The Night Court

Chapter Seven

Mikolaj woke with a start. Unexplained panic coiled tight in his chest as he lurched upward at a dizzying speed. His ears were clogged, his throat felt sick, and the world around him spun and flopped until things finally settled. It likely lasted seconds, but it felt like ages. An eternity before he heard the rumble of Lord Wiech's snoring in the bed beside him, and the darkness paled in his sight to reveal a room that didn't feel like his own. 

His chest rose and fell rapidly, heart beating at his ribcage, he gripped the flimsy fabric of his nightshirt and urged his body to calm down. 

His body felt warm underneath his touch. Too warm. Mikolaj tried to such a shaky breath. He was with the Wiechs in one of their estates. In the room Lord Wiech gifted him. Not wherever the darkness carried his body when his eyes were closed. 

Mikolaj wasn't sure what woke him in the first place. What frightened him. 

Lord Wiech rolled over in bed, thin lips murmuring as his hands clawed at the damp sheets. "Where are you, Little Bird?" he cooed. 

Mikolaj eased towards the edge of the mattress. "I need water." 

He wiped sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand as he swung his legs over the side of the bed and shoved his feet into the plush slippers waiting for him. A nightmare? Mikolaj couldn't recall the last time he had one. Not since he was a child. He usually slept soundly. Money was a damn good comforter. So was wine. His head didn't throb. He couldn't have drank so much his entire being decided to torture him in revenge. 

Mikolaj usually knew how to control himself. 

Lord Wiech murmured again, the words illegible as he rolled over onto his stomach, snuggling contentedly back into the grip of the bed. Mikolaj tucked the blanket into the folds of his body, hoping to keep him fast asleep so he could at least have one moment to himself. 

Truly, his head hurt. The world around him had a slight curve to it, every step a little dizzy as he tiptoed into the hall. Knowing Lord Wiech, he likely designed this sprawling home himself. Which meant it was much newer than any building in Jelberok, certainly Madame Kubas' ancient manor. Which meant they had to have running water. 

His arms stretched out blindly ahead of him as Mikolaj squinted his eyes to try and force them to adjust to the dark. He used to have much better eyesight at night. But back then there was moonlight peeking between the intermingled leaves in the treetops. Now he was guided by blinking gaslights and burnt out candles that left trails of smoke in the air. 

It wasn't hard to find the kitchen. All Mikolaj had to do was follow his nose to the room that still smelled like sausages and stumbling until his hands landed on a faucet. His elbow banged against the nob, the squeal of water rushing out of the pipes sounded almost thunderous against the quiet backdrop of the house. So icy and frigid one brush against his skin made him shiver and yelp as if it stabbed him.  Mikolaj needed to find a glass. He searched for the outline of a cupboard.

The lights blinked on. They burned at his eyes, caused the throbbing in his head to worsen, and a groan left his lips as he turned around to see who'd done it.

Aleksja.

She sat, curled up on a counter by the switch, one finger still idly on the handle while her other hand cupped a steaming mug close to her chin. Her hair hung loose and wiry around her shoulders. The rims around her eyes looked red, her skin yellow in the hazy glow of the lighting. She frowned, but then he'd never seen her with a different expression.

Mikolaj tried to bow but his stomach churned. "My lady."

Aleksja pointed with her sharp chin. "They keep the glasses above your head."