Page 30 of A House of Gold
Then I remember.
The House of Gold. Croesus.
Reality crashes back like ice water, and I sit up too fast. My head spins, and my stomach lurches. I have to close my eyes and breathe through the wave of nausea.
When did I even get here? To this room?
I try to remember. I remember leaving Croesus’s office. Remember Auric waiting in the hallway with that knowing smirk. Remember following him through corridor after corridor, turning left and right and left again until I’d lost all sense of direction. Remember him stopping in front of a door, my door? And saying something. What did he say?
I don’t remember.
I remember walking into this room. Remember seeing the massive bed draped in champagne silk, too soft and too perfect. Remember thinking I should stay awake, should explore, should do something to orient myself.
And then... nothing.
I must have collapsed. Just fell into bed fully clothed and passed out like someone flipped an off switch in my brain.
I look down. I’m still wearing yesterday’s clothes, just the black jeans and gray t-shirt. I must have kicked off my boots since they are lying on the floor beside the bed. My jacket is draped over a chair I don’t remember putting it on. My bag is on the floor, unopened.
How long did I sleep?
I grab my phone from my pocket, dead. Of course. I didn’t charge it. Don’t even know if there are outlets in this place.
The room is... I search for the right word. Luxurious doesn’t cover it. Decadent feels closer, but still not quite right.
It’s large, maybe twenty by twenty, with that same warm golden light that seems to come from everywhere and nowhere. The walls are a soft cream color with gold accents, less overwhelming than the hallways but still unmistakably expensive. The bed I’m sitting on could fit four people comfortably, with posts at each corner carved to look like twisted vines. The silk sheets are the softest thing I’ve ever touched, and I hate that I noticed.
There’s a wardrobe against one wall, dark wood inlaid with gold, naturally, and a dresser beside it. A vanity with a mirror framed in gold filigree. Two doors: one I came through last night, one that presumably leads to a bathroom.
A window.
I get out of bed, my bare feet silent on the plush carpet, and look out.
Golden light. That’s all. Just the same eternal, sourceless glow I saw in Croesus’s office. No sky. No ground. No reference point. Just... gold.
I press my palm against the glass. It’s warm. Solid. Real. But there’s no opening or latch.
What’s beyond it?
I can’t tell. And that’s probably the point.
My reflection stares back at me from the glass, pale, tired, hair sticking up in directions hair shouldn’t stick. I look like I’ve been through hell. Which technically, I have. Or I’m in it now. Same difference.
I need to figure out where I am. How to navigate this place. How to find food, water, the dining hall Croesus mentioned. How to survive here.
I need to move.
I splash water on my face in the bathroom, which is, unsurprisingly, ridiculous: marble everything, a tub that could fit six people, gold fixtures, towels so soft they feel like clouds. There’s a robe hanging on a hook, champagne silk with gold embroidery. I ignore it.
I pull my boots back on, and grab my jacket. Before I leave, I check my jacket pockets. Gramms’ journal is still there, solid and real. A piece of my old life, my real life, tucked against my ribs. Then I head for the door.
The hallway beyond is empty. Silent. Just more gold walls, more identical doors, more of that sourceless warm light that makes it impossible to tell what time it is or how long I’ve been here.
I try to remember which direction Auric led me from last night. Left? Right? I was so exhausted, so overwhelmed, I didn’t pay attention.
Stupid. That was stupid. You don’t survive in a predator’s den by not paying attention.
I pick a direction—left—arbitrarily, and start walking.
