ARWIN

  Arwin woke with his body tingling from poison and his head filled with the excruciating pounding of his pulse. His head felt like it was going to split apart at any moment. His leg, where the spider had bitten him, felt like it was stuck in a fire pit while also being eaten alive by fire ants. A groan slowly oozed from his mouth. He felt brutalized. It was a long minute before he realized that he could breathe freely and was no longer cocooned. He forced his eyes to open.

  For three and a half moments, things were blurry from the pain. Then he saw someone astonishing standing before him, and all thoughts of discomfort instantly receded to the far reaches of his mind.

  She was darkly radiant. She was a younger woman, perhaps in her late twenties or early thirties, and utterly beautiful, at least in Arwin’s opinion, so much so that his heart squeezed in his chest. She raised her hand to his face. Creamy skin glowed under milky moonlight streaming down from windows and skylights above, the glass somehow amplifying the moon’s silvery beams. Gently, with a hand decorated with long, elaborately painted and bejewelled nails, she stroked his cheek. Magic took hold of him.

  Instant, cooling relief flooded Arwin’s body, and he moaned in gratitude. He breathed deep as his eyes drank her in.

  Poised, confident, immaculate, and gorgeous, she saucily stood there with weight more on one foot, one hand on her hip, hungrily eyeing him the way a cat does a mouse, the corner of her lips curled up in a cruel smile.

  She stepped even closer until they were almost touching, purple flowers blooming in the footsteps she had left behind. In her very high heels, the woman was almost as tall as Arwin. Their eyes met, and he became lost within two dark gems of purple amethyst: rare, exotic, beautiful eyes unlike any he’d ever seen. Gracefully leaning in, her long, wavy dark hair framing her fine features, she spoke in a voice like silken steel, "Welcome to my parlour, said the spider to the flies." Her lips shone the colour of fresh blood. Her smile widened, and she studied him with playful yet calculating and very intelligent eyes.

  Arwin opened his mouth to speak but was so stunned by her beauty and fantastical nature that nothing came out. Then their eyes met.

  And a spark flashed between them. Not literally; that would be weird and probably dangerous for anyone’s eyes.

  But some spark of recognition, of one soul’s partner in another, or some shared humanity, some gut feeling hit them both and made itself known so that surprise flashed through both of their expressions almost faster than either could recognize.

  The woman suddenly turned away from him, breaking that shared gaze and deliberately ignoring the moment. She casually sauntered over to Yaz, as if the look between her and Arwin hadn’t meant a thing, and went to where the skeleton hung chained from the wall, just as Arwin now realized he, too, did. She wore a long, skin-tight dress. And she didn’t just walk. The movement was more feline, more predatory: she stalked. Tall, stiletto heels clicked on the stone as she glided forward. Literally, the heels were stilettos, shaped like small daggers that gleamed silver and flashed in the moonlight.

  Arwin tore his eyes off of her with some effort and looked around. But his eyes were drawn back to her because she was so hot. So he redoubled, then trebled his efforts and managed to look away long enough to take in his surroundings.

  He was in some kind of throne room. The metallic throne was shaped like three giant black spiders, and its cushion and backing were rich, raspberry-red leather (which looked surprisingly comfy). The walls and floor were midnight-black marble struck through with snow-white veins of quartz, all polished to a high sheen. Moonlight poured through high windows. It illuminated thousands of silvery cobwebs and translucent orb webs glittered in every nook and corner. In fact, the ceiling was alive with eight-legged things, some as large as cats and dogs.

  The sight sent a shiver knifing down Arwin's spine. He hated spiders. Examining his bonds, he found his wrists and waist bonded to the wall of the throne room by wads of sticky spider silk.

  Yaz was already awake as he'd probably never been put to sleep (poison probably has no effect on the undead). The skeleton looked over from his similar position and nodded encouragingly. A wad of spider silk had been stuck over his mouth.

  The woman pulled the webbing free of Yaz's oral cavity and sized him up. “Now, why would a skeleton be walking around my demesne, especially in broad daylight? The only visitors I ever get are assassins and thieves, usually in the employ of those wanting to steal my magical secrets. So. Who commands you, creature? And are you assassin or thief?”

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  “No one commands me,” Yaz growled. “I’m not your typical undead. And I’m certainly neither assassin nor thief.”

  Her head tilted slightly. “My, my. You can speak clearly. And seem to have a modicum of intelligence. And independence?”

  “Of course I’m independent!”

  “What are you, if not some spellcaster’s toy or feral thing born of ambient death magic?”

  Yaz appeared to get ahold of himself and take a deep breath, which was weird because he didn’t need to breathe. “My lady. My name is Yaz—“

  Her expression brightened with understanding. “Ah! I’ve heard of you, haven’t I? You’re the sentient enigma. The magical puzzle. You're the Wandering Skull, aren't you?"

  He snapped, “My name is Yaz.”

  “Touchy.” She chuckled. “You’re even older than I am. You’d think that after all these centuries, we would have met much sooner."

  Yaz retorted, “I don’t think we hang out with the same crowd.”

  She closely examined him, not hiding her curiosity, her eyes roaming over his bones much like the way a doctor or archeologist would. When she spoke, it was with distraction during her study, “I don’t suppose we do. Um, why are you wearing underwear? You’re undead.”

  Yaz heavily sighed. He probably got asked that question a lot. “They were a gift.”

  The enchantress pinched the fabric of the red boxers with white hearts and examined it. “Mm. Slightly magical. Nothing fancy, though. Enchanted to prevent wear and tear? And stay clean? So what would possibly bring you to my castle?”

  Yaz hesitated and then obviously tried to make his voice as polite as possible. “I’m looking for someone.”

  “And you think they’re here?” She laughed. “Who in Heartstone could you think to find here?”

  “Princess Epheria.”

  The woman cocked her head. “Who?” She looked puzzled for a moment. Then her eyes widened, and she snapped her fingers as she gasped. “No. It’s really true? You’re still traipsing around the land looking for your fabled lost love? A thousand years of failure, and you’re still trying?” She cruelly laughed.

  Through gritted teeth, he said, “Yes, I am. I once asked the magicist who lived here before you if Princess Epheria was being kept here. She said she’d had nothing to do with Epheria and didn’t know of her location. But she never actually let me search the castle either. She might have been lying or mistaken. As I have searched the rest of Heartstone and seen nothing of her, I hoped you might let me see for myself whether she was here.”

  She burst out into fresh, surprised laughs. “I can’t believe it. It’s been a thousand years. She’s dead!”

  Yaz was obviously having trouble controlling himself, and his voice was thick with suppressed anger. “She was entombed. Magically. In crystal. It would have kept her alive indefinitely, I’m sure of it.”

  She spoke in a mocking tone. “Fair enough. But why would I want to keep some dead woman in a giant crystal lying around my castle?”

  He seemed frustrated. Perhaps being so close to finding an answer after all this time was making him desperate. “I don’t know. Please, I just need to see for myself. I can’t leave any stone unturned. I must know that I’ve done everything I possibly can to find her.”

  The woman sadly shook her head, though the cruel smile on her lips revealed she wasn’t really all that sad. “How pathetic. I can’t believe you’re still obsessed with this. She’s dead. She died an eon ago. Don’t you think it’s time to move on?”

  “I will not give up. I love her.”

  “Love.” She snorted with contempt. “Even if you managed to find her, why would she love you anymore? Have you looked in a mirror recently? You’re dead, too!” She laughed. “You’re nothing but ugly bones and a thick skull. Even if you found her, do you think she’d still love you as you are now? Would she plaster her little lips on your exposed teeth? Run her hand up and down your bared spine? Cuddle your fleshless ribs? Or would she run away, screaming in terror?”

  Yaz looked away, unable to reply.

  But the woman was remorseless. “She’d take one look at you and trade in your walking corpse for a real man. Like that one over there.” She gestured at Arwin.

  Yaz feebly growled, “Shut up.” It sounded like her words had struck an old nerve.

  Arwin tried to break free of his bonds while she was distracted. But while the webbing had a slight give to it, it was sticky and utterly impervious to his fingers. Pulling with all his strength against the wall yielded no results. Spider silk really was stronger than steel.

  She returned to studying Yaz’s skull as she spoke. “So pathetic. Why don’t you just admit that you’re obsessed because you have nothing else and no one to love you? And that you’re too scared to move on? You need to give up. Find a nice cemetery and start dating someone new.” She cackled yet somehow made that look pretty. “Think of all the fun things you and a fresh corpse could get up to. Romantically rotting together under the dirt. You could bury each other and then dig each other up. Play pranks on archeologists. Haunt houses together.” She burst out in more laughter at her own jokes.

  Arwin snorted with amusement before he could stop himself. He was surprised by her wit. He had to admit, in other circumstances, she’d actually be quite funny. He admired that. But the way her words tortured his friend sucked the fun out of it.

  The skeleton shouted at her, “Go blast yourself!”

  “I don’t have much use for a spare skeleton, though the magic animating you and preserving your soul is fascinating, to say the least. Unfortunately, it’s rather out of my specialty. I suppose I could put you somewhere for study later, though.” The woman whirled away with a big smile, turning her back to Yaz and leaving him to sag, head bowed, in silence.

  She sensuously walked back over to Arwin, beguiling his eyes with her every move. “But, you, on the other hand, a smart woman can certainly put to good use." Her nails lightly raked down his arms, causing gooseflesh to break out. She looked directly into his eyes. “Do you like what you see?”