Will.
Her breathing turned shallow. Will had promised that he would meet her at the brook no matter what he decided, and she knew he was good on his word. The sincerity in his eyes had told her that nothing could have kept him from coming, but he hadn’t shown. What if he hadn’t been able to?
Sarah closed her eyes and leaned the back of her head against the cold stone. Her knees threatened to give. Had he been with Jade? What had happened that led to both of them going over? Her mind raced so fast it began to ache, and she pinched the bridge of her nose, telling herself it was just conjecture—Will was not dead. He couldn’t be.
“I want you to take me to them.” Damien’s voice startled her, and from the sound of it, they were headed her way.
“Yes, my lord.” Timmons’ boots scuffled across the floor as they hurried down the corridor.
Picking up her skirt, Sarah dashed down the hall with light feet and dove into a deep alcove she nearly missed in her haste. Holding her breath, she watched as they walked quickly past her and down the corridor opposite. Their frames flickered in and out as they moved from torchlight to shadows, growing smaller the farther they went. Sarah told herself to breathe evenly and stay put, though she was itching to make a break for the stairs. A faint clanking sound echoed down her way, and she knew one of them was searching for a key. After a moment, the door opened, revealing muted light from within, and both men slipped inside, quietly closing the door behind them.
Sarah counted to ten and then bolted up the stairs. A few servants were milling about on the landing, and she quickly slowed her steps, ducking her head as she forced her quivering legs to take the stairs two at a time. She hurried down the hall and then up the next flight, breaking into a run when she spotted her room. Throwing the door open, she dove inside, sliding down the door when her legs could no longer support her.
Breathing heavily, she closed her eyes and splayed her legs out. She was jumping to conclusions. There was no reason for the band that tightened around her chest, making it difficult to breathe. Will was still alive. Edith had just died, and there was no chance that he would suffer the same fate within twenty-four hours. It just wasn’t possible.
But she couldn’t ignore the aching suspicion in her gut. And what was Damien mixed up in? Receiving information like that could be innocent enough, but instinct told her that he knew more than she had heard. Why would he need to identify the victims?
Her eyes snapped open in decision. She had to see those bodies. Not tonight, because Damien and the patrol would be there with the fresh corpses and there was no reason for her to be caught snooping around. But tomorrow she would try to find out where they had stashed the bodies, and until that time, she would choose to believe that Will was still alive.
It isn’t him, she told herself, her body shaking uncontrollably. But she had to know, and the only way to do so was to find those bodies.
~Chapter 32~
After a fitful night, Sarah started awake to find three servant girls rifling through her wardrobe and throwing open the shuttered windows to let in the late morning light. She recognized two of the girls and knew they held low opinions of her, one of which had served her supper the previous evening. What were they doing in her room without her permission?
Clutching the blankets to her chest, Sarah sat up quickly, shrinking back from the sudden light. “What are you doing?” she asked, disoriented and alarmed.
The youngest by the window, who appeared no older than her sister Lilly, shot a shy glance in her direction before ducking her head submissively. She shuffled quietly past the others and went to the desk, carefully lifting the lid of the small jewelry chest and staring at the contents with rapt attention.
The girl who had served in the dining hall last night stopped with her hands on a gown, glancing over at Sarah. Her expression was mostly devoid of emotion, but her lips were pinched in a tell-tell way. “We were ordered to prepare you for the masquerade ball this evening, miss.” Sarah could tell that the formality cost her.
Scratching the base of her scull in confusion, she asked, “At this hour? The ball isn’t until tonight.” She and Edith had discussed preparations, but Sarah had barely given a thought to attending the affair.
The other servant girl lifted the breakfast tray from the floor and placed it on the bedside table. She shot Sarah a look that was laced with barely masked resentment. “Beatrice and I decided that it will take all day to prepare you.” The statement was presented as though all the women would be receiving the same full-time assistance, but Sarah sensed the underlying hint that she would need extra help.
Blowing a calming breath out through her nose, Sarah said, “Can we do this later? I have things I want to do this morning.”
Both servants frowned, but it was Beatrice who gave a tight nod and motioned for the others to follow her. She noticed the small blond reaching into the chest and barked, “Sevrine! We’re leaving.”
The girl started and ripped her hand from the box. Her gaze darted nervously to Sarah and then back to the eldest of the group. She said something in a small voice that Sarah recognized as French, though she had no idea what she was saying. Beatrice leaned over and harshly whispered a reprimand as she pulled her from the room.
Flopping onto her back, Sarah threw her arms over her eyes to block out the light, trying to savor a few more minutes of sleep before preparations for the masque began. She wondered what tonight would have in store for her, since her first ball at the castle had been both romantic and tragic.
Her eyes snapped open when she remembered why her night had been so rough. Throwing the covers aside, she quickly ate a few bites of the bread, eggs, and sausage on the tray and dressed hastily in a green ensemble, her anxious stomach complaining over her meager breakfast. Clumsy fingers fumbled to cinch the bodice ties, and she only had the patience for a quick tug at the end. Slipping on a pair of flats, she skipped out into the chaos of the hall.
It was a bustle of activity, with the majority of the staff working on the finishing touches for the ball. Sarah tried her best to stay out of the way as she hurried down the hall past servants hanging decorations, filling vases with colorful perennials and foliage, and draping the stone banister with gold fabrics and woven strands of juniper branches.
Sarah jumped onto the staircase to get out of the path of two young boys who were quickly rolling up the rugs to be replaced with more festive red and gold carpets. An older man reprimanded them for nearly plowing her over, but they had already run off on their next errand.
As she made her way cautiously down the stairs, Sarah realized that she hadn’t seen any of the guests in the sea of people she’d just come through, nor were there any found below in the foyer—only the male servants were working in this area, hanging lanterns and mounting extra torches for the night. The female staff must have been assisting the ladies at the castle as they readied for the ball. Sarah reminded herself that she shouldn’t feel too insulted that the girls had thought she needed all day.
She pretended to admire the decorations, casting her gaze over the room and the men working there. One of the lanterns they were attempting to mount refused to stay in place and kept falling off the wall, nearly knocking one of the workers on the head. It seemed to be creating enough of a distraction that she felt safe to slip quietly down the corridor unnoticed. Damien and Timmons had come down this way just after the man mentioned the bodies, so they must be down this way. She prayed they hadn’t buried the bodies already, and she really hoped she could figure out which room it had been.
Sarah shivered when she realized that she was racing to uncover corpses.
It took her eyes a moment to adjust as she snuck down the dark, unlit corridor. She walked back and forth across the hall, quietly testing each door to see if any had been left open or had a weak spot. Seven doors and two splinters later, no such luck.
She ignored a few more doors that were chained—no way she was getting past that defense—and then froze at the sound of
shuffling boots. She shot a worried look over her shoulder, but there was no one in the hall with her. Turning her gaze forward, she saw that a little bit down the hall a door on her right was cracked open, spilling a thin line of cool, muted light onto the stone floor.
Sarah slid her hand along the ice-cold wall and tiptoed along silently. As she edged closer, she noticed a faint mist seeping through the crack in the door, creeping out into the hall only to vanish in the dark patches. She heard the sound of shuffling feet again and was close enough to tell that they were coming from within the room.
Hesitating just outside the door, she mustered up her courage and moved closer, upsetting the fine mist and sending it scattering in all directions. She couldn’t see anyone through the crack, so she slowly edged the door open an inch, listening. There was a faint scratching sound, like that of a quill being dragged across parchment, but nothing else. Then she pushed the door in another fraction, tilting her head to get a better look at the room. Her blood froze in her veins.
Two forms lay on the floor, each covered in a white sheet that clung to their wet frames like a second skin. Steam rolled off their cold bodies in waves, hovering over the floor in a thin fog. The room was warm but filled with a cold, hazy light that the flaming torches couldn’t seem to banish.
Sarah shivered as the mist wrapped around her ankles, trying to escape past her as she stared, transfixed on the two lifeless forms. Though their faces were covered, the height and build of both were clearly discernible beneath the clinging sheets: one a delicately built woman, and the other a tall man.
She clapped a hand over her mouth, vaguely aware that all sounds coming from inside had stopped. Her wide eyes stared, unblinking, at the man’s form. She searched his covered body for some sign that it wasn’t Will; a mangled hand, fewer inches on his height, even an extra toe discernible through the fabric—anything to prove that he was still alive and wasn’t lying there in that room. But it was too hard to tell with her vision blurring and her stomach sinking. Shouldn’t she have felt something, though, if he had been killed? But maybe that was the dread she now felt catching up with her.
A shadow jerked to a sudden stop in her line of vision, and she blinked in surprise. Damien looked just as shocked to see her, but he quickly placed a finger to his lips with the hand holding a sealed letter. He walked out of sight. “Take care of this as soon as possible,” she heard him say lowly to whoever was inside the room. Then he was back with empty hands, closing the door and locking it securely.
Sarah retreated until her back hit the wall, eyes fixed on the door. She felt hands on her shoulders and turned her wide gaze on Damien. “Who were those people?” Her voice wavered.
He moved her away from the room and into a dimly lit alcove. It was a tight fit, but right now Sarah was grateful for the isolated space in case she had another meltdown.
“You should not have seen that so soon after your friend.” He sounded frustrated with himself.
“Who are they?” she whispered hoarsely, body starting to shake with the panic coursing through her veins and the cold stone pressing against her back. She needed him to say it, to deny what she feared to be true.
Damien searched her face worriedly, then blew out a capitulating breath. “It came to my attention last night that two people had gone over Glenborough Falls. It appears they died from the tumble or froze to death in the river, though we can’t be certain at this point.”
Sarah’s throat worked as she tried to choke back a lump of dread. “They were found near Glendale Forest?”
Looking confused, he answered, “Yes, they border one another. Why?”
“Why did they come to you?” she asked instead of answering him, her voice hollow and foreign to her own ears.
“Unfortunately, I’m a magistrate of sorts and have the privilege of sorting this mess out.” He scrubbed an agitated hand over his jaw and the line of scruff, which had lost its perfectly manicured edge and was outlined by the shadows creeping over his cheeks. “I appreciate being appraised of the goings on, but there are some things of which a man wishes to be ignorant. Part of my duty is to alert the victims’ families, as well, which is why I cannot reveal their identities before I speak with them.”
That could take days! Sarah racked her brain for a way to convince him to tell her, but was the finality of knowing any better? According to Damien, knowledge had its price. But not knowing was making her sick, and it wouldn’t bring Will back either way.
She managed to force her constricted vocal chords to form the words, “Did you recognize them?”
Damien frowned, his mouth tipping in a tight, grim line. “Yes, but that is all I can say.” He closed his eyes when he noticed her shaking. “Oh, Sarah,” he murmured, wavering only a brief instant before pulling her into his arms.
Mechanically, she reached around him, clenching a handful of his shirt and trying to breathe normally. She had let Edith down, and she refused to believe that there wasn’t something she could have done to save her.
Then the voice of self-blame reminded her that she hadn’t been there for Will, either, and whispered things that conjured up images of him lying broken on the rocks, calling out for help, for her, until his body stilled. The people she knew and cared for here were all dying, and she was powerless to do anything.
She pressed her palm flat against Damien’s back, unconsciously assuring herself that he was still there and that she hadn’t lost him yet.
“You’re all right.” The sound of his low voice brought her back to the present, and she realized that she was shaking again. She bit her lip, feeling ridiculous but too emotionally shaken to stop.
Damien sighed and pressed the side of his jaw to her temple, his hold tightening around her as he began rocking her gently. “Calm yourself,” he murmured, the corner of his mouth barely fluttering against her skin. She didn’t know what to make of the strange tangle of emotions coursing through her. She tried to relax, focusing on the soothing sound of his voice and his words and felt some of the tension leave her shoulders.
“I know how awful it is—to see someone you care for lose their life in that way. It brands you and makes you fear the shadows.” Sarah stilled, knowing he was referring to his mother’s death.
Sensing he had her attention, he pulled back just enough to see her eyes, the stubble along his jaw lightly brushing her cheek when he shifted. She watched him intently, doubtful but hoping that his words would somehow make it hurt less.
His hands slid down to her waist. “But know that you are safe with me. I won’t let anyone touch you.” The sparse lighting in their little nook cast his deep-set eyes in shadows. But the shattered bits of light that did manage to touch his face caught the flecks of gold, making them shine in the darkness. She could see the sincerity there and knew that he was making a promise to protect her.
But who had been there for Will? People were sticking up for her, protecting her left and right, and she couldn’t return the favor.
“Your arm,” she said, realizing that she was clutching his injured bicep.
“It isn’t bothering me just now.” He said it like it wouldn’t matter even if it were.
She removed her hands from his arms just the same, feeling embarrassed for clinging to him like that. “Should we change your bandages?” she asked, a little desperately. She needed to do something to get her mind off things—the memory of Edith and the constant questioning of whether or not Will was gone. It was only driving her mad to stand here with nothing to do but listen to her conflicting thoughts.
Damien sighed and released her waist, sensing her agitation. “This unfortunate business will take several hours more, I’m afraid. I don’t think there will be enough time before the party, as much as I was looking forward to your ‘gentle’ treatments today.” He tried to take on a teasing tone, but it fell flat.
“Are you sure you’ll be okay until tomorrow?” she asked, her hands flexing anxiously at her side. “It could get infected.”
“It will be just fine,” he said in a low, reassuring voice. “But I have to finish this first.”
Sarah nodded. “Okay. Then I should get some more salve for tomorrow.” She knew the leather medicine sack Charles had given her was somewhere in her room, still half full. But she needed to immerse herself in distraction to take her mind off of the waiting and wondering. She hoped focusing on a task would abate the sickening knot in her stomach, and she couldn’t think clearly right now with Damien standing so close.
She could tell that he sensed the lie in her words, but he also seemed to be aware of her need to keep busy. He offered a half-smile, the corners of his eyes tinged with sadness and deep empathy. “Why don’t you do that?”
They shuffled out of their hideaway. “Until tonight, then.” He shot her a promising smile as he unlocked the door, and Sarah quickly turned away before she again saw the contents of the room.
She wandered the castle, trying to recall the directions she had been given days ago to find the professor’s lab. She kept her head down and made several wrong turns as she wandered aimlessly. Numbness crept over her mind, which was a relief, in part, though it made her thoughts feel muddled as she meandered through the maze of doorways and corridors. She couldn’t get a clear grasp on anything and had to consciously focus her thoughts on just making it to her destination, which was made even more difficult by the fact that she hadn’t thought to bring a candle with her.
The staircase she was descending ended abruptly. She glanced down each of the halls and tried to recall which direction she was supposed to go. Straight ahead, right? she asked herself, hoping it might trigger a memory.
The sound of someone’s muffled cough echoed down the corridor to her right, and she knew the dungeons were down that way, reminding her that Charles was in the passageway directly in front. She took a few steps that way and jerked to a halt, staring into the darkness that she knew led to the cells.
The physician was in there. How many opportunities would she have to talk to the man who had treated the king during his illness? Out of everyone, he had to know something or have been a part of the plot itself.
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