Hannah, please wake up!” Mary’s whisper was urgent.
Groggily I opened my eyes. There was blackness all around, and a cold stone floor against my cheek. When I tried to sit up, my head spun.
What happened? Where am I?
I breathed in the metallic scent of blood and the dark, foul odor of shit. And then I knew—instantly, horribly. We were in a dungeon beneath the baron’s castle. And I was the reason we were here.
Nausea overwhelmed me, and I retched. But there was nothing in my stomach except for the tiny bit of bread Otto had fed me. I coughed up bile until my throat burned. When the spasm passed, I wiped my swollen, bloodied lips and put my hand out in the dark.
“Mary, I can’t see you.”
“I’m over here.”
Painfully I dragged myself toward the sound of her voice. “I’m coming, love,” I said. I’d been hit so many times that it was agony to talk. But my eyes began to adjust to the darkness, and I thought I could see a small, forlorn lump in the corner of the cell. Mary.
Just a few more feet.
Every bone and muscle in my body ached as I crawled. Then I was beside her, touching the hard, warm knob of her shoulder. “Are you hurt?” I whispered.
There was a pause. “Just a little,” she said.
But her voice cracked as she spoke. She was lying.
As if of their own accord, my fingers flew over her body, searching for the wound. “Where? Where?” I demanded.
“Oh,” she gasped, “be careful—”
I froze. I’d touched her side where her kirtle was ripped and wet, and her skin was feverishly hot. When I pulled my hand away, it was sticky with gore.
I felt like I was falling from darkness into a deeper darkness, and there would never be any way out. Dear God, no.
“Hannah, it doesn’t pain me too much,” Mary whispered.
But I knew it was another lie.
“This is all my fault,” I said fiercely.
“No, it isn’t,” she said. “I wasn’t… supposed to come. I know that.”
“But you did, because you believed in me. And Otto did, and—” I couldn’t bear to say their names. My grief was suffocating me. “Where is everyone else? Are they here?”
“I don’t know,” Mary said. “I think they might be in another cell.” She reached for my hand and squeezed it weakly. “Hannah, will you… sing for me?”
“Sing?” I cried. “Mary, what reason do we have to sing? I’ve brought suffering to all of us!”
“It will comfort me,” she said. “Please.”
I didn’t think I could do it. Icy fingers of panic squeezed too tight around my heart. I cannot bear to lose her. If she dies, I will die, too.
“I want to hear the song you used to sing to me when I was little,” she said. “The one with the dancing stars.”
I took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to fill my lungs. All right, Mary. I’ll sing. But when I opened my mouth, out came a wordless, animal shriek.