Thomas was unusually silent a moment, studying my face with care. I fought the urge to fidget under his inspection. “How did you feel upon seeing the body?”

Snow seeped into my overcoat, coaxing an involuntary shiver. Thomas made to offer his warmer wool coat, but I shook my head, not caring for the undertone of his question. There was no way I could face this academy and its wretchedness if I knew Thomas doubted me as well.

“I felt as any student of forensics should. What are you truly asking, Cresswell? Do you think me incapable, as our headmaster believes?”

“Not at all.” He motioned toward the end of the alley, where the crowd was growing by the moment. “However, grieving or being affected by something doesn’t make you weak, Wadsworth. Sometimes strength is knowing when to tend to yourself for a bit.”

“Is that what I should do?” I asked, my voice deadly quiet.

“If you want the truth? Yes.” Thomas stood taller. “I believe it would be healing for you to acknowledge the fact it’s only been a few weeks since your loss. You need time to grieve. I think we ought to return to London—we can apply to the academy again in the spring.”

I stood there, mind churning. Surely Thomas and I were not actually having a conversation about what he deemed best for me. Before I could formulate a response, he plowed on.

“There’s no reason we need to be here now, Wadsworth. Your uncle is an exceptional teacher, and we will continue learning under his tutelage until you’re well.” He took a deep breath as if gathering courage to continue. “I’ll write to your father immediately and inform him of our change in plans. It’s for the best.”

Imaginary bars erupted around me, caging me in. This was precisely the reason for my trepidation regarding a betrothal. I could feel my autonomy slipping from my grasp each time Thomas offered advice on what I ought to do. Wasn’t that how it happened? Basic rights and wants were slowly eroded by someone else’s idea of how one should act.

I would never know what was best for myself with someone offering unsolicited advice at each step. Mistakes were a learning experience, not the end of the universe. So what if I were making one now, pushing myself forward instead of confronting ghosts of the past? The choice was mine to make, not anyone else’s. I thought Thomas knew that much about me. And once upon a time he had, but somehow he was no longer thinking with his head. Somewhere along the line, Mr. Thomas Cresswell—or rather, the unfeeling automaton he’d been accused of being—had grown a tender human heart.

I could not bear for him to slip into an approved male role in society and treat me as if I were something to be protected and coddled. I respected and admired him and expected the same in return. I knew I needed to be harsh to jolt him back to himself, though I did not relish the task.

Hearts were beautifully fierce yet fragile things. And I did not wish to break Thomas’s.

“If there is one thing you listen to, Mr. Cresswell,” I said, my voice even and steady, “let it be this. Please do not make the mistake of telling me what’s best for me, as if you are the sole authority on the subject. If you wish to return to London, you are free to do so, but I shall not be accompanying you. I hope that I’ve made myself perfectly clear.”

I didn’t wait for him to respond. I spun around and headed for the castle, leaving both Thomas and our fallen classmate behind as my own heart stuttered.

ANASTASIA’S CHAMBER

CAMERA ANASTASIEI

BRAN CASTLE

2 DECEMBER 1888

“Ileana said Prince Nicolae has done nothing but smash his room to bits since they brought Wilhelm’s body back. Your class is to perform the autopsy tomorrow after Uncle inspects it.”

Anastasia abruptly dismissed her lady’s maid and stood before her looking glass, plucking pins from her golden braids and rearranging them in an intricate design about her crown. Her chambers were slightly larger than my own and were located on the floor above our classrooms. Moldoveanu made sure his ward didn’t want for anything. It was an indication he was in possession of a heart after all.

My new friend prattled on about castle gossip regarding the prince, but I found my mind drifting away with thoughts of the building itself. While the academy was mostly empty for the Christmas holiday—save for our group of hopeful attendees and a skeleton castle staff—the corridors leading to these chambers were filled with nooks and alcoves that contained both scientific and religious sculptures. Tapestries depicting impalement and other morbid scenes hung between the nooks. Anastasia told me they were events from Vlad’s reign, victories immortalized within these halls.

On one pedestal, a thorax sat encased in glass, lungs in another. One I dared not inspect too closely featured a serpent coiled around a cross. Parts of the corridor reminded me of Uncle’s laboratory and his specimen collection. Other sections made my skin crawl. Though I’d prefer to be lost in thoughts of the dark castle rather than face the current conversation about Nicolae.

“Violent behavior is an indication of emotional instability, according to a journal I read last summer,” she said, unfazed by the fact I wasn’t chatting back. “It’ll likely affect Prince Nicolae’s place here. I doubt he’ll regain his composure before your assessment course is over. Pity for him. Not so awful for the rest of you.”

Gossiping about the prince while he was mourning the loss of his cousin set my stomach churning with guilt. I wanted to gain a permanent spot in the academy but didn’t want my entry to be based upon impaired competition. Or lack of competition because of sudden death. I supposed I also felt a bit ill for the way I’d spoken to Thomas before leaving him in the alley. Wilhelm’s lifeless corpse flashed across my mind. I also couldn’t stop worrying about my reaction to the body. Each time I came near a cadaver, I saw reminders I wished to forget.

If I didn’t deal with these terrors soon, I’d not survive the academy. A fact, I suspected, that would greatly please Headmaster Moldoveanu. I shifted on the large settee, running gloved hands over its wooden arms.

“Why does your uncle allow young women into the academy if he despises their presence?”

“He is technically not related to me.” Anastasia reached for her journal. “Though he would have been had my aunt not been murdered.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” I said, not wanting to intrude and inquire after potentially lurid details. “Losing a loved one is one of the most horrid things a person can endure.”

“Thank you.” She offered a sad smile. “My aunt was not interested in being a cosseted lady, locked away and dictated to by her husband. Moldoveanu respected her. Never pushed for her to remain by his side.”

Anastasia tucked a golden strand behind her ear, and I was grateful for the slight break in the conversation. I was momentarily stunned. Moldoveanu’s situation with his former betrothed was so similar to what I’d been upset with Thomas over. I did not forgive the headmaster for his reprehensible behavior, but I did understand him a bit more.

“After her body was discovered, he changed,” Anastasia said. “I know it’s hard to believe, but he’s so cold because he thinks it might end up saving a life one day. It’s also why I’m not allowed to actually become a student, though he permits me to sneak into classes sometimes.”

Anastasia opened her journal, and I did not press for further information regarding her aunt’s murder. I glanced around for a distraction of my own and noticed that a book of Latin phrases lay propped open on the table before me. We needed to be proficient in Latin in order to pass this course. Another thing I needed to improve on, though I had a decent, basic knowledge thanks to my uncle’s lessons. Moments slowly dragged by in silence. I couldn’t stop seeing the look of pain on Thomas’s face.

I picked at the lace on my gloves. “I wonder what the cause of Wilhelm’s death will turn out to be. He was so oddly colored.” My own skin prickled, but I gripped my fears in a fist. “I don’t recall ever seeing a body in such a state before.”

“Awful.” Anastasia scrunched her nose. “I forgot you inspected the body before Uncle forced you to return. I’ve never read about symptoms like that before.” She started speaking too quickly in Romanian for me to comprehend, then pressed her lips together. “I apologize. I forget you’re not fluent yet. Would you like to visit the library? Perhaps you’ll find something there that explains strange medical conditions.”

“Maybe tomorrow. I’m tired.” I stood and nodded toward the door. “I think I’m going to go soak in the tub. Perhaps we can go in the morning.”

“Măreţ! Soaking in the tub is a wonderful idea! I might do the same. I love a good bath.”

“See you for breakfast?”

“Of course.” Her lips turned down at the edges briefly before she offered a full smile. She dropped onto the settee with all the grace of a sack of potatoes and plucked up the Latin book. “Try to get some rest—it was a tragic day. Hopefully tomorrow will be brighter.”

Torches in the corridor had been mostly extinguished when I crept from Anastasia’s chambers. Midnight air was christened with arctic drafts, prompting gooseflesh to rise as I drifted down the vacant, dark hallway. Black shapes lurked around the sculptures, larger than the objects they stood guard over. I knew they were only shadows, but in the soft, flickering light, they seemed to be unearthly creatures stalking me. Watching.

I held fast to my skirts and moved as swiftly as I dared. It truly felt as if I were being monitored. By who or what, I didn’t care to distinguish. Eyes tracked my movements; I sensed the force of them as I retreated. Which wasn’t probable, I knew, and yet… I stumbled like a fawn on new limbs, aware that a predator pressed on, unseen. “It’s not real,” I whispered. “It’s not—”

A small creak of the floorboards behind me spiked adrenaline in my veins. I glanced around, pulse thundering. Empty. The corridor was void of anything other than my nerves. Not one shadow moved. The castle seemed to hold its breath along with me, attuned to my every mood. I stood there, frozen, as seconds crept by. Nothing.