Chapter 37
The hallway spun. I clutched the doorframe to anchor myself, but it did nothing against the tidal wave of shock that crashed into me and rendered me speechless.
Filip’s eyes widened. He said something, but I couldn’t hear it over the ringing in my ears.
Murdered… Runa… Dead…
How could the words be true? Was this some sort of mistake?
Filip’s mouth moved again, and I blinked at him. “What?” I asked, in a daze. The sensations in my body felt far removed, like they were muffled by a thick cloud.
“What do you need? Can I get you some water?” he asked softly.
I shook my head, my churning stomach recoiling at the thought of swallowing anything right now.
I had so many questions, yet the heavy weight in my chest told me I didn’t want to hear the answers. Still, I had to ask, “What happened?”
He touched my shoulder gently as if expecting me to shrug his hand away. “Hugo has information, I’ll take you to see him. If you can?” he added, not unkindly.
I nodded and somehow managed to turn around, walk back into my bedchamber and throw on a dress.
Together, we made our way to Hugo’s quarters.
As I floated down the familiar hallways and corridors in a terrible daze, my eyes landed on the servants we passed.
They were gathered in groups of twos and threes and whispering somberly to one another.
Some looked visibly rattled, others looked as though they were fighting back tears.
I had to look away before my own grief overwhelmed me.
By the time we reached Hugo’s chambers, the atmosphere was somber. Hugo, still in his bed, had just finished a briefing with his guards. Upon our arrival, he dismissed them, leaving only the three of us.
“I’ve told her,” Filip said.
Hugo looked at me with what might have been sympathy on his face. For some reason, it only made me feel worse. “I have the details. They may be difficult to stomach, given your relationship with the deceased, so I’d understand if you’d rather not hear what I have to say.”
“No,” I said, my voice cracking slightly. “I want to hear it.”
“Very well. The servant—”
“Runa.”
“Runa,” he amended, “was last seen alive yesterday morning when she informed Ingrid she was feeling unwell and would not be able to perform her duties for the day. Ingrid sent her to bed; however, based on accounts from the other servants, she never went back to the servants’ quarters.”
I shook my head as if the act would undo the past. As if this story would not end in Runa’s death. Slumping into the chair next to Hugo’s bed, I asked, “Where did she go?”
“That remains to be seen. What we do know is that her body was discovered in the early hours of the morning.” A shadow passed over his features. “In the same cell I was found in the night I was attacked.”
I felt as though I had been plunged into icy water. If the murderer had taken her to the dungeons—to that very cell—it was to send a message. They were unquestionably responsible for attacking Hugo.
He hesitated for a moment as if second-guessing whether to go on. “Her body was strung from the ceiling and… it’s likely that she was tortured.”
I was going to vomit.
“Are you okay?” Filip sounded worried as he eyed me from his post at the foot of the bed. “You’ve gone pale as a ghost and you’re shaking.”
I took deep breaths, focusing on not spilling this morning’s toast all over Hugo’s handwoven rug. After a long moment passed, I said in a strangled voice, “Go on.”
Hugo and Filip exchanged reluctant looks.
“Go on,” I repeated more firmly.
Hugo shifted in his bed. “There were marks left that were consistent with Lord Hywell’s mutilations, though her fingers remained intact and there was no brand left on her body.”
At those words, Filip looked as repulsed and unsettled as I felt.
I ran my hands up and down my arms, chasing away the sudden chill. “Why would they have branded Lord Hywell but not Runa?”
“The theory is the symbol meant something to Hywell,” said Hugo. “The murderer carved it into his skin as a way to torment him. It’s a bullshit theory from men who are too frightened to admit it’s a symbol of witchcraft. However, I can only speculate…”
Filip and I looked at him expectantly.
He rubbed his chin. “And the only explanations I can come up with are that either the murderer ran out of time, or the symbol was for a spell. A spell that was performed on Hywell, but not Runa.”
“Or it’s not the same person?” Filip offered.
Hugo looked dismissive. “The odds that there would be two different murderers are extremely low. Let’s revisit the facts, shall we?
Someone kills Hywell then attempts to murder me two days later.
Then, the day I awaken from my coma, Runa—the servant who delivered the note that led to my attack—gets murdered and placed in the same cell I was found in with nearly identical cuts on her body.
Not to mention the witch you found beheaded in her cottage; although, I admit, I struggle to see how she fits into the puzzle.
All of this considered, I’d say it’s undeniable that this is the work of the same person. The same witch.”
We sat in silence as we processed the weight of his words. I stared blankly ahead at the bookshelf lining the wall. Why kill Runa if not for some dark magic practice? Unless it was to keep her quiet?
“So, can we all agree that Runa knew something, which is why she was killed?” said Hugo, breaking the silence and echoing my thoughts.
At our responding nods, he continued. “Alara, did you notice any unusual behavior from Runa in the days leading up to this?”
I thought back to the past few days. How had she seemed? Did she say anything unusual?
Her concern for me after my experience in the forest had been touching.
She’d been horrified and had asked plenty of questions, although I hadn’t been able to shake the feeling that she didn’t fully believe me when I said I’d gotten lost. She was, after all, more perceptive than most. Still, she seemed unusually quiet after I returned from tea with Livia.
The last time I saw her.
The realization came with a stab of pain.
“She was a bit quieter than usual, but that’s all.”
“According to the servants, she had been sneaking out of her quarters late at night. They thought nothing of it at the time, presuming she’d taken a lover.”
Guilt slammed into me. I should have asked her what was wrong; she might have confided in me.
And, when she didn’t appear in my chamber the day before, I should have immediately taken that as a sign something was wrong.
Instead, I was too absorbed in my own life, and now Runa was gone. Irreversibly gone.
“Is there anything else?” I asked, my voice sounding far away.
Hugo shook his head, while Filip’s worried gaze only made me feel like I was about to crack.
“If that’s all, I’ll head back to my bedchamber.
Send me the books you think might be of use.
” Without waiting for a response, I stood and left.
I didn’t stop until I reached my bedchamber. Slumping against the closed door, I permitted a single, hot tear to escape each eye. Fall apart, or track down the murderer and make them pay. Those were my options.
With the heels of my hands, I erased the traces of grief from my face. Sucking in a wobbly breath, I stood up straight.
It wasn’t really a choice.
I had no appetite for tears. Not when vengeance would taste much sweeter.
***
Perhaps it was the light filtering in through the open drapes, perhaps it was the surge of emotions flooding my body, but I woke up early the next morning.
My grief for Runa ran deep, but it was the bargain hanging over my head that threatened to drown me. There were only three more days until the full moon. Three more days to successfully complete my task or become the Crow’s prisoner forever.
Panic had, at last, seized me. It ran races with my heart and breathed heat all over my skin, leaving me flushed and perspiring.
It put the full force of its weight onto my chest, wrapped its claws around my throat, and choked me until I felt like I couldn’t breathe.
Most of all, it whispered in my ear, “You’re in trouble. Deep, deep trouble.”
Try as I might, I couldn’t escape it. If Tarben didn’t return before the full moon, I would be facing my doom.
I got out of bed and looked out the window towards the mist-covered gardens.
What was once lively and full of color now appeared desolate and monotone.
Most of the leaves had deserted the trees, leaving them to stand naked against the autumn chill.
A layer of frost had settled over the grass and flowers, whitewashing and wilting everything it touched.
Even the birds seemed to have abandoned the gardens, leaving the grounds eerily quiet. What a difference two weeks had made.
Fat rain clouds were brooding in the sky—had I summoned them to keep me company?
I’d spent the entire day prior combing over the books Hugo had sent me from his unorthodox collection.
While the book I’d read on the history of witches had been interesting, I’d found nothing that shed any light on the meaning of the symbol etched into Hywell and the symbols engraved on the notebook.
I forced myself to open a musty, old book on magic, determined to find something helpful amidst its yellowed pages.
It was no use though; I was hopelessly unable to focus on anything other than my looming deadline.
I spent hours examining the same text, rereading sentences as though they were written in a foreign language, barely able to digest any of the words.
My time would be better spent focusing on the mysterious notebook.
I sifted through it, but each page remained tragically bare. Before I could think better of it, I dipped my quill into some ink and wrote on the first page.
What are you?