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She stepped back, but did not run. Her arms trembled under the candelabra’s weight. “Who are you? What’s in that room? If I could only see—”
The door dividing her from the tapestry slammed shut.
GET!
In unison, the rest of the doors along the hallway started to open, then slam, then open—BANG-BANG-BANG—one after another. An angry chorus, a thundering melody.
OUT!
“No!” she yelled back. “I need to see what’s in there!”
A screech drew her eyes toward the rafters. A drude was dangling from a chandelier, its talons clacking together, teeth bared as it prepared to lunge for her.
She froze. “All right,” she breathed. “You win. I’ll leave.”
It hissed.
Serilda backed out of the hallway, clutching her makeshift weapon. As soon as she reached the windows, she dropped the candelabra and ran.
Her path was surer this time. She didn’t stop at the throne room, didn’t stop for anything. She ignored the cacophony of screams and crashes and the permeating smell of blood. The occasional movement in the corner of her eye. A shadow figure reaching for her. Fingers grasping. The noise of footsteps racing in every direction.
Until the entry hall, with the massive carved doors shut tight against the drumming rainstorm. Her escape.
But she wasn’t alone.
She drew up short, shaking her head, pleading with this castle to leave her be, to let her go.
A woman was standing just inside the doors. Unlike the kobold and the man on the castle wall, this womanlookedlike a phantom, like a ghost in a fairy tale. She was not old, exactly. About the age of Serilda’s father, she guessed. But she had the sorrowful air of someone who had seen too much hardship in her years.
Serilda glanced around, searching for another exit. Surely there were other doors that led in and out of the keep.
She would have to find them.
But before she could back around the nearest corner, the woman turned her head. Her gaze fell on Serilda. Her cheeks were stained with tears.
And … Serilda recognized her. Hair tightly braided and a scabbard at her hip. Only, the last time she’d seen the woman, she had been riding atop a powerful steed. A scarf tied around her throat. She had smiled at Serilda.
I believe she speaks true.
Serilda blinked, startled. For a moment, the woman seemed to recognize her, too.
But then pain clouded the phantom’s expression. “I taught him as well as I could, but he wasn’t ready,” she said, her voice thick with unshed tears. “I failed him.”
Serilda pressed a hand to her chest. The suffering in the woman’s voice was tangible.
Slumping forward, the woman placed one palm on the massive door and let out a sob. “I failed them all. I deserve this.”
Serilda started to move closer, wishing she could do something, anything to ease her torment.
But before she could reach her, a thin red line appeared around the woman’s neck. Her sobs abruptly silenced.
Serilda cried out, leaping backward as the woman collapsed, her body sprawling across the entryway floor.
Her head rolled a few more feet, landing mere steps away from Serilda.
The woman’s eyes were open wide. Her mouth twitched, forming silent words.
Help us.
