Page 9

The idea becomes even more appealing once I maneuver him through the front doors and remember how many stairs are still ahead of me.

The entrance hall gives way to the main staircase. That leads to another, then another. Every level leaves me more irritated by the inconvenience of the entire situation.

By the time we reach the tower corridor, my patience is gone.

The heavy iron key scrapes against the lock before the mechanism gives way. The door swings open.

Stone walls.

Iron bars.

A row of empty cells disappearing into the darkness.

Perfect.

I drag him inside and release him. His body drops heavily onto the narrow cot inside the nearest cell. One arm hangs over the side while his head turns toward the wall. The metal door slams shut behind him. The sound echoes through the tower before fading into silence.

I lock it, brush my hands together, and leave.

By the time I return to the balcony, the wind has shifted. A warmer breeze moves through the mountains from the south. The last light of the afternoon catches the treetops below.

Soleil is curled into a ball beside the fireplace, completely unconcerned by the fact that I’ve brought another human being into the castle.

I lean against the stone railing and look out across the mountains.

The village remains exactly where it belongs.

Far away.

With any luck, he’ll die during the night, and life inside these walls will return to normal by tomorrow.

4

Boone

The sound drags me out of a dead sleep so suddenly that I can’t place it.

Hooves.

Then the familiar whinny of a horse.

The uneven rattle of wooden wheels shifting over thawing ground.

I lie still under the blankets, listening as the sound comes again. My heart climbs into my throat. The cottage is dark and bitterly cold around me. Spring might have come, but it left its warmth behind. Sometime during the night, the fire died completely, leaving nothing but a thin layer of ash and a few dull orange embers struggling under a blanket of gray.

I’d decided before going to bed not to add more wood. My father would be returning soon. After the winter we’d survived, I wasn’t willing to waste a single log unnecessarily. The cold doesn’t bother me nearly as much as the feeling that something isn’t right.

I throw back the blankets and regret it. The air is cold enough to sting my skin through my clothes. I wrap my arms around myself as I cross the room toward the window. The wooden floor creaks under my feet. Frost decorating the corners of the glass blurs the world outside until I brush the curtain aside.

My breath catches.

Bramble is standing outside.

The carriage is there.

My father isn’t.

For several seconds, I stare.