After bathing and dressing, Mina reached for the crucifix she had received the day prior from the innkeeper’s wife. She held it in her hands, tracing the grooves of the carved wood with her fingertips. Some part of her wanted to leave it behind in her chambers, but then she thought of the innkeeper’s words:Only God can save you there.
It was illogical to believe such a thing could keep her safe—to imagine there was anything to fear beyond man or wolf, and certainly not the creatures of penny dreadfuls—but Mina found herself placing it around her neck all the same.
When Sofia arrived at her door shortly after, Mina followed her through the maze of stone corridors to the dining roomwhere they had eaten the night before. Jonathan sat alone at the table, a mug in one hand and paperwork in the other, his attention fixed on the page. The Count had already departed on business, though Mina had been assured he would return by nightfall—a prospect that sent a fresh ripple of nerves through her.
Breakfast passed quickly, and before Mina was ready, she found herself stepping across the threshold into the cold courtyard air to say her goodbyes to Jonathan. Emotion thickened her throat, but she swallowed it back, fixing her attention on the snow drifting gently around them. Tears would serve no purpose here.
“Come, Mina,” Jonathan said, “let’s take a walk around the yard.”
The suggestion struck her as odd. She glanced at Sofia and found the woman watching them warily, though she remained with the driver.
Overnight, a thin layer of snow had settled across the cobbles, the dusting of white brightening the muted sky above. Mina looped her arm through Jonathan’s, grateful for his warmth as they walked, her gaze lifting to the fortress of stone that surrounded them.
“You must be excited to return to London,” Mina said, her breath blooming pale in the air.
“I am,” he replied, though his expression lacked the easy joy so characteristic of both him and Lucy.
She frowned. “But?”
Jonathan glanced over his shoulder, then lowered his voice. “To be frank, I’m not entirely pleased to be leaving you here.”
“Why is that?” she asked, though some part of her did not wish to hear the answer. They had come too far now. Her father had struck the bargain, and she was bound to see it through. She fixed her gaze ahead, on the solid walls that enclosed them—meant to keep danger out.
“Something is a bit . . . odd about this place,” he said. “I tossed and turned all night.”
Alarm flickered through Mina, her thoughts returning to the voices she had heard outside her door the night before. But had they even been real? She could almost convince herself that it had been nothing more than the wind, stirred up by an overactive imagination.
“Why?” she asked, suddenly eager for his response. “Did you hear something strange?”
“No, nothing like that,” Jonathan said lightly. “I simply couldn’t rest. My mind would not settle. I had the oddest sensation of being watched.”
A prickle of unease crept along her skin, and she folded her arms over her chest. “Watched by whom?”
“No one that I could see,” he said with a sigh. “I suspect my nerves got the better of me.” His gaze lingered on her. “Are you content to remain here?”
The assumption beneath the question struck her at once—that her feelings on the matter could make any difference.
“Of course,” she said. “And regardless, it isn’t up to me.”
His expression fell, as though it was not the answer he had hoped for. “I know you feel you must,” he said gently, “but you are not a prisoner, Mina. You need only say the word—”
“And what?” she interrupted, stepping back so she could look up at him properly. She knew his concern was genuine, yet she could not help but resent the ease with which he offered the choice—as though such freedom were equally available to her. As though she possessed the same liberties afforded to a man. “This is my duty,” she said. “I am doing this for Aunt Emily, for my family. This is not about what I want.”
Jonathan sighed. “I’m not trying to upset you. I just want you to know that, should you wish to return home at any time—”
“This is my home now,” Mina cut in. She didn’t yet believe the words, but she needed him to believe them. Now was not the time for doubt—if she began to ask herself what she truly wanted, she would only be disappointed. It was simply her turn to make sacrifices, and she would not run from that duty, despite the tightening in her chest. “I am not fully accustomed to their ways yet, but that will come in time.”
He looked down at her, seeming unsure. “That is true. I suppose the sacrifice of it all feels far greater now that we arehere,” he said. “Now that I’m to leave you on your own on this isolated mountaintop.”
She swallowed back her doubt, refusing to let herself give in to the sadness deep within. “I am not the first to sacrifice for my family, and I will not be the last,” she said simply. “That is the nature of family.” This, she knew.
“You must write to us,” he said, taking her hand in earnest.
“Now you sound like Lucy.” She gave him a small smile. “Please, take care of her. She feels things so deeply.”
“Of course,” he said. The worry had mostly cleared from his face, and they made their way toward the front door, where Sofia stood beside the waiting carriage.
They said their goodbyes, and Mina watched as Jonathan climbed into the vehicle that had brought them here together only the day before. As he lifted a hand in farewell, she returned the gesture, offering a smile that felt hollow as the calèche rolled away toward the gate.
