Page 58 of The Pureblood Princess
Perhaps she will be trapped here forever, a shadow clinging to the corner of a room, consciousness without the ability to interact with the physical world.
Though she has no eyes, her awareness is all around her. She can see the corner she’s tucked into just as clearly as she can see that same spider weaving a web beneath the nightstand on the other side of the room.
And it’s this spider she focuses on. It’s the only movement in the room, the only living thing in this silent, dreary space. It works quickly, meticulously, spinning fine silken thread to create its web. And suddenly, she’s drifting along the wall, clinging to the brick, until she’s right there with the spider, so close she can see its many glistening eyes and the tiny hairs covering its body.
The spider seems not to notice her. It continues its work, ignoring her ethereal form as she hovers so nearby.
And then she’s no longer hovering.
She crashes to the stone floor, jostling the nightstand as she becomes wedged beneath it. Startled, the spider skitters up the leg of the nightstand and hides in the corner.
Nadia shifts uncomfortably, finding her bodybeyondfatigued. She’s able to keep her eyes open for long enough to see the shadows slowly disperse from her skin, and then she tumbles yet again into a troubled sleep.
Nadia does little but sleepand practice. She’s finding it easier to conjure the shadows, though her extreme thirst and the hemlock still lingering in her veins make her sluggish and weak. Thoughts of Dorota’s threat and Konrád’s assault keep her focused, keep her pushing until she collapses from exhaustion and slips into the black.
She no longer calls out for Theodore, doesn’t hope to hear a whisper of his voice in her head. She’s alone here, and even should he try, he won’t find her.
If she wants to escape this prison, it’s up to her and her alone.
Sitting cross-legged upon the floor,leaning back against the narrow bed, Nadia eyes the small space beneath the door. When not asleep, she practices with her shadows nonstop, as much as her exhausted mind and body will allow. And that space—that tiny sliver of space—keeps calling out to her, tempting her.
Perhaps I can slip right out, she thinks. Though she can’t yet move freely in her shadow form, she’s gaining a bit more mobility, the ability to focus on one area and shift her bodyless form to that space. It’s not easy, however, and she often finds herself stuck in corners or beneath furniture, trapped and unable to move. She once woke beneath the bed after getting trapped there and running out of energy.
With a bit more practice—
Soft footsteps sound in the hall, and Nadia immediately jerks upright. Whoever it is moves closer, each step echoing in the stone hallway outside Nadia’s prison cell.
She’s not yet practiced today, thankfully, and as her heart begins to pound more rapidly beneath her breast, she calls on her shadows.
They begin around her hands, as always. Focusing, she encourages them to grow, spread. They writhe, crawling up her bare arms, wrapping around her shoulders. Their cool touch makes her gasp as they wrap around her throat, and then they pull her under, and she’s ethereal once more.
And just in time.
The lock on the outside of the door clicks as Nadia drifts into the corner of the room. Then the heavy door swings open, and in steps Honora.
“Time’s up, Magdalena.”
She slams the door behind her, then quickly casts her gaze about the room, a furrow forming in her brow.
“What?” she whispers, turning about as if Nadia could be hiding anywhere.
If only she knew.
Honora goes to the mattress and rips the small blanket back, then drops to her knees to peer beneath the bed. Her golden hair shifts across her shoulders, revealing her slim white neck, a pulse thrumming beneath the skin.
And Nadia knows what she must do.
This may be her last chance to escape. Honora will certainly tell the others she’s gone missing, and then the Kazamirs will descend upon this wretched room and surely submit Nadia to further anguish.
No, she cannot let that happen. Honora must not leave this room.
Nadia focuses her intention on Honora, picturing her shapeless body occupying the space just behind her.
Her shadow shifts, creeping along the edge of the ceiling, nearer and nearer to where Honora now stands.
“Where the hell are you?” she whispers, her voice laced with poison.
Nadia can only imagine what Honora planned to do. Split her skin with a silver dagger and laugh as blood stained her gown? Deliver her to Dorota for her day of reckoning?
