Fear coursed through her as Mina slammed the door and slid the locks into place. She sagged against the wood, sinking to the floor in the darkness of the front hall. Memories rushed in—the brush of fabric against stone, the book left for her, the note that had drawn her outside just as three wolves emerged through the open gate.
She was certain now that the cloaked figure had not been Sofia, and that none of it had been coincidence.
Not only had the Count and Sofia been lying to her, but someone within the castle wanted her dead.
CHAPTER 23
Mina stood by the window of her chambers, looking out into the shadows of the courtyard below. There was a man in the castle, and someone had raised the front gate—had the cloaked figure been working with the man? Had they been the one to let him in? But no, he’d clearly been hiding from them when she’d called out from the window.
Regardless, she should go to Sofia, warn her of the man—and yet, wasn’t this man’s very existence evidence that she was being lied to? She thought back to the man’s question about Father Petru—why would Sofia tell her he had gone back to his home if it weren’t true? Had that been the catalyst for their attack? Believing the priest to be somewhere within the castle walls? She thought of the person in the north wing, the possibility forming in her mind. Had it been the priest?
Mina paced back and forth, her pulse thrumming. It was late, and she had been through a scare—she should go to sleep and decide what to do in the morning. Yet the thought of that person, whether it be the male intruder or someone else, slipping into her bedroom unseen, made the thought of sleep feelimpossible. She wasn’t safe here, that much was clear. She was being lied to, but she couldn’t say why.
She returned to the window, looking through the shadows for someone or something, but all was quiet. She didn’t know where the intruder had gone, but she also began to doubt he was the one who’d written the note. He hadn’t behaved like someone who’d come here for her, who’d had any sort of plan of action once he’d found her. It had seemed that she hadn’t been his target—that he’d been looking for the priest.
Mina had been so certain that the person she’d encountered in the north wing was a woman, but that didn’t mean that Father Petru wasn’t there as well. Perhaps he had fallen ill and the Count had called someone in to care for him—but why keep that a secret? Why wouldn’t he have shared as much with Mina? But then, there was another possibility she didn’t want to consider—the possibility that the man had been gravely injured or killed.
Mina swallowed. It was clear that the Count had lied to her, but that didn’t mean he was cruel enough to do such a thing. What reason could he possibly have for such an act? To take the life of a priest, of all beings.
No, that wasn’t it. It couldn’t be. The more likely scenario was that the priest was still here in the castle, that he’d been the one she’d encountered in the north wing. She’d been so certain that the being was a woman, the sounds of her dress brushingalong the floor as she walked, but couldn’t it have been the linen robe the priest wore?
She looked at her bed, at the flames crackling in the hearth of her chambers—one thing had become clear: the only way for Mina to find answers would be to get them herself. The Count wasn’t here, and Sofia was still asleep. If she was going to face the north wing, now would be the time.
She grabbed the candelabra, lighting it in the hearth, and walked over to her bedroom door. With a deep breath, she slowly eased the door open, then waited. All around her was stillness, only the crackling of the fire nearby.
Then she stepped into the hall and turned right, back down the path she’d taken days earlier, the one that led to the north wing. She held the candle out, glancing at the floor for the pins she’d dropped—there they lay, waiting for her, guiding her. She slowly moved down the hall, her heart thumping wildly, and then she heard a noise at the other end of the corridor. She stilled, easing back against the wall, and waiting.
If she encountered Sofia, her journey would be over—she was certain now the woman was following the Count’s commands. Mina considered extinguishing her light, but then she would be left in darkness, already too far away from her room to make it back based on touch alone. Moments passed, and she heard nothing else.
She carried on, moving quietly but quickly. She followed the pins, her eyes going back and forth between the stone beneath her and the hall ahead.
Each corridor looked much like the last, its maze-like effect almost dizzying. And then, as she reached the end of one hallway and found it merging into another, she saw the familiar row of windows. As she stood before them, the candle in her hand, she could see nothing outside but shadows, and she swallowed, her skin prickling as she realized this was where the north wing began.
Her steps slowed, heart pounding ravenously as she moved through the shadows, and then, the light spilled upon the bottom of a wooden door. She stilled, relief at having found this place she knew had existed, and fear at what lay behind that door.
It was closed, and she imagined who might be just on the other side. She leaned in, just barely pressing an ear to the door. She heard nothing on the other end, and with a deep breath, she reached for the handle.
Slowly, she pushed down and . . . nothing.
She pushed again, but it did not give way. And then she realized that the door was locked from the other side.
Had it been locked after her first journey? Did that mean Sofia knew of her presence here? Or had it been whoever lay inside?
Anxiety swirled through her, and she waited for several moments, thinking of some way inside. She looked around, hoping her eyes would land upon a key conveniently located nearby, or something to release the lock. But as she lifted her candle before her and moved across the walls, she saw nothing but stone.
She turned back, desperation tightening her chest, and remembered the pins. Surely she could use one to ease the lock open. Moving down the corridor, she held the candelabra low until a faint glimmer caught her eye. Mina retrieved the pin and returned to the door, setting the candle beside her.
She slipped the pin into the lock, uncertain of the mechanism, guided more by urgency than skill. Shadows crowded close as she worked, her fingers fumbling in the dim light.
Whispering drifted from the other side of the door.
Goosebumps rose along her arms. This was what she had wanted—to uncover the truth, to see for herself who lingered in the north wing. And yet every instinct urged her to flee, to turn and run from those hushed, rasping voices. She took a step back from the door, then forced herself to remain, fighting the pull of her own fear.
Building up her nerve, she moved forward and knocked firmly on the door.
The whispering stopped.
She waited—waited for some sort of movement beyond the door, but she heard nothing. Her heart was racing, the musclesin her body tense, poised for flight. It took everything in her to ignore the sensation.
