Chapter 32

At the end of the impossibly long hall was the door to his chambers—the only safe haven from Mordell’s other minions. He reached the door and triggered the latch. The heavy wooden door swung open, and he wasted no time in slipping inside, slamming the door shut on the enclosing whispers in the empty air. Outside, the whispers faded away, but Ivan didn’t dare open the door. He cursed himself for being so damned skittish, but when one lived in a menagerie of death and decay such as this, one learned to be cautious and wary of every shadow.

The room was relatively barren, save for a table, a chair, a stone fireplace, and a coffin resting in the far corner. He had long since discarded the crucifix that had hung for so long over the corner where a bed had once been, back when the castle was but a humble abbey, and he had held a love for a now-forsaken god. He eyed the coffin longingly and went to it.