“Bram said something similar about our social class,” I mused.
“I … yes, Bram … I’m sorry you had to see that. He didn’t deserve that death. He was a good man.”
“He was,” I agreed, heart stuttering painfully at his memory. I still couldn’t quite wrap my head around the fact that he was gone. It didn’t seem real. I was afraid that if I admitted the reality, that I wouldn’t be able to stop screaming. “And he forgave you in the end, you know.”
“Yes, he always was better than me.” Henri smiled wistfully. “I guess you two have that in common.”
I didn’t correct him with “had.”
“You liked him then?” I asked. “You considered him a friend?”
“Of course I did. If not … if not more.” Henri rubbed the back of his neck. “He was the first boy I ever had romantic feelings for. He was always so nice and generous, smart …” He sighed. “I hated that my secrets destroyed that friendship and any potential it may have had. But if it had remained intact, then perhaps I never would have been entangled with you.” He grinned at me. “And I very much enjoy our entanglement.”
I snorted, before remembering that any form of “us” we had left would be only a few paltry days long. Very soon, I would be yet another boy whom Henri had lost to his curse and his family’s secrets. It was tragic.
“There’s some sort of tumbler,” Henri said, staring down the staircase. “There must be a secret switch on the outside, something that keeps the door bolted in place. If only we could find it.”
“It doesn’t matter,” I said. “Even if we find it, we’re in here. The keyhole and whatever locking mechanism Montoni uses, is out there. None of his servants are going to help us.”
“Ludovico could help.”
“Maybe.” I turned back to a sheet of paper, where I was scribbling notes out for Ludovico with charcoal. We’d found several worn books and art supplies in the cubbies of this room, as if it had been lived in, or used for storage. I’d begun throwing balled-up paper out the window, in hopes that he would find one of our messages recording our location and our need for the antidote. I threw them far and wide, folding some of them in such ways that the wind carried them even further. If but one of them would find friendly hands … But if Montoni or his goons discovered them, they would round up any evidence and any hope would be vanquished.
“Well, I’m not giving up,” Henri insisted. “There has to be a way.”
I lay back on the sparse amount of hay I’d managed to collect for a pillow these past few nights, giving my hand a break from writing. I gazed at the ceiling, trying hard not to notice the expanse of blue sky beckoning from the nearby window.
Henri sighed as he observed me. “Emile, you can’t keep torturing yourself over Bram. You didn’t kill him.”
“I know, but I should have been the man he wanted me to be. I wasn’t able to express how I felt about him. I liked both of you so much, and the way I spoke to him, it was like my heart betrayed me in the moment. I didn’t realize until he was gone how much him not being in my life would hurt.” I swallowed past a lump in my throat. “I’ll never forgive myself for that.”
I closed my eyes and felt Henri’s hand on my arm. “Emile, you can’t force your heart to reveal itself to you if it’s not ready. That’s not how love works.”
“I know, but I feel like such a failure. Everyone I care about is either dead or in trouble. Blanche has likely traded her rooms for the dungeon you’ve been occupying. I feel like everyone I come into contact with suffers.”
Henri was about to reply when my eyes found etchings on the ceiling. I held up my hand to silence him as I craned my neck and got to my feet. I reached up on tiptoes to graze my fingers over one of the marks. “Aren’t these … tally marks?”
Henri’s brow furrowed. “Looks like.”
Frowning, I scanned the ceiling, where the four lines with another line crossing through them, ran the length of the room, and even spilled over the walls in some areas. They’d been drawn with the same charcoal I used now. I glanced at the sheets of paper and books. “We’re not the first to be locked up here.”
“Probably not, knowing Montoni. The dungeons probably overflowed at times. Maybe someone was in here all those times Blanche and I tried to break in, hoping we would free them.”
I followed the tallies to one corner where they continued to run down the wall and gasped when I noticed the edge of a piece of paper sticking out from behind a loose stone. I pried the stone loose and grinned as I unfolded the paper, eyes roving across the page eagerly. My jaw grew slack with each additional line until I let my arm fall to my side. “Henri.”
Henri was beside me in a moment. He frowned down at the paper in my hand and snatched it from me, eyes running over the words there.
Henri’s eyes widened, the color draining from his face, his throat working. “This can’t be.”
I pursed my lips. “Your mother …”
Henri glanced up and met my eyes. “My mother was a prisoner here.” He sank to his knees, as if standing was too much for him, and read “I only wish that my loves, Henri and Blanche, knew how much I regret even considering leaving them behind. Seeing them grow up from afar has been my greatest joy in my prison.”
He pushed his face into his knees, his body shaking with silent sobs.
I sat beside him and rubbed his back, looking around the small room. Based on the tally marks, she had spent years in this cell. I wondered how she eventually met her end. Had Montoni had enough of her? Found her captivity too risky? Someone other than Montoni had to have known she was here, for he was frequently out of the country. It wasn’t only the count who was culpable for this.
Henri looked up after a time and wiped away his tears. “My uncle always said that they found her so shattered and broken at the bottom of the cliff that he drove a silver spike through her heart to end her pain and honor her wishes.”
