Heir of Beasts

Ch. 1.4- One Hundred and Ten Ghosts

            

Kaza stops abruptly in front of a pale grey door, motioning for me to stop as well.

            "There is no dining room here-" I begin, then stop when I realize what door I'm seeing. The gilded edging, the handle that curls forward and back on itself in elaborate filigree, the knocker embedded with a single jewel- this is the entrant to the Dizsa's private offices.  At least it was, before the dizsa was killed, before Shira fled and I was imprisoned.

            It feels like millennia ago that we snuck inside his mother's inner sanctum, suppressing anxious laughter and a heady tingle of fear. We wouldn't do anything, too frightened of disturbing Somitu to rifle through her desk or disturb the papers that lay atop it, but we would read what we could, and run our fingers along the spines of her books, and contort our bodies to fit underneath the desk like it was a secret cave.

            I would dare him to move things- a paperweight two inches to the left, a stack of papers from one chair to another, the clock further back on the mantle- just to test the boundaries of her perception. He would do it after I egged him on, with shaking hands, and for days after we'd smile secret smiles when she failed to notice the shifting of inconsequential objects.

            "This is his office now, isn't it?" I ask my escort, already knowing the answer.

            "Yes."

            "He's building the old right on top of the new, isn't he?" I mutter, disgust and anger rising within me like twin snakes, dancing their dance as I stare at the door, the glittering jewel of the knocker, and imagine the monster sitting inside. Touching her things, not caring how far they're moved. Running his bloodstained fingertips along the binding of her books. Sitting behind her desk, sitting in her chair like it's a throne and he's the conquering king. It's a subtle but violent appropriation, to set himself up here- to call me here- to make sure I see him sitting where she sat.

            I take the knocker in my hand suddenly. It feels cool and wet, slippery against my skin. I grit my teeth and grip it tighter, so the beveled edges of the jewel begin to make indentations in my palm. The desire to knock loudly and repetitively, to startle the forced calm into a loud pandemonium, is overwhelming.

            I am here, I want to scream, I am the girl you made a ghost, but would not bury, and you have called me, and I am here. Listen to me. Listen to how much I respect you and your new office, your little throne room. Listen to me knock until the wood of the door splinters into kindling. Listen to me light a fire out here to keep my ghost self warm-

            Kaza gives me a warning glance, seeing the raw intensity of my desire written across my face.

            "He's not her," I say huskily.

            "Now is not the time or place-"

            "He said he's different," I continue, ignoring his caution. "But he just wants to slip inside her body and use it as his own. Her skin won't fit him, you know. It will hang off of him like a badly tailored garment. It will snag on everything-"

            "Remember your girl and hold your tongue," Kaza mutters, glancing around us at passing guards and servants.

            I turn to snarl at him, to tell him he has no business advising me, but I catch myself.

            He's right. Even if I hate him, he's right.

             I can't break down the door and launch myself at the man inside with my nails and my teeth. It's not just my own life I'm responsible for now. Sholu has already threatened Halima, and I know those threats aren't empty. He has no regard for human life- what is she to him but another tool to be used and discarded?