Suddenly, therewas a strange sound, and a wooden stake jutted from Clarimonde’s chest.
She buckled with a sharp gasp, her eyes wide as she stumbled back, first looking down at the stake, then up at Mina, who stood frozen in horror.
The stranger lifted his foot and kicked Clarimonde many paces down the tunnel. She struck the ground hard, landing on her back, hands trembling as they reached toward her chest, her dress already darkening with blood.
“Let’s go,” the stranger said forcefully.
He snatched the lantern from Mina’s hand and dragged her by the arm. She stumbled, barely keeping her footing as he hauled her down the tunnel toward their escape.
The image replayed relentlessly in her mind—the stake, the shock in Clarimonde’s eyes, her body crumpled in the shadows.
“Did you just—” Mina began.
“Yes,” he cut in, not slowing.
Nausea rose in her throat as she struggled to keep pace. Her thoughts turned to Sofia—to the way the Count had so casually ended her life before Mina’s eyes. She had known this man was dangerous, but now the fear returned in full force: the sickening realization that she might have fled one predator only to fall into the hands of another.
Light bloomed ahead, and an icy wind swept over her as they neared the mouth of the tunnel.
They emerged into a forest blanketed in white, snow still drifting down despite the thick layer already coating the ground. Mina wrenched her arm free at last.
“You killed her,” she said, tears burning behind her eyes.
The man looked down at her, brow furrowing. “We don’t have time for this.” He reached for her again, but she stepped back.
“Do you kill often?” she demanded, anger finally breaking through the shock. “Because you seem far too comfortable with what you’ve just done.”
He stared at her, disbelief flickering across his face. “Must we discuss this here, or can it wait until we are out of grave danger?”
“You’ve just driven a blade through that woman’s heart before me,” Mina said, her voice tight, “and you expect me to follow you into the woods?”
He sighed heavily. “She’s not dead, if that’s what you’re so upset about. She is merely . . . paused.” He glanced over his shoulder toward the forest. “I’ll explain when time allows. For the moment, we’re fleeing—an activity hardly suited to discourse.”
Mina blinked, weighing his words. Was it true? Or simply what he needed to say to keep her moving? Cold swept over her, raising gooseflesh along her arms. She hugged herself, wishing fiercely for her cloak.
The man turned and trudged through the snow. “You’re more than welcome to die of exposure,” he called back. “It seems a waste to me, but what do I know?”
She hesitated, glancing back toward the castle looming above. From this angle, she could see only its upper edges—the stone walls, the many dark windows peering down. She imagined someone watching even now, witnessing her escape, and nausea rose in her throat.
With a sigh, she followed him, ignoring the protest of her ankle as she went. They hadn’t been walking for long when she lost all feeling in her feet and began to stumble, slipping on ice beneath a layer of white powder. She grasped the branch of a nearby tree to steady herself, but before she could even look up to see where the stranger was, she was lifted through the air.
She yelped, embarrassment washing through her as she realized he was now carrying her through the snow. Another reminder of her weakness.
“I’m perfectly fine on my own,” she said. Her body trembled from the cold, betraying her instantly.
The man only grunted, his eyes fixed ahead as he navigated through the snowy trees.
She was tense at first, embarrassed by her need for such assistance. But then the cold became too much to bear, and she found herself slowly pressing into him, seeking his warmth.
Her teeth had begun to chatter when she noticed a stone structure up ahead, standing against the edge of the hillside.It rose only two stories high, the front half of its exterior destroyed, leaving only the skeletal remains of what must once have been a watchtower.
The stranger carried her toward the structure and up the worn stone steps. A distant part of her wondered what they were doing here—whether he planned to harm her—but fear did not come. Her body rattled too violently with cold.
Mercifully, the wind lessened within the broken walls of the building. On the floor, she saw a pack and a folded blanket of some sort. He set her down on the stone, the chill seeping into her bones and stirring memories of the dungeon. She wanted to stand, to remind herself that she was not chained to a wall, but she was too cold to do anything but shiver and stare as he began to unpack his things.
He draped the blanket over her shoulders. Next, he uncorked a flask and held it out to her.
“Drink,” he instructed.
