I miss the River Thine, the pink of Clara’s smile, the honey brown of Liza’s eyes. And I roll over onto my back, whispering a silent prayer that they boarded the coach to Lysdin. Escaped. Together and in love.
Love is a funny word. One I don’t quite understand. It is what I thought I felt for Ransom, but that was something else. An insatiable hunger that dwelled somewhere too deep in my bones. It hurt to pull it out. And then there’s Bram—
Before I can finish my thought, I slam against something cold. The air is forced from my lungs, and my throat goes raw from coughing. I blink. The darkness swirls, and from somewhere in the blackness comes rustling.
“Bram?”
“Adelaide?”
I could almost cry from the sound of his voice. On the other side of me, Rascal whimpers.
“You came.”
Bram groans. “Of course we did. You think we’d just abandon you that easily?” His boots scuff the ground. “Shit, I can’t see anything. Where are you?”
I reach out my hand, blink again. The shadows begin to move and weaken. There is bleary light coming from somewhere. It is not natural, but the white glow of candles. I stretch my hand farther, and it brushes against something soft.
“Is that you?” I ask.
“That’s not my hand, if that’s what you’re asking.”
I go red, thankful for the shadows, and rip my hand away. Bram chuckles and slips his hand into mine.
“Here, let me pull you up. I think whatever is below is solid.”
The light grows stronger. Bram moves beside me. Rascal too. I reach down and pet the velvet of his nose. Then the shadows part.
We are surrounded by black stone walls. Above me is nothing but shadow, the ceiling so far overhead it is nearly invisible. I blink, unable to tell if my eyes are truly open for a moment, and focus on the light. Three candlesticks stuck into an iron candelabra.
The scene is eerily familiar. I grip Bram’s hand tighter. The smell of dark and damp things ekes out from between the stones, and for half a moment, I wonder if I am back at Blackbourne Castle. Therealone.
Though here, standing amongst all the rotting bones of the rowan wood, it does not seem much different. Rascal whines. I should be afraid, and yet, somehow none of this frightens me. Instead, I drop Bram’s hand and move toward the light.
“Adelaide, where are you going?” His footfalls chase after me.
“There should be a door here, somewhere.”
“How do you know that?”
I stop, turn around, and watch the shadows dance on his face. “Have you ever stood in the great hall of Blackbourne Castle?”
He shakes his head.
“Trust me, there should be a door.”
The light grows dim while I move around the room, hands groping idly in the darkness. I have half a mind to give up, when my fingers brush against something rough and dry.
“It’s here, Bram.”
He comes up behind me, his breath on my neck. I search for a knob, a handle, anything to throw it open. But as soon as my hand presses against the surface, it gives way.
The door swings open, welcoming in so much light I blink in near blindness. Noise greets my ears, the chatter of voices, the slice of knives in wet meat. The smells too: cooking grease, wine, and…bitterbloom. I reach for Bram’s hand. Feel him shudder behind me.
My eyes adjust. I lean against the doorframe, lungs suddenly weak in my chest. Ahead of us sits a great table. There are a handful of people, seated, forks half raised to mouths, lips slack and sloughing. These I do not recognize. Have no wish to know.
I tear my gaze away from them and up, up, up, toward the other end of the table.
For the first time since we entered this unholy place, my heart rebels. A sparrow caught in a cage. I gasp for breath, squeezing Bram’s hand with all the strength I can muster.
