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Her sister scoffed, looking at her as if she’d gone mad.
And maybe I have. She recalled that night—how she’d screamed until her throat seemed to rip itself open, how she cried until her eyes were raw wounds.
She’d thought she’d lost her sanity then.
It had come back to her, though, like the senses do when waking from a horrific dream.
“Why are you here? You’ve put yourself in grave danger,” she finally asked, her voice a tentative whisper that filled the crypt.
“I was quite safe. I had a wheelhouse and was well protected… I knew I could find you as no one else would—and I thought I could get you away safely, secretly—but maybe I was wrong to come here.” She shrugged her pretty shoulders. “And I suppose I wanted to see home again.”
“I’m not a captive. But I’m glad you’re here. So very glad. It was right of you to come.” She wrapped her arms around her and pulled her into a hug. “I’ve missed you more than I can say, Isadora. God, I’m so happy you’re home with me.”
The sound of screaming men echoed beyond the crypt. She watched her sister shudder.
“You really trust this man? After everything that’s happened? After everything he’s done?”
“After everything that’s happened,” she confirmed, “and after everything he’s done. I trust this man. I love him.” She stepped closer to her sister and grasped her hand with raw desperation. “You think I’m mad, I know. But it’s the world that was mad… and our father. I just didn’t see it before. You came this far for me. Now I need your help.”
* * *
Edrick pulled off his armor inside the refuge of the crypt. It was dark, near pitch black, except for the flaming torch he’d brought with him.
The battle raged above him, echoing the bailey and courtyard like a roaring beast. He heard the metallic clash of steel against steel, the screams of dying men, the tune of war drums, and the hiss of arrows slicing through the night. The walls would likely hold, even against the battering ram… and that was fine. It’d be a distraction. The true key to Rowan Dietrich lay within the walls of the castle.
He tore off his tunic and jerkin and replaced them with the dingy, mismatched armor he’d removed from a dead man. Whoever owned it sewed the Black Wolf sigil crookedly on the left breast. He took a moment to count the slanted, frayed stitches. It’d been sewn on in a hurry, he knew. Good. That meant the attack had come as a surprise to Rowan’s men.
Well, the surprises were only starting.
Edrick donned a rusted helm, then fetched his torch from the ground. He scaled the wall for that secret passageway…
Indeed. The veritable treasure lay within the castle, and the governess had been the key. Foolish old hag. She’d told him everything.
He laughed aloud, and the hollow sound echoed through the crypt like a ghost mocking him from its grave.
She better not have been lying. I’ll raise her from the dead and kill her all over again.
He ventured on, his mind scraping for the last words that prune-faced governess had given him.
It would be at least a mile into the earth and covered by a broken statue. The torchlight glittered off the dusty, stone faces of kings past. Did Rowan think he’d immortalize himself down here? Nay, he’d never coveted a crown. He’d wanted vengeance.
But what had he taken?
As Edrick made his way through the dim corridors, he felt a sense of dread creep up. The stone statues of the dead kings loomed over him, their cold stone eyes following his every move. They stood like silent sentinels, guarding the secrets of the castle and the ghosts that haunted it.
You don’t belong here, they sneered. You are not welcome to our secrets or in our home.
The statues radiated ominous energy as if warning him to turn back. A shiver raced down his spine as he met the cold, unfeeling eyes of King Bartholomew. Was his corpse fished from the Rockbluff River and buried there? Or had he returned to Norland’s soil?
Go away, the dead king whispered. You are trespassing on something sacred.
“Shut up, old man.”
Grunting, he moved a heavy statue out of the way. He threw it onto the ground, watching as the stone shattered into trivial pieces.
See how easily kings fall? He thought of Rowan. How he’d ignored his counsel at almost every turn. How he’d refuse to bend, no matter the consequences.
See what happens to those who don’t bend? They break into a thousand pieces.
