Mouse whirled around. An older servant glared at him, chomping a pipe. He pointed the pipe stem at Mouse and cocked his head back. “Come on now. Hay needs to move, and it don’t have legs. Get yer ass in gear.”

Mouse nodded and ducked past him, making for a quick escape.

The man caught him by the arm and pulled him in the opposite direction. “You think I’m blind? Hay’s the other way. You can go slack off afterwards.”

“Er, what happened to Spar? …The unicorn?” Mouse asked.

The old man grunted. “That’s old news, didn’t anyone tell you? Some royal someone got it in their mind that he’s people because he can turn human for a while, and now he’s got rooms in the castle. Isn’t even allowed back here, I don’t think. Dumbass decision, in my mind. Sparklemuffin was perfectly happy eating oats and hay in the stable, or he wouldn’t have damn well stayed, if he could turn human. But no one asked an old stablehand like me.”

“Oh,” Mouse muttered.

Giving him a shove, the old man nodded ahead of them. “Go get that hay already. Don’t waste my time with any more babble.”

“Er, where did they put the unicorn? Just out of curiosity.”

“I dunno, do you go in the castle? I don’t. Get the damn hay before I run out of patience.”

Shoved out of the stable, Mouse stumbled over the grass. He glanced over his shoulder at the old man, then sighed and stepped out of his borrowed boots. Guess I can’t expect a stable worker to know much about the palace. I’ll have to find him myself.

The stable boy passed him, going the other way, arms empty. As he passed, he whipped over his shoulder and did a double take.

“Oy! Didn’t I just send you out to get hay!” the stagehand snapped, grabbing the boy by the ear. “How’re you back already?”

“I—I went a while ago! Mister, I swear, let me go!”

Mouse passed around the corner. Out of sight, he drew his hand over his face and dismissed the illusion. A gray-skinned figure passed by in a window, and he paused to regard his reflection. Silver hair, silver eyes, gray skin. His usually silky, shiny hair dangled around his waist in a tangled mess. A nightgown loosely draped a stick-thin figure. Deep hollows darkened his eyes and left his cheekbones sharp. He touched the reflection and frowned. I look so much worse in the light of day. If Moss took my place now, I don’t think we’d fool anyone.

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Ba-dump. Ba-dump.

He turned toward the source of the sound. In daylight, less of the world changed. The castle twisted, turning dark and hideous. Shadows deepened to pitch, blocking out the world.

Where is that sound coming from?

Mouse took a step forward, mindlessly drawn by the thought. He stopped himself, then shrugged. What’s the worst that could happen?

Onward. Into the palace. Walls shimmered around him, fleshy one moment, painted the next. It’s just a hallucination. Mouse swallowed and pushed on, further, deeper.

Ba-thump. Ba-thump. The quiet, steady beat grew louder with every passing moment.

Deeper and deeper into the castle. Fleshy hallways gave underfoot, blood welling up with each footstep. Pus streamed down putrid walls, veins bulging from the dark red, slimy surface. The ceiling trembled, leaking thick red fluids.

Ba-thump. Ba-thump. The walls trembled with the sound. It boomed like a bass drum in his ears.

Roaring in his ears, so loud he couldn't ignore. He turned to the left before he reached it, already knowing his destination. But why?

A narrow, dark hallway. A lone cell at the end, the only part of the castle that remained steady, remained iron and stone. In it, a blond man, bound in heavy manacles. He looked up at Mouse’s approach, pale strands falling out the way of red eyes.

The beating drew to a sudden halt. Mouse's ears rang in the silence, the scrape of the man's manacles all the louder for the lack of the beat.

“At last we meet,” the prisoner said quietly, voice gruff, unlike how Mouse remembered it.

“Who are you? Who are you, really? Why are you here?” Mouse asked. He gripped the bars and stared at the prisoner, knuckles standing out white on his hands. “Why am I here? Why is the blight drawing me here?”

“It is impossible for those who are not themselves to understand the truth of others.”

Mouse rattled the bars, teeth bared. Veins stood out on his neck. Damn it, just give me a straight answer!

The prisoner gazed back, impassive.

Mouse forced himself to stop. You’re not crazy. Don’t act crazy. “What’s going on? What is this about?”

“Did you dream? Do you remember, now?”

“Dream? About what? Remember what?” Mouse demanded.

Even as he asked, images flashed through his head. The wasteland. Being carried by Xenozar as a child. The battle in the distance. The Barrier from outside.

Mouse released the bars and grasped his head. “What—what is this? What are you doing to me?”

Suddenly close to the bars, Xenozar looked him in the eye, head still half bent, gazing up. A whisper, barely loud enough for Mouse to hear. “Waking you.”

“Xenozar! Lunch!”

“My most ancient enemy returns for another bout! Begone before you are spotted!” Xenozar howled. His voice rang out, high, without a hint of gravel.

Mouse staggered back. He glanced left and right, then fled the way he’d came, nightdress flapping after him.

“What are you shouting about today? Begone, who? Me? Do you not want lunch?”