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I was emotionally stronger now. Capable of so much more than I’d ever known. This strike would not force me into compliance; it would propel me into an offensive position. I was no longer prey, but the hunter. I pushed myself up and grabbed the note. I did a quick check of the hidden door located in the cabinet and found it was still locked from the outside. Either the person who delivered this note had the key or was unaware of the secret staircase.
A plan of action was already forming as I entered my sleeping chamber and undressed. Whoever had sent the message thought or hoped I’d come after them. I wouldn’t disappoint. I’d overcome death, and destruction, and heartache, and would not let any of those dark times define me. I was the rose with thorns my mother knew me to be.
My breeches were still drying from our adventure last night, so a simple skirt was the next best thing. I stepped into it, grateful to be rid of my bustle and corset, and buttoned up my bodice. It felt magnificent to move about with ease. I wanted no hindrances while I stole about the castle tonight.
I was going to hunt down the Order and whoever was pretending that Dracula lived.
I strode over to my looking glass and pinned my hair up, taking pains to secure it tightly to my head. A headache teased my temples, but I fought it away with sheer will. Once I’d taken care of my outfit, I wrote a note to Thomas.
Cresswell,
I have an urgent request. I need to see the Poezii Despre Moarte. Bring it to my chambers after supper. I have a bit of an adventurous evening planned for us.
Yours,
AR
P.S. Please do not clamber about the castle walls this time. I’m sure you will think of some creative way to sneak about without ending up in the dungeon again, or splattered on the academy’s lawn.
“Will you take this to Mr. Cresswell for me?” I asked the maid when she’d come to deliver my luncheon. She gulped and glanced at the letter as if it had teeth ready to bite her. “Este urgent.”
“Foarte bine, domnisoara.” She reluctantly placed it on her tray. “Is there anything else you need?”
I shook my head, feeling terrible about involving her in my scheme but seeing no other way to pass the message along.
I paced and planned the remainder of daylight away, which was an enormous test of will. Afternoon certainly took its time slipping into its evening attire, but once it pulled its cloak of night on, I’d never been more pleased to see the inky black sky. As I marched around the sitting room, I became fearful that Thomas might not come after all. Perhaps the maid hadn’t delivered my letter. Or maybe he had been caught by a guard and was once again in the dungeon.
Of all the scenarios I’d envisioned, I hadn’t thought of carrying out my plan alone. When I’d convinced myself he wasn’t coming and it was time to move on to the next course of action, a soft knock came at my door. Thomas slipped inside before I had moved two paces, his gaze alight with interest.
“I have a feeling you haven’t invited me here for kissing. Though it never hurts to ask.” He grinned at my ensemble and rubbed his hands together, mischief sparking like fireworks around him. “You’re dressed for sneaking about Dracula’s castle. Be still my thawing, dark heart. You certainly know how to make a young man feel alive, Wadsworth.”
TOWER CHAMBERS
CAMERE DIN TURN
BRAN CASTLE
22 DECEMBER 1888
“Did you bring it?” I asked, ready to search Thomas’s pockets myself if he didn’t move faster.
“Hello, nice to see you as well, Wadsworth.” He stepped away from the door, stopping within reach as he brandished the Poezii Despre Moarte. Without preamble, I snatched it from him, flipping to the poem “XI” as I informed him about the note I’d found on my bathing chamber door.
XI
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 SHE WILL NOT LAST.
“Look at this,” I said. Someone had taken a quill and struck the you out, replacing it with she. I swallowed down the anxiety swirling in my system. “Do you believe this is in reference to your sister?”
Thomas read the poem again. I watched the transformation as his warmth and flirtatiousness were replaced by the clinical expression he wore for most everyone else. Tension was still present in his shoulders, though, the only sign that he was ill at ease.
“I believe it’s referring either to her or possibly Ileana. Maybe even Anastasia.” Thomas continued staring at the poem. “It’s extraordinary, really. Whoever plotted this out…” He squared his shoulders. “This has all been a morbid game and we’re just now realizing that we’re players.”
I shuddered. Anastasia had once mentioned that Moldoveanu enjoyed adding gamelike elements to the assessment courses. Though I didn’t believe that included murdering hopeful students or his beloved ward. No matter if castle gossip led one to believe he was out for blood during this trial. I’d seen Moldoveanu’s expression of true devastation after Anastasia’s body had been recovered.
