Elizabeth wrote the last entry while the peasant girl died in front of her, blood seeping from a hundred cuts. Elizabeth had thought her stronger than that. She had mistimed the girl’s death, the outcome a failure. She felt a stab of impatience, but reminded herself that even such failures brought her knowledge.
Behind her, another girl whimpered from her cage. She would be the next subject, but her fate could wait until tomorrow. As if she sensed this, the caged girl grew quiet, wrapping her arms around her knees and rocking.
Elizabeth scribbled observations by the light of the fire, recording each detail—how quickly the first girl died, how long she could wait before turning such subject into a strigoi, how long it took for each to die in that state.
Over and over, with different girls, Elizabeth experimented.
Slowly and carefully, she learned the secrets of who she was, what she was.
Such knowledge would only make her stronger.
Elizabeth lifted her hand to touch the ice. She had not thought to see her journal again. She had hidden it within her castle once her trial had started. It contained more than six hundred names, many more girls than she had been charged with killing. She had secured it deep under her castle, beneath a stone so large that no mortal man could lift it.
But someone had.
Likely the same someone who brought it to this maze, left it for her to find.
Who? And why?
“What are you doing?” Rhun asked, noting her interest.
“That book is mine,” she said. “I want it back.”
Nadia shoved her forward. “We have no time for such diversions.”
Elizabeth stepped back to the ice window, standing her ground. She wanted it back. Her work might yet have value.
“Oh, but we do,” she said, scraping the edge of her manacle down the ice, removing the top layer. “I am the Woman of Learning, and I choose how we spend our time. I am the one being tested.”
“She is right,” Rhun added. “Rasputin would not want us to interfere. She must succeed or fail on her own.”
“Then be quick about it,” Nadia said.
Rhun added his strength to Elizabeth’s. Together, they quickly bored through the clear ice until the book was free. With both hands, Elizabeth plucked the precious book from its cold prison.
As she held it, she noticed shadowy shapes on the far side. Though distorted by the ice, the forms clearly were men or women. Again she heard no heartbeats.
They must be the strigoi she had sensed before.
She suddenly realized there was no need to follow this damnable maze any longer. There was a more direct path to victory. Hauling her free arm back, she slammed her elbow into the ice window, shattering through it to the far side.
Shards of ice danced across the dirty snow of the maze’s heart.
Rhun and Nadia bowed next to her, peering through the hole.
Elizabeth laughed between them. “We have won.”
27
December 19, 9:21 P.M. CET
Stockholm, Sweden
Erin tore her eyes from the frozen quilt. She could not let her personal feelings distract from her goal. She had to leave this piece of her past behind and press on. She guessed its purpose here: Rasputin wanted to throw her off balance, to slow her down.
She would not give him the satisfaction.
“Erin?” Jordan’s soft voice breathed in her ear.
“I’m fine.” The words sounded strange, plainly a lie. “Let’s keep going.”
“Are you sure?” His warm hands cupped her shoulders. Jordan knew her well enough to see through her brave words.
“I’m sure.”
She sounded more confident that time. She could not let Rasputin see how he had affected her. If he sensed any weakness in her, he would use it to tear a deeper wound. So she buried that pain and kept marching.
We must be near the center by now.
She hurried forward, again running her fingertips along the left wall, moving ever closer to the heart of the maze. In another two turns of the passageway, she entered a spacious round room, the walls made of packed snow, again open to the sky above, the edges of the walls overhead crenellated.
They had reached the central turreted tower of the ice palace.
In the middle of the space rose a life-size ice sculpture of an angel. It stood atop a plinth, also carved from ice. The craftsmanship was extraordinary. It looked as if the angel had just landed there, using its massive wings to alight on this frozen perch. Moonlight shimmered through its diamond wings, each feather perfectly defined. The body itself was glazed by frost to a pure white, its snow-dusted face turned up toward the heavens.
As beautiful as the sight was, Erin only felt disappointment.
Gathered below the sculpture was Rhun’s group, with the countess wearing a smug smile.
I lost.