For several hours Adva had not moved from her corner of the room, simply sitting with her eyes to the window. She combed her hair with her fingers until her scalp ached. She played with her dress. She stood and paced.
He's coming for me. I just have to be patient.
Stefan had been telling the truth when he'd said that he had told Peter she was alive. She was certain of it. After saying as much, his gaze had become anxious and troubled. Perhaps he had lied after that. Perhaps he had really told Peter that she didn't want to see him. No matter. He would come for her anyway.
Adva shook as she walked, her hands clenching and unclenching. She glanced at the door, scolded herself.
Be patient. He'll come.
He will.
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The water in the moat was freezing. Peter grunted as he breached the surface, gasping. His teeth were already chattering. He clenched his jaw and wiped the water from his eyes, proceeding with silent, powerful strokes towards the bank. A soft noise from the castle sent him diving down, forcing his eyes open among the thick weeds. He held his breath as long as he dared before letting himself float to the surface again, as slowly as possible so as not to splash. His jacket, which he had forgotten to remove, dragged at him as he swam the final few feet to the embankment.
His hands fought for purchase in the slippery mud, grasping at slimy tree roots and damp cat-tails. He managed to heave himself over the side, keeping himself pressed to the mud, desperate to avoid making a sound. Peter scrambled into the hollow of a knot of roots, crouching low to the ground and glancing towards the castle.
The night watchmen were making their rounds with disinterest. The sun had disappeared over the horizon, leaving only the faintest final traces of daylight.
He grunted as he heaved himself onto the bank, covered in mire. There probably wasn't such a great need for stealth. No one in the castle except for Stefan—and perhaps Adva—was even aware that he was well enough to leave his room. Peter wiped the mud from his face.
Still, something cautioned him to stick close to the trees.
The fading sunlight gave the forest a warm, golden glow. Peter couldn't help but smile a bit, despite everything. So much of his childhood had been passed in these woods. He and Stefan would stay out for hours inventing games, competing in every way—hunting, climbing trees, racing through the forest—anything. Peter's expression darkened as he ran faster.
Will I compete with him now for possession of the kingdom? How did it come to this? Part of me understands his frustration, but...
None of Stefan's actions lately matched what he knew about his brother. That had given him the resolve to throw the chair through his window. Something was wrong. Something didn't make sense...
He jumped, clearing a protruding tree root, thoughts returning to Adva's story.
Why, before she came to us, she was—can you guess it? A sea-maiden! Who petitioned no less than Mathis herself to gain humanity and come to you! Do you not feel honored?
Fiction on Stefan's part?
Peter shook his head to stop an impending headache. He could ask Adva about it when he found her.
He paused when the mill came into view. There was smoke coming from the chimney.
Catherine must be home.
His stomach churned a little. He hadn't thought that Catherine would help Stefan with something like this. He knew little about her from his brief visits with Adva and Stefan, but she seemed to be a kind woman. She loved Stefan dearly, that was clear enough.
And perhaps that was why. He sighed.
Peter moved carefully closer, trying to stay in shadow, straining for a glimpse into the window.
I'll need to get her out quietly. The longer it took Stefan and Catherine to figure out that Adva was missing, the more time they would have to get away, to prepare for whatever retaliation would come.
He silently cursed himself for being too hasty to bring a sword, or at least a dagger. If there was anyone within the mill besides Catherine, he would have only his weakened body to defend himself.
A little more searching revealed an open window over a small garden filled with tall purple flowers. Catherine was at the stove, her back turned to the window. She sang something quietly to herself, turning to take something from a shelf. Her expression was serene, dull. Peter faltered for a moment.
He crouched to the forest floor, entering the garden hunched over so he couldn't be seen from the window. The garden was dense with little purple flowers on tall stalks that brushed him as he moved. It occurred to him briefly that his skin tingled uncomfortably at the contact, but he pushed the observation aside.
There was the sound of the front door opening and closing, and Peter climbed into the window, holding his breath. The mill-house was empty. It seemed Catherine really had gone outside. Peter stepped carefully down to the floor, trying to be noiseless.
The house hadn't changed much since the last time he'd come: the ground floor consisted of one room with a small table and a tiny kitchen crammed with an oven and an ice-box. Odd spices hung from the ceiling, brushing racks of utensils and iron pots. The floor was crude stone, but it was freshly swept and scrubbed like the finest marble. Catherine kept a clean house. Tucked behind a dividing wall were the stairs that lead to the two bedrooms.
Peter gripped the banister, stepping as lightly as he could as he ascended the worn wooden stairs. Cracked, fading leaves and oddly-shaped rocks decorated a small shelf on the wall, along with a lone piece of yellowed paper scrawled with a child's charcoal drawing.
At the top of the stairs was a musty landing with two doors at either end. Heart racing, Peter flung open the first. His skin was beginning to feel clammy and cold, his headache growing more intense. He dismissed it as excitement.
“Adva!”
But the room was empty except for a squat nightstand and a thin, severe cot.
He turned on his heel and threw open the second door. This was clearly Alec's room—carved wooden toys, gifts from Stefan, were strewn on the floor around a threadbare goose-down mattress without a frame. Thin light came through a tiny window, illuminating the room corner to corner.
It was empty.
Peter stood frozen for a moment, then quietly closed the door.
Somewhere else, then. The castle?
He descended, trying to keep his breathing even. He'd left her. Alone.
So long as you do not attempt to escape? Safe.
And if he did?
Surely not... Stefan, you haven't changed to that degree!
His head was spinning, skin burning. He glanced down at his arms and realized with alarm that his skin was becoming an angry red. Nausea swept over him as he fell, crying out as he tumbled down the stairwell.
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