The girl gives a little nod but refuses to meet my eyes.
“You worked for my sister?” I rush toward her—a bee drawn to nectar—but when I’m still several lengths away, she drops the cot with a shriek and holds her arms above her head.
I freeze and raise my hands to show her I’m not a threat. “It’s okay—” I start to say, but she gives another shriveled cry and dodges past me. Swifter than a jackrabbit, she bolts into the bedchamber, and by the time I turn and follow, the door to the hallway hangs open, and her blanket is all that remains of her, strewn across the ground like a rumpled rug.
I pick it up, rubbing the worn fabric between my fingers. Why did the girl act as ifIwas the terrifying stranger hiding in the dark? And flinch as if she expected me to strike her? If I didn’t know better, I’d think she was scared of Rowenna—and me by extension—but my sister rarely yelled at the servants in Tashir and certainly never struck one. Obviously, she wasn’t pleased to go to Vanzador as Alaric’s captive bride, but she wouldn’t have taken out her anger and frustration on a maid—not even a Vanzadorian one. Perhaps the girl just assumed Ro would be as cruel as Soren and Alaric because that’s all she’s ever known. Or maybe she was part of the plot to kill Rowenna, and now she’s frightened that I’ve come for vengeance.
That would explain why Rowenna banished the girl to the balcony.She could sense her duplicity.
My gaze flits back to the toppled cot and the shadowed maid’s quarters beyond. The girl might not look dangerous, but appearances can be deceiving. She knows something. There’s a reason she’s so scared.
I retrieve a honeysuckle candle from the vanity and carefully approach the cupboard door. The space is even smaller than I realized—musty and cold, with a low ceiling and walls of dark-stained wood. It would probably feel suffocating to most, but the space wallops me with a heap of homesickness because it feels like Tashir. The peaceful, embracing dark of under the hill.
The serving girl doesn’t have much. There’s here’s a small trunk in the corner, a pillow that must have fallen from the cot, and several black uniform dresses scattered haphazardly across the floor. Nothing personal or sentimental. I raise the candle higher and move toward the walls, looking for pictures or trinkets. Anything that will give me information about this strange, suspicious girl.
Instead, I find carvings.
Crude, angry hash marks have been viciously cut into the boards, clearly counting something. Days? Or weeks? And around the hash marks, the same three words are scrawled over and over again:
BLOOD, FLESH, BONE.
BLOOD, FLESH, BONE.
Sometimes the letters are small and neat. Other times, they’re slashing and unwieldy, sideways and upside-down.
I back away with a terrified yelp and crash into the opposite wall. But that only makes me scream louder, because these boards are covered with the same haunting words. Along with a name, cut clear and deep into the wood.
Rowenna’s name.
The letters are jagged and uneven, as if carved in a hurry—or with extreme force.
I tell myself to breathe, but it feels like my head is trappedunderwater. Like I’m tumbling end over end down a flooded irrigation ditch. No matter how innocent and frightened the serving girl seemed, she clearly had a grudge against my sister. And she’s clearly not of a sound mind. I can’t have someone like that living in my rooms. Or roaming freely about the Fortress. Not if I want to survive long enough to avenge Rowenna.
I let out a garbled cry, wishing I could curl up in a ball and sleep for days. Pretend this is a bad dream, and when I wake up, Ro will be alive, and we’ll be back in Tashir. But I couldn’t have imagined this terrible, eerie room, not even in my worst nightmares. And sitting here, in the chamber Ro occupied when she died, is more likely to result inmymurder than answers. So despite the terror taking root in my chest and the humiliating prospect of admitting I need Alaric’s help afteronenight, I clench my fists and march into the hall.
“Take me to Prince Alaric’s rooms,” I order the guards I expect to find outside my chamber. But only silence echoes back. The hall is empty and eerily quiet in either direction. No guards. Not a single servant.
Where is everyone? The hillock palace is always teeming like a beehive, especially near the royal residences. The wrongness of it all makes me stumble over my feet.
“Hello?” I call out again.
Rowenna’s voice is the only one that answers:Who needs guards on top of a mountain no enemy can reach?
Tingling with unease, I hurry around the corner and knock on the first door I come to. It also happens to be the only door I come to.
“Alaric?”
No answer.
I pound harder. “I demand an audience!” I yell, refusing to utter the wordhelp. “I found disturbing carvings in my chambermaid’s room. Threatening things about blood, flesh, and bone, along with my sister’s name.”
It isn’t until the words are out that I realizehecould be responsible. He could have carved the threats himself. Or ordered my maid to do it. It could be a ploy to keep me fumbling and reeling. To bring me running for help.
“Was it you?” I slam my fist against the wood with all my strength. “Is this your idea of awelcoming gift?”
At last, I hear movement—the shuffle of feet and a sharp intake of breath—but it comes from behind me, not within Alaric’s chamber.
I’m not alone in this hall.
