Chapter 6

“Tomorrow perhaps you can admire the view.”

The voice startled Beau, coming from behind him. It was deep and somewhat raspy. The man stood there, holding yet another tray. He was attired the same—in his funereal clothes, topped with the wolf’s head mask—that made Beau both want to laugh and shriek at the same time.

But at least now he had spoken.

Beau could ask him some questions. Beau turned to him and took the tray from his hands, glancing down at the silver-covered plates and cutlery. The smell of something rich and savory wafted up to his nose, igniting his hunger.

He set the tray down on the bedside table (its predecessor, he noted, had been taken away while he slept), then sat down himself on the bed. He would have preferred to stand, but his legs still felt weak, his mind still muddled, and the fear nipping at the edges of his consciousness was easier to keep at bay if he sat.