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She stopped seconds before colliding with the door, fighting for balance on the smooth marble floor. Only now she realized how fast she had been running and felt the clenching pain in her chest. Gasping, she leaned against the wall. Faint voices were coming from behind the large double doors. She took one last deep breath and knocked. The voices fell silent for only a moment before continuing as if nothing had happened.
She was not supposed to be here. Itamar had given her the day off because he was in a meeting which was not to be disturbed under any circumstances.
Hear me, Thrice Great Hermes, who art in heaven, Antoinette thought. Itamar had told her that if she wanted to pray, she was to pray to Hermes Trismegistus, the god of wisdom and the father of alchemy. You are with the brave and the unfaltering. You wanted to keep us so we could serve you. He saith: I am Man-Shepherd, Mind of all-masterhood; I know what thou desirest, and I’m with thee everywhere. You're with me, aren't you? Please have mercy on us. For thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory, forever. Amen.
She pounded her fists against the door.
"Please, Itamar, sir! Forgive me! Will you come out? Please!"
Soon enough, swift footsteps approached from the other side; then, the door was opened just wide enough that Jean, one of the servants, could slip into the corridor. He shut the door immediately.
"Have you lost your mind?" he hissed. "Be quiet, will you?"
"It's an emergency. I need to speak to him!"
Jean looked her up and down, frowning at her torn riding habit, messy hair, bruised hands, and most of all, at the mud trail she had left on the floor.
"You fell off your horse and are still on your feet. I don't see any emergency. Now get out. Someone spent the morning cleaning these floors, you know."
Antoinette threw herself against the door. Jean tried to pull her away, but she kicked his knee.
"Sir, please!"
There was a pause. Someone else approached and opened the door entirely.
"Come in," said the servant holding it.
Suddenly, Antoinette found everyone inside the room staring at her. A dozen elegantly dressed people, most of whom she had never seen before, were sitting around a large mahogany table covered in books and papers. She hastened to stand up straight, fold her hands behind her back, and cast down her eyes. It was too late to brush off the dirt now.
Itamar was sitting at the head of the table, wearing a black velvet frock coat that fit him impeccably and contrasted with his crisp white stockings and gloves. His face was as calm and serene as always, like nothing could ever shake his confidence. His gaze told her he understood her.
"Well, Antoinette? Do you wish to greet the fellow Masters?"
Jean hurried forward, flustered. "Sir, I'm -"
Itamar silenced him by raising one hand.
"Now, don't be shy," he said kindly, beckoning to her. "Come in and join us. Come on, dear."
Hesitantly, Antoinette stepped into the meeting hall. This was the first time she was allowed inside. The lofty ceilings and the ornate white walls made her feel tiny. All candles had been lit because the sun had not risen today, heavy clouds extinguished all daylight, and the windows still were wet with the rain from the night before.
"What's wrong with this one?" someone whispered.
"It's a shame." Madame Smirnova, one of the overseers of the laboratories, sipped at her glass. "She's a prize. Quick learner, a hard worker, and disciplined, unlike anything I've ever seen. Good breeding. Gentry, I believe. She was left from one of the first mass executions last year. The family was convicted of being royalists, enemies of the Revolution. But you know the downside of those newly orphaned ones. They're always damaged, one way or another."
Antoinette bowed her head toward the table without looking at anyone. She stopped in front of Itamar’s seat and stood perfectly still. This was something he praised: Her ability to keep her posture without moving.
He rose and slapped her across the face. She squeezed her hands behind her back to keep herself from wincing.
"What is it? And how do you even look?"
"It's Léonidas, sir. He tripped. We fell. He can't get up. I think he's broken his leg. He's in pain. I tried to pull him, but I couldn't. I had to leave him to get you. Please, will you come and help him?"
Some of the Masters laughed, but Itamar remained silent for several moments.
"Well, that's a pity. Such a splendid horse. And still quite young, isn't he? You know what that means."
A cold, terrible force seized her and began to drag her down.
"Sir, please. I will make up for the trouble, anything you want. It's not fair. He didn't do anything wrong. He's always stayed with me."
Often, she would be crushed before she knew it, no longer able to see, hear, move, or speak. She was being eaten alive from the inside, terror clawing into her, burning her. She would die now, any moment. Léonidas had always been the only one to bring her back. He would nudge her until she remembered she was still here and breathing.
"And you want to thank him by letting him suffer? I don't think so." Itamar's voice sounded distant and muffled, like she was underwater. "Now, take Jean to him; he will arrange everything."
"No!" she screamed. "You can save him. You promised we could be saved. You promised! You did! You did!"
"Mind your tongue!"
"You said that's why I was the only one left! So you could find me and teach me how to save us all! So teach me now!"
He raised his hand, and she flinched.
"Are you done pitying yourself, child?" Itamar's voice had become cold as ice. "I thought you had realized by now that the world is not fair. It has no mercy, and it does not forgive. It will wipe you out at the first chance. What I promised you is that we can learn to save ourselves, for we are the Masters of the Midnight Sun. We are the everlasting light in the darkness. We have purified ourselves from our mortal weaknesses through our work. And you...you are here because I trust you to have the strength to become one of us. Of course, it is still possible that I was wrong, and death merely keeps forgetting you. Perhaps it would have been better for all of us if the fall had broken your neck instead of that horse's leg, don't you think? That would have saved us from wasting any more effort on you."
Every word hit her like a blow in the stomach. She was pushed over the edge, lost.
"Jean, take her out. And send someone to clean up that dirt."
And suddenly, it was all over.
"I can do it."
Itamar stopped at her small, flat voice.
"I can put Léonidas down, sir. I know how. Papa used to take me along hunting. You must fire a clean shot through the shoulder blade into the chest. That's the safest way to make it quick and clean."
He scrutinized her.
"Right now?"
"Yes, sir."
"Very well. Let's go, then. My friends, will you excuse me?"
He did not wait for an answer.
Antoinette did not utter a single word as they walked down the hallway and out the castle entrance into the park. Jean followed a few steps behind, carrying a gun. They got off the path and moved across the wet, muddy lawns. Antoinette watched Itamar's heels sinking in. Soon, his shoes were covered in dirt. He had not even taken the time to change them for boots.
"When we get there, you will do it right away. No goodbyes, no touching, nothing. Do you understand me?"
She nodded without listening. Where had the warning been that she had missed? Perhaps she had been too happy to be granted an entire day outside with Léonidas.
She remembered overhearing her parents fighting in the library.
"How much longer do you want to wait?" said Maman. "They're not stopping at anything. We should leave."
"Our place is here. No one is going to change that. No mad lawyer, that’s for certain."
"Don't say that out loud! Not even here."
When had been the last day they could have left? What had she done wrong to end up all alone?
Léonidas was lying in the grass just as she had left him: shaking and sweating, foam covering his mouth. One of his front legs stood out at an unnatural angle. Upon spotting her, he gave a gut-wrenching scream that sounded almost human.
She avoided looking him in the eye as she got behind his back, out of reach of his uncontrolled kicking. This was just a shoulder blade covered in glossy fur, like any deer or wild boar they had hunted in the woods.
"If you wish to eat, you have to kill," Papa told her. "That's the way of life."
Itamar gestured towards Jean to hand her the gun. It was too large and heavy for her to hold on her own. She struggled to lift it to her shoulder and take aim. Léonidas turned his head to look at her and screamed again.
Itamar stood beside her, waiting.
Léonidas opened his mouth for another scream.
Antoinette exhaled and pulled the trigger. Recoil hit her hard and sent her staggering back to the ground. The bang resonated in her head, turning her vision white.
There were several loud snaps right next to her ear. Startled, she looked up at Itamar. Was it Itamar? He was smiling.
"Do you hear me now? Get up, dear. We need to get you cleaned up, don't we?"
Antoinette rose to her feet.
"I knew you would not disappoint me. You are one of us because you are strong enough to do what must be done. There's no need to be afraid. One day, everything you fear will be gone, but you will remain."
As they walked back towards the castle, Itamar placed his silk-gloved hand on the back of her head and stroked her, brushing her tangled hair with his fingers as if she were a horse herself. Still, she made no sound but tilted her head and pressed into his palm.
Antoinette dreaded the nights.
Alone in her dark bedroom, she fought to stay awake because falling asleep meant waking up screaming. She hid under her blanket and sobbed, biting into her pillow to stifle her cries.
Thrice Great Hermes, hear me. I'm giving you all I can. I’ll purify myself. How much more do you want from me?
She slammed her head against the wall, harder and harder, trying to force the pain out of herself until she had to stop from sheer exhaustion.
Thrice Great Hermes, please let me sleep and don't make me wake up ever again.
But she always woke up.
She rose at dawn. When the morning was chilly, she lit a fire. She still had to do this herself while the servants heated the Masters' rooms. Then she washed her face, got dressed, and combed her hair. She pinned it carefully, checking and double-checking that every strand was in place.
Her reflection watched her from the mirror. She pressed her forehead against the glass, as she had always done with Léonidas.
"Where are you?" she whispered.
"I'm right here," her reflection replied. "I'll always be here. As long as you see me, you'll never be lost."
She reached out to hold her reflection's hand, wincing at the sting the recoil had left.
"Don't make me look weak," her reflection scolded. "I am the everlasting light. I don't feel mortal pain. Try again."
Slowly, Antoinette moved her sore arm up and down. Every time, her shoulder hurt worse, but her reflection betrayed no emotion.
"See, you can do it. Now off you go. Don't keep him waiting."
After she had left the room, only the imprints of her palm and forehead remained as tiny warm smudges on cold glass.