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ierce, taking it upon themselves to eradicate threats from both inside the kingdom and out. In fact, there are stories that suggest they wanted to unify the country by eliminating the infighting within the two royal lines.”
Thomas and I glanced at each other. My senses perked up at this revelation. It was precisely what I had worried about. I raised my hand.
“Oh! Yes, Miss Wadsworth? What do you have to add to this discussion? I cannot tell you how pleased I am by everyone’s interest in today’s lesson. Much more lively than our lesson on strigoi.”
“When you say ‘royal family,’ in this instance you’re referring to the House of Basarab, correct? Not the current royal family of the court?”
“Another fine detail. The current royal family—the Hohenzollern-Sigmaringen dynasty—is not related to the House of Basarab in any way. For our purposes, when I say ‘royal family,’ I’m discussing the lineage of Vlad Dracula and his ancestors. I enjoy keeping our lessons focused on legends surrounding our illustrious castle’s medieval history. We mostly deal with the Draculesti line. Vlad Dracula’s descendants last ruled in the 1600s. People have been led to believe his direct descendants are all gone.” His focus slid in Thomas’s direction. “There are still those in Romania who recall the truth, however.”
“Is the Order functioning today?” Cian asked, leaning forward on his elbows. “Are there new members?”
“There—” Radu paused mid-answer and scratched his head. “Not for quite some time. I believe they died out around the same time the Basarab family lost their seat as prince. Though there is one family who claims to hail from that line—they are actually boyars here today. Now, now. Before we get too far ahead of ourselves, I do have some old poems that show the craft and cunning of the Order. Arsenic wasn’t the only trick they used in disposing of their enemies.”
He passed two pieces of parchment to each of us. Scribbled on them were poems in Romanian, which he promptly translated into English.
“Oh! I just love this one. I recall the first time my parents had introduced me… bother all that. Ahem.
LORDS WEEP, LADIES CRY. DOWN THE ROAD, SAY GOOD-BYE.
LAND SHIFTS AND CAVES DWELL. DEEP IN EARTH, WARM AS HELL.
WATER SEEPS COLD, DEEP, AND FAST. WITHIN ITS WALLS YOU WILL NOT LAST.
Blood frosted inside my veins. The words weren’t exactly the same, but they were strikingly similar to the chanting I’d heard snippets of outside my chambers. Thomas narrowed his eyes, ever in tune with my shifting emotions, and leaned back in his seat.
“Pardon, Professor,” he said. “What is the title of this poem?”
Radu blinked several times, bushy brows raising with the movement. “We will get to that in a moment, Mr. Cresswell. This is copied from a most special and sacred text, known as ‘Poems of Death.’ Poezii Despre Moarte. The original text has gone missing. Very strange and unfortunate indeed.”
I felt Thomas’s attention on me, but I didn’t dare meet his gaze. We were in possession of the very book Danesti had been searching for. How the missing woman from the village had had it in her custody was yet another mystery to add to our ever-growing list.
The Bianchi brothers scratched notes into their journals. This lesson apparently had just become more intriguing to them with the mention of death. I could hardly contain my own excitement. Radu’s incessant rambling might be worthwhile after all.
“And this text was sacred to the Order?” I asked.
“Yes. Its contents were used by the Order of the Dragon as a sort of… well… it was used to rid the castle of perceived enemies during medieval times. Is it something you recall, Mr. Cresswell? As one of the remaining—and almost secret, I believe—members of that household, your family would have known more about this text, I imagine. Your education must have been exceptional.”
It was subtle, but I did not miss the slight flicker of tightness in Thomas’s spine. Our classmates shifted uncomfortably in their seats, the revelation unnerving even to those who studied the deceased. No wonder Thomas wasn’t keen on sharing his ancestry. Hiding his ties to Vlad Dracula spared him from unwarranted scorn.
Radu apparently had done some research on Thomas’s matriarchal lineage. How intriguing. My body thrummed with alert. Radu was much less clueless than he appeared.
Thomas lifted a shoulder, taking on the air of someone who couldn’t care less about the topic of conversation or the tension now tugging at the room. He transformed himself into an emotionless automaton, putting on an armor against judgment. Nicolae glared at his sheet of parchment, not deigning to look at his many-times-removed cousin. I imagined that he’d known who Thomas was and hadn’t shared it with anyone.
“Can’t say the poem sounds the least bit familiar,” Thomas said. “Or particularly interesting. Though I do believe if used on one’s enemies, it might very well kill them over time. One more line from that book and I might collapse from boredom myself.”
“No, no, no. That would be most unfortunate! Moldoveanu wouldn’t be pleased if I caused the death of his students.” Radu clapped a hand over his mouth, eyes protruding. “Poorly timed use of words, though. After poor Wilhelm, Anastasia, and now Mariana.”
“Who is Mariana?” Thomas asked.
“The maid who was discovered the other morning,” Radu said.
He sealed his lips together, watching the Bianchi twins squirm in their seats. I’d forgotten that our classmates had discovered her body. Studying death and coming across corpses outside the laboratory weren’t the same, and the latter was hard to simply get past. I knew all too well the lingering effects of such a discovery.
“Perhaps that’s enough for today’s lesson.”
I scanned the second page of poetry, sucking in a breath sharp enough to pierce. I needed a few more answers before class ended. “Professor, the poem you read is called ‘XI.’ None of the poems appear to have titles other than Roman numerals. Why is that?”
Radu glanced from the page to the class, chewing his lip. After a moment, he shoved his spectacles up his nose. “From what I’ve gathered, the Order used this as a code. Legend has it they marked secret passages beneath this very castle. Behind doors marked with a certain numeral there would be… well—there’d be all manner of unpleasant devices or traps by which their foes would perish.”
