14
Antomír sat, or stood—he didn’t know which one it was—in a room, or a hall, or a hole, one of such darkness that he could hear or see or feel nothing. Add to that the general indistinctness of the Realm of the Dead, and Antomír might as well have been chained in a dungeon. The effect was exactly the same.
He had lost consciousness, or whatever passed for consciousness here, as soon as the dead who served the Queen had seized him. She had told them to bring him to her. But whether they had failed or whether he was in some sort of holding cell, waiting to be released at her good pleasure, he had no idea.
All he could see and feel and taste and smell was absence. He couldn’t even see his own hands in front of his face.
He should be terrified, he knew. But it was difficult to care here,
