Page 67 of The Pureblood Princess
She enters the room slowly, respectfully, and kneels to pick up a gilded hand mirror. The surface is coated in dust, and she uses the sleeve of her cloak to wipe it away. Her blue eyes stare back, framed by dark waves of hair, and for a moment, Nadia feels as if she’s looking at Vera, at her mother. The thought makes grief wail in her chest, and she quickly tears her eyes away.
“What happened here?” Theodore asks as he steps carefully into the room, being mindful not to step on the personal effects scattered about the floor.
“They came,” Nadia whispers. “The Kazamirs were here, and they didthis.”
Her free hand curls into a fist, and cold washes over her. In a moment, she becomes lost to the shadows.
Theodore’s eyes go wide, his mouth opening in surprise as Nadia scours the room, her shadows slipping around the toppled furniture and beneath the splintered bed frame.
This was Vera’s room. These are her things: her earrings, her slippers, her dusty duvet. Nadia wants to see all of it, totouchall of it, as if being near to these items will somehow bring her closer to her mother.
But as she completes her assessment of the room and shifts back into her body, tumbling to the floor, she realizes her hopes are all for naught. Her mother is gone, and the only way Nadia will ever see her is in dreams, for nary a portrait even hangs upon these walls.
Lord Gray killed her parents on the guild’s orders, and the more she discovers, the more she feels the Kazamirs played a part in it. Why else would their crest hang about the iron gates? Why else would they know about this power that is still so foreign to her? No matter what it takes, she will uncover the truth, and she will make those responsible pay.
Tears stream down Nadia’s cheeks as she lies upon the cold dusty floor. Theodore is beside her in a moment, scooping her up, brushing the dirt from her cheek.
“They did this,” she whispers as tears drip across her lips. “They took her from me.”
“I know.” He pulls her closer, wraps her in an embrace, and holds her there until the tears have run out.
With a shuddering breath, Nadia pulls away from his warmth and dashes the tears from her cheeks. Her gaze falls to the floor, where a rug obscures the floorboards beneath it.
Standing, Nadia takes hold of the corner of the rug, and with one mighty tug, she moves it and all the furniture fallen atop it. Her muscles rejoice as she tugs again, and soon the floorboards beneath are revealed.
The pale wood is untouched by time, as glossy and clean as it must have been when Vera last stepped foot into this room. Nadia’s knees hit the floor, and she begins running her hands over the boards, searching for a defect in the smooth wood. The planks appear perfectly placed, but she knows her dream led her here for a reason. The bookmustbe here.
Her index finger catches on a blemish in the wood, and Nadia homes in on it. It takes some effort, but the board finally comes loose, and she sets it aside as Theodore comes to stand over her.
In the gaping darkness below lies an old leather-bound book.
“It’s here,” she whispers, and her lips curl into a smile.
She gingerly lifts the book, her heart pounding. Theodore watches silently as she opens it, revealing intricate calligraphy upon yellowed pages. The text is in an unfamiliar language, and Nadia’s brow furrows as she attempts to read it.
“It’s written in Moldovan,” Theodore says. He kneels beside her and holds out a hand. “May I?”
Nadia nods, then hands the book over carefully.
“I’ll admit I’m not as well-versed in the language as I should be, but those many years of tutoring must’ve yielded something.”
He begins to turn the pages slowly, delicately, as if they may fall into dust at the slightest touch. Nadia scoots closer to him, her eyes scanning the page, and she sees a familiar word.
“Athanasia,” she says, reaching out to point to the ink on the page. “That’s Vera’s clan. Or it was before she married Kirill.”
She’s suddenly even more grateful for Lord Rosetti and all the work he put into the family lineage that now sits on her desk back in Graystone. She’ll have to thank him again when she sees him again.
“ClanulAthanasia,” Theodore whispers, the accent soft and sensuous on his tongue. “Clan Athanasia.”
“What else does it say?” Nadia moves nearer to him, searching the swirling calligraphy for anything even slightly familiar.
“There are words here I understand, but...” Theodore’s brow furrows in concentration, and he turns the page.
“But what?”
Sighing, he shakes his head and turns another page. “But I don’t understand how they function together. Look here.” He points. “This says something about a revolution. But this word...” His finger stops on a word,executie, and Nadia knows what he’s going to say before the word leaves his mouth.
“Execution,” she whispers, and he nods.
