Beyond Those Gilded Walls

CHAPTER ONE

Death was inescapable in the kingdom of Veressia.

Brought in on a red mist that now choked the city, death lingered in the dark stains that were permanently etched into the stones that lined the streets. In the perpetual shroud of mourning that hovered over everyone who dared step out of their homes. In the coppery taste of blood coating the back of my throat that no amount of wine could ever chase away.

But above all, Death was in the specks of crimson that covered my mother’s lips and chin, sputtered out during a coughing fit as she tried to expel the blood flooding her lungs.

Noctisanguis Ciuma, so named by the royal doctors, was an affliction of the blood.

We referred to it simply as the blood plague.

It seemed like a lifetime ago that the cursed plague had fallen, a distant memory of a life not caked in blood. A life not cloaked in death and misery. It was far more than a plague or a disease. It was a curse, a putrid curse that flowed through the lands on rivers of blood. The foul miasma swept through like a tide of crimson, left no corner untouched, no soul unscathed. Its origins were shrouded in mystery and its victims were chosen by a seemingly capricious whim.

It cast its shadow over Veressia like a vengeful deity.

But this haphazard curse condemned our families to death, with only days’ notice, and wreaked havoc on the people of Veressia. Perhaps they would live. More likely, they would not. They would die a bloody and gruesome end.

Through the window of my bedroom, the jagged spires of Castle Auretras jutted up into the night sky like fingers clawing through the covering of mist, a deep crimson in the darkness, as if even the stone itself lamented its cursed existence. But in this land of despair, there was no sanctuary, no refuge from the inexorable march of Death's advance. If Veressia were to die choking on its blood, the castle would accompany us.

As the lamplight danced upon the aged stones, a flickering light caught my eye, beckoning from the shadowed recesses of the street below. There, amidst the shifting red mists, a spectral figure began to materialize, its form coalescing from the veiled tendrils of smoke into the semblance of a man—though what remained bore little resemblance to the living.

Wrenching my gaze up, I looked back towards the castle and away from the Soulshade, the lingering spirits who could not pass over to the Beyond and were instead cursed to walk the world they once lived in, never finding peace. Once, they’d merely been stories my mother and others who still believed in the gods and the Beyond had told us to make us behave. But after my own battle with the blood plague and coming so close to Death itself…they were now impossible to deny.

I’d learned quickly that the more attention I gave to them, the harder it was to get them to leave. Better to pretend I did not see them in the first place. Not everyone could see them—that much was obvious from the few times I had seen people walk directly through them. But it was much harder to tell who could see them than who couldn’t. And I didn’t dare ask.

The heavy iron gates that secured Castle Auretras were gaudy, even by the wealthiest citizens’ measure. Inlaid with gold and obsidian and decorative metals that had been crafted to resemble snakes, curling around the straight iron bars and peering out at the city below, they were hardly the first reminder of what the king and his family thought of the rest of their kingdom.

Beyond the opulent facade of Castle Auretras lay a kingdom divided, its gates adorned with lavish embellishments that mocked the suffering of those beyond its walls. Prince Eadric and his ilk basked in their seclusion, insulated from the horrors unfolding in the streets below, their decadent revelries a grotesque testament to their indifference to the plight of their subjects.

It had hardly been a surprise when he locked the castle and shut the rest of the world away. In the face of such callous neglect, the once noble kingdom had descended into chaos, its streets now haunted by the anguished cries of the kingdom the crown had forsaken.

The kingdom of Veressia was dying, but my mother was dying faster.

A wet, rattling cough pulled me out of my rage and had my feet moving before I truly registered the sound. It was as common a sound as anything nowadays, since the blood plague had begun to infect us. In mere months, the entirety of Veressia had become accustomed to the sound of bloody coughs, to the stench of copper and decay in the air. The blood plague pulled our insides out with those coughs, intent on filling either our lungs or our streets with blood.

I picked up the damp rag from the bowl at my mother’s bedside and wiped at the crimson dribbling from the corner of her mouth. I’d burned seven cloths already, too drenched with her blood to get the stains or the stench out. Looking down at the increasingly few clean spots, I knew this one would also need to be burned.

Shh, Mama, I’m here, I murmured, pushing her hair back off her sweaty forehead. She was burning with fever, and her body trembled visibly. I knew in my heart that she was not long for this world, no matter what I’d pleaded to the stars.

The splotchy black marks that now decorated my arms were stark against my mother’s almost bloodless skin. The marks that showed I’d outlasted Death—barely—were now permanently etched across my neck, my chest, and my right arm and hand. Swirling, patternless lines of darkness that set me apart as a survivor.

I despised them.

My mother’s eyes fell on the marks and I pulled my sleeve down to cover them as best I could. We both knew she would not be getting the marks on her own skin.

Odyssa, she wheezed, barely getting my name out before she fell into another coughing fit. I murmured soothing words as I dabbed away the new blood that she’d coughed up. You must take care of your brothers. You cannot let your emotions control you. Your brothers are everything now.

I squeezed my eyes shut. I did not want to hear this, to hear her implore me to shove down my anger and rage for the sake of my brothers. I knew the speech by heart now, as if it had been etched into my very bones. She did not need to say it, and I did not want to hear it. It only made it real. But my comfort did not matter here. So I opened my eyes and took my mother’s hands in my own. Yes, Mama. You know I will. I have and will always put them first.

She nodded, patting my hand. Her fingers traced over the mottled black whorls etched into my skin. You can be good, Odyssa. I know you can be, if you try. Touched by Death himself, and yet, you survived. Alyona has blessed you, my child. You are strong. You will keep your brothers safe. Protect them where I cannot. Provide for them where I cannot.

I didn’t feel strong. And the way she’d uttered my survival, as if it were a blessing from the goddess of life…if anything, I was more cursed than the rest of them. At least they had the sweet reprieve of dying, albeit not peacefully, rather than having to sift through the remains of the dead and pull the shattered pieces of my life back together each time someone passed.

Death was easy for the dead. It was nothing but a burden for the living.

I will. I squeezed her hand before standing from her bed. Propping up her pillows, there was no hesitation as I bent and pressed my lips to her forehead. Rest now, Mama. I will come back in a little while.

She leaned into my touch, chasing it even as I stood. I was the only one in the house who would care for her, who was willing to touch her. Though it was suspected it wasn’t passed by touch, no one could be certain. There was still so much to discover about the mysterious affliction that had accompanied the reddened mist. No one was willing to take the risk they would be the next to die. Perhaps if the cure was something as simple as avoiding contact with others, it would have been easier to stomach. It certainly would have been easier to combat it.

I knew she wanted nothing more than to see my brothers, and they her, but all of us knew they could not. Even the chance that tending to her would see them ill was enough for my mother to send them away the moment she began coughing.

I had been only one of a handful that had survived the blood plague, out of the thousands who had died from it, and it was not something I was willing to chance with my younger brothers. Caring for them, putting them first, had been all I’d ever known, and I would continue doing it until the last breath expelled from my lungs.

They were safely tucked away at a friend’s house, and I would send for them to return after our mother had finally passed. Looking at her from the door, I could tell it wouldn’t be long now. I let my head fall against the door frame, closing my eyes briefly.

I had no more sorrow left inside me. No more energy to mourn. No ambition to curse the gods that my mother so pitifully clung to even in her last breaths. All that was left was a soul-deep weariness. And the anger.

I let myself fall into the chair at our small table in the kitchen. I needed to eat, bathe, and then return to my mother’s bedside for her last moments, but I could not find it in me to move.

My gaze shifted back to the castle spires through the window, distracting me from any thoughts of food or hygiene. My fists tightened around the edge of the table, and I had to let my jaw unhinge and fall open to keep from grinding my teeth. I pried my fingers from the table, one by one, letting them instead catch my forehead as I let my head fall.

The familiar monster of my anger clawed at the back of my mind. Only my mother’s coughing kept it at bay.

There were whispers from the castle, from servants sent out to the city in the dead of night to obtain more supplies for the prince and his people. The whispers passed from person to person, until everyone in the city knew that since they’d closed the gates, no one in the castle had fallen to the curse of the blood plague. Rumors of a treatment, one that would chase away the cursed affliction, began to swirl, but none of the servants who entered the city on behalf of the prince ever did it twice, so it remained merely a whisper of a dream.

Once the castle had been sealed, Prince Eadric began to throw ridiculously opulent parties each night. Glancing at the clock, I realized that tonight’s should be starting shortly. Soon, the night would fill with the sounds of revelry and decadence, the peals of laughter echoing down from the balconies as those more privileged looked down at the city they’d left to die. I could not hear much after my bout with the plague had ravaged my body, but I could hear everything that came from the castle.

Each night now, as I listened to hints of music drifting down from the castle, I dreamed of what it would be to see Prince Eadric ill with the plague he’d abandoned us to. To see rivers of red run from every orifice and watch him choke to death on his own blood. It was the least he deserved.

Even when she’d first began showing the signs of the blood plague, my mother had been adamant that I not be angry with anyone, that it was simply her time. She’d begged me to focus on her life, and not her death, to focus on my brothers, and to remember the good childhood they had with her.

But I knew she could hear the parties every night, just as I could. I knew it hurt her that we’d been deemed insignificant by the prince whose family had sworn to serve and protect the kingdom. Listening to the music and the joy spilling down from the castle kept me up at night. It fed my anger, stoking the fire inside my belly until it was all I could think about.

My mother was too good, too kind. And where had that gotten her? She was dying in the next room, and Prince Eadric was throwing a party.

Two more days passed as I cared for my mother as she slowly drowned in her own body. Blood covered nearly every surface in the room, despite how often I cleaned it. The coughing had turned to retching had turned to vomit, until all I could see was red splattering our wooden floors, crimson soaking the once-white sheets. Stains I would never get out of both the house or out of my soul.

Every sip of water or bite of food came back up on a river of blood. Her teeth were stained pink and the handkerchief clutched in her hand was near constantly pressed against her bloody nose.

It was worse than dying myself, having to bear witness to my own mother’s death.

I was surprised she had clung to us so long, but it was no secret where I inherited my stubbornness from. Before she became sick, my mother had been a pillar of the community, someone everyone had relied upon and sought out for advice. Rarely was there a night when we did not have someone else joining our table for dinner simply so they could consult with my mother after. If she was not able to help herself, she did not rest until she had found someone who could.

I admired her dedication to those around her, but I cursed that same selflessness. Perhaps if she had not taken food to that last couple, caring for their dying daughter, she would have been safe from the blood plague. Perhaps she could have stayed out of the gaze of whatever curse controlled it.

My mother had scolded me for my anger at the couple and their daughter, had told me that we always cared for those we could, especially when we were better off. It was a lesson I’d taken to heart, even if my brothers hadn’t been extended the same teachings. She’d reminded me that there was no way of knowing how she’d contracted the cursed illness, and that all that was left now was to make my peace with it.

Still, sitting beside her with her hand in mine, I could not turn off my anger as I watched the pauses between the shallow breaths that panted from her chest get longer and longer.

Odyssa, she rasped, squeezing my hand.

Yes, Mama? I rested my hand on her forehead as I looked down at her, watching the words form upon her lips.

Death reflected in her eyes. She smiled, keeping her lips tight to cover her bloody gums. The words she could not muster the energy to utter were clear in her eyes.

I will take care of them, Mama, I promised, my heart shattering beneath my rib cage. Tears blurred my eyes but I didn’t dare pull away from her hands, instead biting down on my lip as I pushed a strand of my mother’s once-silky hair behind her ear. Beyond this world, we will meet again, Mama.

My mother closed her eyes, and they did not open again.

A single tear fell down my cheek, rolling into the corner of my mouth. It soaked into the dry skin of my lips and my tongue snuck out to catch it. My eyes fell closed at the flavor of salt-tinged sorrow.

I needed to get up. There were things to do, and I needed to send for the undertaker to collect her body, to send for my brothers to come home, to clean the house before they arrived. But I could not bring myself to move, to let go of her hands. I felt wrong, holding her lifeless hands. Hands that should have been warm and sure were now cold and limp.

Perhaps in the back of my mind, I had expected that my mother would survive as I had, but looking down at her now, her slackened face and her bloodstained nightgown… I knew it had been a fool’s dream. Our family would not be lucky twice, and the fates had wasted our only exception on me.

Carefully, I pulled my hand away from my mother’s, folding her arms over her body. I had things to do, and even in death, my mother would expect me to do them.

After I’d handled notifications and made arrangements with the undertaker, I found myself back in her room, once again staring down at her. My ears rang with a droning noise that so often filled my head when silence came, drowning out all else and making me grasp at my head in hopes it would stop. It never did; not when I wanted it to, at least.

My mother wouldn’t be buried; there was no room in the cemeteries any longer. She would be cremated. My eyes squeezed shut at the thought of her body being burned.

Death was a foul, foul creature, and one I hoped to meet one day, if only to scream at them for letting the one good thing in my life be torn away like this. I should have been the one to die, not her.

My mother’s voice in my head reprimanded me, telling me to stop feeling sorry for myself. I had a task to do, one she had assigned to me, and I needed to get it done. So, I pulled back the sheets from her body and threw them into a pile on the floor, followed by her ruined nightgown. Snatching one of the last clean rags in the house, I began to clean her body. Slowly, the ringing in my ears subsided as I focused on my task.

I am sorry, Mama, I whispered as I ran the cloth over her chin. I am sorry I could not save you.

For the first time since I began to see them, I wanted nothing more than for a Soulshade to appear. Her Soulshade. But there was no flickering mist, no taste of smoke, no droning buzz in my ears. Just silence. Damning, unending silence.

CHAPTER TWO

After the blood was cleaned from her skin, I wrapped my mother’s body in a fresh white sheet in silence. I was not present in my body or my mind, even as I opened the door for the undertaker and let him take her body. I was still in that room, with my mother as she choked out her last words. I closed my eyes.

Would I always be in that room?

My mother’s voice appeared again in my mind, telling me I still needed to burn the linens and scrub what I could of the blood that had stained the floorboards before my brothers came home. My promise to her tasted like ash. I had no time to mourn her, no time to process that the most important person in my life had been ripped away as I held her hand.

Falling to my knees, I began to scrub the floors.

Mourning would come later. I had a promise to keep, and so long as I had breath in my lungs, I would do whatever it took to keep my brothers alive, just as I always had since I was old enough to care for them. They were my mother’s pride and joy. In her own way, I knew she was proud of me, but I had always been something different. Her helper, her right hand, not her child.

So I cleaned. Cleaned the stench of blood and the oppressive feeling of death from the house as best as I could. It wasn’t enough, though, and the sharp smell of lemon and astringent burned my nose as it mixed with the lingering smell of copper.

A knock on the door told me I was out of time. This would have to do.

The fortifying breath I took was fractured, a shuddering movement that made its way over my tongue before skittering down into my fever-weakened lungs. It had hardly filled me with the strength I so desperately needed it to, but it would have to do. I had to inform my brothers of our mother’s passing, and as much as I loathed the task, no one else would do it for me. Not anymore.

As I pulled the door open, my brothers’ faces appeared. Apprehension filled me, wondering whether they would be overjoyed to be reunited finally, or whether they would hate my very being for tending to our mother in her last moments. It was hardly a secret that my mother had placed her hopes and dreams on my oldest brother Emyl’s shoulders rather than mine.

Dread coiled around the base of my spine, pulling taut as our eyes met. Yet at the same time, hope had my shoulders creeping up towards my ears, eager to pull them both into a hug if they would allow it. They hadn’t touched me more than absolutely necessary in a long time, even before I’d caught the blood plague.

Emyl rested his hands on Rhyon’s shoulders, his grip tight enough to turn his knuckles white as he kept him firmly in place. Odyssa.

The hope bled from my shoulders and the gnawing at my spine opened a pit in my heart. It seemed our mother’s death had changed nothing here. Just as my mother had never truly seen me as her child, my brothers had never seen me as their sister. To them, I was merely another caretaker, another voice telling them what to do and reprimanding them for doing things they should not do.

I’d hoped it would be different after her death, now that we were all left alone together, but it had been a foolish hope. Gripping the door so tightly both my knuckles and the wood groaned, I opened it wider to allow them to enter.

Emyl had been furious when my mother had begun showing symptoms and she’d banished them from the house, and from the way his shoulder hit into mine as he passed now, that anger had not faded. I bit my tongue to keep my own temper back.

Sometimes, it amazed me that Emyl and Rhyon shared a father. My own had abandoned me while my mother was still pregnant, and later, Emyl and Rhyon’s, too, had abandoned us. It had left Emyl an angry child, and the only solace that had come from it was that Rhyon was too young to know better, and he had clung to a playful curiosity of the world rather than unfettered rage.

I wondered if my mother had ever given Emyl the same speech about not letting his emotions show that she had given me so many times. Looking at the back of his head, at the tense lines of his shoulders beneath his jacket, I somehow doubted it.

She’d always held me to higher expectations, a push for perfection that had pulled me constantly throughout my childhood between wanting to be as imperfect as possible and wanting nothing more than to please her.

I’d never found the right balance, and now, I feared I never would.

Only the sound of creaking wood filled the house as we sat around the kitchen table.

Rhyon appeared ready to vibrate out of his skin, chewing on his lower lip with such an intense frown that it created deep furrows between his brows. I wanted to reach out and smooth them with my thumb, but just as I was about to reach for him, his dark eyes snapped towards me.

Mother is dead, isn’t she?

She is. My voice cracked on the words. My mother had long tried to train me out of crying in front of others—a sign of weakness, she’d said—but unshed tears burned at the back of my throat. I am sorry I could not do more to save her, Rhyon.

She’s dead because of you. His words were calm, no trace of anger or even sadness. No trace of the playful child I had sent away just a week prior.

I couldn’t stop my sharp intake of breath. His words were sharper than any dagger could ever dream of being, sliding between my ribs and settling deep into my heart. My tongue darted out to wet my lips, trying to string together an answer that would not make them both hate me even more.

I— I shook my head, unable to get the words to form.

Rhyon bit down on his lip, worrying it between his teeth as he stared at me. Will we be next?

There is no way to know— My voice cracked again, the words scratching against my throat. Clearing my throat, I continued, I did all I could to save her.

You should have done more. You should have taken that food to the couple like you were supposed to. You lived, why not her? he cried, the tears welling in his eyes and spilling over his cheeks as his lip quivered with anger and sorrow. I wish you had died instead of her.

The room fell away, black dancing around the edges of my vision. All I could focus on was Rhyon’s eyes. I saw Emyl’s lips moving, but the only sound was the echoing of Rhyon’s words. I wish you had died instead of her.

In his mind, he was stating a fact, something he knew to be true, as if he were telling me my hair was black. It was worse than I’d ever feared, that my youngest brother, the child I had cared for since he was only moments old, now wished me dead.

Oh, how I wished the same. I would have rather endured a thousand days at the hands of the plague than be in this room right now.

Emyl tucked Rhyon into his chest, cooing and rocking him as if he were an infant and not an eight-year-old boy.

I am sorry, Rhy. I did not dare reach my hand out towards him, trying instead to reach him with my words. Mother would never forgive me if I let him continue to believe this. That is not⁠—

Do not call me that. His voice was hard as ice as he stood and pulled out of Emyl’s arms to glare at me. And with that final stab to my heart, Rhyon turned and stomped to his room. The slamming of the door made me flinch.

The anger that had been building in me since Mother’s first cough was quenched by the sorrow in my brother’s voice as he’d uttered those words.

Normally, I was quick to defend myself to others, quick to snap, but with my brothers, both of them, I was as confrontational as our front doormat. He was right, after all. I had failed to ensure our mother survived, had failed them both because of it, and I, too, wished I had died instead. I could hardly be angry at Rhyon for speaking my own thoughts aloud.

Why did you let him do that? Emyl’s voice pulled my gaze up from the pattern of the wood I’d been absentmindedly tracing. Mother wouldn’t have let him.

He would not have done it if she were here. I shrugged, desperately clinging to the other words that wanted to fall out, the words of anger and spite. Those were not the ones that needed to be spoken now. "He needs the outlet. A target for his anger. I was the same at his age, and it took me long after his birth to learn to hide it. If that is what he needs, to process his feelings about Mother’s death, then I am happy to be that for him. I am happy to be anything he needs. Anything you need."

Emyl held my gaze but said nothing.

You are my brothers. There is nothing I would not do to protect you both. Mother knew that. I can only hope you know that too. I dropped my eyes back to the table.

Silence passed between us for a moment, to the point that it grew uncomfortable. I raised my head just as the chair screeched across the floors as Emyl stood. The look on his face was one I hadn’t seen before. He hesitated for a moment, rocking slightly on his feet. I’m going out. I’ll be back later.

That had me on my feet, too. You shouldn’t leave, Emyl. Where are you going?

Emyl froze where he’d been pulling on his coat, his gaze icy. Believe it or not, Odyssa, Mother dying does not mean you are to take her place. Where I go and what I do is none of your concern. I need a moment to myself, if you don’t mind.

And for the second time in as many moments, my brother closed a door on me. Emyl hadn’t slammed it like Rhyon had, but it still brought stinging tears to my eyes regardless. Not even a full day since my mother’s last request, and I was already failing at it. Failing her. Whether the tears were those of sorrow or rage, I did not know. Perhaps they were both, a balancing act as it were, with one eye pouring hatred and the other pouring grief.

I wanted to scream at the sky, to rage and yank the portraits of us off the walls and hurl them into the street after Emyl. To shout and yell and convince them that they were both wrong. But it would do no good. And my anger always retreated into this twisted state of subservience with my brothers, subdued until the moment they were out of my sight.

The taste of smoke and ash filled my mouth and a flickering mist hovered in the corner of the entryway.

Wiping at my eyes, I turned back to the kitchen before it could solidify into a Soulshade. I did not have the time nor the inclination to deal with another tortured soul begging for my attention. Not when I had my own soul to attend to.

I needed a distraction, something to keep me from sitting in front of Rhyon’s door and begging him to listen to me. Suddenly, I could understand why the king had hurled himself from the towers when his wife had passed from the plague. If we had a tower, I might have done the same.

I’d known we would all mourn differently, and in some way, I’d expected the anger. But I’d not expected them both to abandon me. Perhaps I should have.

Rifling through the cold chest and the pantry, I began pulling out ingredients for a quick soup. At the very least, I could ensure they both had food when they reappeared.

Food set aside for them both, I curled up on the bench in front of the kitchen windows, looking out into the dimming evening sky. Purples and oranges shot across the clouds, dimmed by the blood-red mist that hung over the rooftops, both of them mixing to frame the spires of Castle Auretras.

Tracing my fingers across the spiderweb cracks in the glass, I let my temple rest on the wood frame. The tip of my finger caught on a protruding sliver of glass, blood welling in the small cut left behind.

CHAPTER THREE

Peace eluded me, my mind only showing me flashes of the fever dreams I’d had while I was sick. Memories of thrashing limbs, pained moans, and a cold darkness I could not escape. No matter how I contorted my body atop the seat by the window, I could not get comfortable. I couldn’t bring myself go to my bedroom.

In the kitchen, though the flickering Soulshades had finally subsided from vying for my attention, the sounds of the revelry had not waned, and they wouldn’t until the sun began to lighten the sky. Once it became clear Rhyon would not be coming out for dinner, I resigned to curl up on the lounge chair in the parlor.

As hard as I’d tried to close my eyes and rest while waiting for Emyl to return, the nightmares clashing with the sound of music and laughter drifting down from Castle Auretras kept me awake. Hours passed in that fashion, with me staring at the peeling paint along the crease where the wall met the ceiling, the eerie sounds of music cutting through the red mist atop the everyday fog that clung to the cobblestones in the cool of the evening.

Resigning myself to another sleepless night, I returned to the window at the kitchen, tugging a pillow into my lap and twisting my fists in