directed the same eerie light on a single stalk of silver flower stuck in an ornate glass vase. Without inhibition, he plucked the flower and turned it in his fingers. "The Monarch doesn't allow any Living in the realm because it is fatal. Life Matter is deadly to a Kathari."
Oh. "So, what now?" She spread her hands, steeling her nerves for whatever Valen required of her as part of their deal.
"Now..." Valen closed his hand with a flourish, and when he splayed his fingers out once more, nothing but smoke curled from his palm. "We go out there."
When the Kathari entered the room, Mavyn could've sworn she heard fanfare even though all that rang in the huge hall was a faint droll of static—like wind howling deep in her ears. The first to appear was a woman who had her silver hair bobbed to her chin, curling only in rigid spikes behind her ears. Instead of a ball gown or even a semblance of a dress, she wore loose trousers, partnered with steel-tipped stick-heeled boots. A white undershirt peeked past the crossed lapels on her chest, decorated with a loosely-looped scarf.
An elbow dug against her side, the corset pressing against her spine muffling most of the impact. "Do not stare," Valen muttered under his breath. It wasn't Mavyn's fault, though. She had never seen such a rebellious woman before. The folks at Krauss would hang her if she dared walk the streets dressed as such. "That is Roassa. She's the one entering into a union."
Mavyn could have nodded in acknowledgment, but another man followed by another woman sauntered into the atrium, tackling the stairs from different parts of the manor. The man resembled Valen, except for the thin line of hair around his mouth and the light dust on his cheeks. He wore a sparkling pair of trousers and jacket without the undershirt. "Noclys," Valen murmured before Mavyn could form a proper opinion about him. "He controls the Domain of the Damned. My brother."
The way Valen said it betrayed whatever ill feelings he reserved for the man, but she had enough self-control to swallow the retort.
Her attention landed on the other woman. Standing a head taller than Noclys, she towered over everyone by at least a full inch. Her gown was the shade of the winter snow flecked with waves of the sea, fanning out past her feet and trailing down the stairs in dizzying bobs with every step she took. With a regal swish, she paused a few steps from Mavyn. It was only then did Mavyn realize her silver hair touched the floor, braided with intricate knots and slotted with accessories shaped like glass butterflies, pearls, and wrought flowers.
"Prisca," Valen said, giving the regal woman a brief nod before tucking his hands behind him. "She controls the Garden. Paradise. Also my sister."
Oh. The myths weren't kidding when they said the Kathari ruled the Land of the Dead.
The main attraction arrived. It was obvious from the soft flash of light and the tension descending on every Kathari involved that this person was important, perhaps the most. A middle-aged man stepped between the folds of the pillar of brightness, dusting a white coat similar to Roassa's. His features resembled Valen and Noclys' but aged a few years, as if he had the same number of children as his decades.
"Father." Valen ducked his head when the man's eyes landed on him. "I have returned with news."
The man's face didn't change. Valen took it as a sign to continue, placing a hand on the small of Mavyn's back and ushering her forward. "I would like you to meet..." he paused for whatever effect he went for. "My wife."
A series of warning bells set off in her mind. Every instinct in her body told her to whip around to Valen, slap him across the face, and demand what was going on. A wife? That wasn't what they agreed upon! She made a deal with him to be a perfect "date" for him for his sister's wedding, not his spell-damned wife.
But if they discovered she was Living, they would behead her. If she didn't play along, she would perish. Valen unwittingly shoved her into a game she knew nothing about—not its rules, its pieces, and certainly not its nature. What was the next best thing?
Despite the turmoil in her soul, she flashed an innocent smile to the oldest man among the group, the one Valen called his father. "It is with great honor that I greet you," she said. It was the same script she used upon meeting Abnegem's parents, sending a lump forming in her throat. "I am called Mavyn."
Valen's father turned to his son. "Where did you meet such a precious gem?"
"I met her during my travels to the embassy of Irkalla," Valen replied, the lie flowing as smoothly as Death Matter coursed through his veins. "Let's just say it is a matter of instant captivation."
He gave her a sweet smile, but she didn't miss the flicker of ire dancing in his eyes. His father chuckled—a sound too melodious to have come from a human. "You, who refused to enter into a union for as long as you did—instant captivation?" He shook his head. "You never cease to amaze me, Valen."
"You are out of bed, Father," Valen interjected. "Are you—"
His father raised a hand, cutting whatever Valen's sentiment was. What was that about? Why would this man have to be in bed? "Let us not ruin such a fortuitous occasion. My blossom Roassa is entering a union tomorrow." He chuckled when he glanced at Valen. "And my eternal bachelor of a son, finally easing my worries. Tell me, boy—why didn't you send a word?"
Valen clasped his hand in front of him. "I prefer to have done it quietly," he said. "I do not intend to craft a realm soon."
"With a power such as this one?" His father waved a hand in the air. "You don't have to worry about crafting domains."
Prisca opened her mouth to say something when Valen's father hunched over, coughing. Everyone snapped to attention, fawning over him in an instant. Within a few hacks, he waved his children away. "Ah, I won't die yet, rascals," he grouched. He straightened and jerked his chin at Valen. "I will see you at the Solstice Conclave after all."
With that, a halo of soft light wrapped around their father, and in a blink, he was gone. The rest of the siblings glanced at Mavyn, eyes either narrowed or passive. Before she disappeared in a flash of light, Mavyn could have sworn the Kathari winked at her. Prisca followed soon after, casting a quick glance at Mavyn. Somehow, waves of melancholy rolled off those scarlet eyes. For a being who controlled literal Paradise, she could use a dose of happy pops.
Noclys was the last to go, and when he did, Valen moved to grip Mavyn's elbow again. This time, she was prepared. She swung out of the way, whirling around and getting into his face. "What in Jobora's name was that?" she fired. " 'Wife?' "
A sigh ripped out of Valen's lips. "Look, I—"
"You are a con," she hissed. "Are you going to keep me here until I wither away or your father discovers the truth? I agreed to one day, not for-fucking-ever."
Valen rubbed his face as if the conversation wore him out. As if this whole thing was every bit as tiresome for him as it was for her. "Your kind do not call us demons for nothing," he answered. "We scheme, we connive, and yes, we are far from the justice you believe us to be."
Mavyn threw her hands in the air, stalking off. To where, who knew? She could get lost in these halls, and Valen could please himself all he wanted. "Let's just get this thing over with," she said, her voice echoing on the near-empty hall surrounding them. "You get me Abnegem, and I will be your stupid wife for a day. The faster I get what I came here for, the better."
A set of footsteps accompanied hers in trudging across the marble floor. "If he recently passed, then he is more likely to be in Purgatory," Valen called behind her. "That is Roassa's domain."
She paused in her steps so suddenly Valen's weight bumped against her back. Valen couldn't have jumped with lightning speed as he did then. With a cough to his closed fist, he smoothed his dark coat down. It occurred to her that he dressed like Roassa and Noclys too. "Let's go then," she said, jerking her chin towards a random direction. She didn't even know how to get there. "Forget the wedding. We're going there now."
"Not so fast," Valen said. He could have reached out and stopped Mavyn's horses from rearing, but it must have sunk into his thick, Kathari skull that she didn't like to be touched. Instead, he crossed his arms over his chest. "We need to form a plan to ask my sister some questions while I search the realm for your unfortunate soul. I need to know if she has something to do with it."
Mavyn frowned. "Something to do with what?"
He glanced at the tranquil corridor around them, and a dissatisfied expression pulled on the corners of his lips. "Not here," was all he said before he laid a hand on her shoulder. The world warped around them, and when she had the time to complain, a different room towered over her. This one was more compact, with more random clutter than any space in the entire manor. Was that a Cathedral harp by the corner? Really?
Valen tore away from her and started pacing, his steps becoming more agitated than the last. "The Monarch—my father—is dying. He rushed through the Solstice Conclave because he wanted to have a lasting succession before he passed." He smoothed his hair from his forehead before clenching his jaw. She stood in the middle of what appeared to be his chambers, mute as a foal. "His only condition to be included in the Conclave's roster is to have a lover—someone who can help his children uphold the legacy of the crown he was about to pass.
"The Kathari, while they are immortal, are not invincible. But I know my father; he wouldn't simply fall sick and keel over," Valen continued, gesticulating to articulate his point. Mavyn offered him a slight nod just to give him the impression she wasn't bored out of her mind at this spiel. He faced her long enough to see a different kind of desperation in it. "I need to investigate this thoroughly, and to reveal the truth, I need to be in the Conclave."
"Hence, the deal," Mavyn finished for him. "Is your first suspect truly your sister?"
Valen closed his eyes and heaved a sigh. "I told you—the Kathari scheme and connive," he said. "It is only a matter of time before one of us moves to push our father off the Judgment Seat. I need to know if it was Roassa or not."
"So, what? We storm Purgatory to find Abnegem and corner Roassa?" Mavyn asked.
He stuck his bottom lip out. "Calm your blaze, dear gleam," he said with an unnerving smile. "First, we have a union to attend."