From behind those curtains, the sound comes again. The frantic tap tap tap that pulled me free of the mud and the water and the dark. I draw in a breath. The room is dim, but these shadows are just shadows. There are no whispers, no presence at the corner of my vision. Slowly, I peel myself away from the door and move toward the window. My heart beats loud, in time with the sound. Tap tap tap.
My hand shakes as I reach for the curtain and draw it back. The room floods with sudden brightness. A glittering cloud of motes fills the air.
A bird.
There’s a bird, trapped inside the room. It’s small and delicate; frightened. The sound I heard was its wings against the glass. Smears of black stain its pale feathers. Maybe it flew down the chimney.
I reach past it to open the window, and the bird is so afraid it doesn’t even move away. The more I watch it flutter, the calmer I feel. I was so helpless before, pressed back against the door as the black water rose around me. But here, I’m not.
I take hold of the window latch. It’s stuck fast. I grit my teeth and lean in hard with my shoulder to the glass.
“You’re safe, you’re safe.” I struggle against the window, the bird’s soot-streaked wings brushing over my cheeks in a blur. “Let me get this open—then you’ll be back outside.”
Finally, the sash cord gives a high-pitched screech, and the window comes open in a rush. The bird flutters past me with a little chirp. I watch it disappear into the clear, hot sky. I’m breathless from the effort, and I lean out into the windswept sunlight, taking grateful gasps of the warm air.
I see something stuck in the gap between window and sill. I slide my fingers down and work it loose. It’s a heavy key, as large as my hand, engraved with a pattern of twined leaves that reminds me of the carvings on the front door of the house.
I curl my fingers around it. I don’t know what this key might open, there are so many locked doors here. A long length of ribbon is threaded through the key bow. I knot it at one end to make a loop, then slip it over my head.
The door creaks open. I hurriedly tuck the key down beneath my nightdress so it’s hidden. Footsteps come heavily across the floor. A hand reaches through the tangled curtains and grabs my shoulder. “What are you doing?”
I jolt upward. Hit my head—hard—against the edge of the open window. “Ouch! Ash damn it!”
I guiltily whisk the curtains closed over the opened window and turn to face Rowan Sylvanan, his brows knotted into a scowl, his gloves gone, and his shirt half unfastened.
My eyes drift, unbidden, toward his bared skin. The scars around his throat go farther down than I thought, crossing over his collarbones and onto his chest. Blood rushes into my cheeks. I look quickly away.
“Violeta.” His scowl deepens, and he pulls awkwardly at his shirt, quickly tightening the laces. “Why are you in my bedroom?”
“Your bedroom?” I look around. The bare walls. The scant furniture. The sofa beneath the window. Now I realize there’s a quilt spread neatly across it, a pillow at one end. “But it’s so empty.”
“I prefer it this way.”
“You’re the lord of an estate. Why do you sleep on a sofa?”
Rowan makes a sound halfway between a sigh and an incredulous cough. “It’s a chaise.” His eyes narrow as they trail over me. “Are you wearing my cloak?”
“I’m borrowing your cloak. You left it with me.” I take it off quickly and hold it out. “You can have it back now.”
He doesn’t move. The bundled weight of his cloak slips from my hand to the floor. He watches it fall with his arms folded. “What, exactly, are you doing in here?”
“There was a bird.”
“A what?”
“It was trapped in here. I had to open your window to let it free.”
A sudden gust of wind whips through the room. The curtains snap back and forth with a cascade of dust. We both sneeze.
“A bird? That’s why you came sneaking around?”
Rowan sneezes again, and I start to laugh at him when he scrunches up his face against the dust. He shoves his way through the curtains and pushes at the window, but it’s just as stubborn to close as it was to open.
“It’s stuck. Here, let me help.” I take hold of the frame. My shoulder brushes against his, and our hands are so close together they almost touch. “And I wasn’t sneaking. I have better things to do than poke around your bedroom.”
“I’ve had a long enough day without your particular foolishness, Violeta.”