Page 65 of The Pureblood Princess
And now the anger is back, Theodore’s eyes narrowing into a piercing stare. “You mean to say they know about this?”
“Konrád and Marek both saw the shadows. I asked, but Marek never told me what it meant, only that I should keep it to myself.”
Suddenly, a memory burns through Nadia, and she gasps at the realization.
“My family’s manor,” she says, blinking rapidly, as if momentarily stunned. “Do you know where Thornwood is?”
“Of course. My family spent much time with yours before...” His fingertips press into her hips, and that familiar muscle ticks in his jaw. “Why?”
“I need to go there. This might sound mad, but I think my mother left something there for me to find, something that will help me understand”—she holds out her hands, summoning shadows into her palms—“this.”
They’re cool on her skin, and she sighs lightly as her fingers disappear into darkness. The sensation—that of no longer being bound by flesh and bone—is familiar now, almost comforting.
Theodore watches the shadows through narrowed eyes, seeming equal parts entranced and wary. “Your mother? Lady Magdalena?”
Nadia nods, biting down on her bottom lip.
For a moment, Theodore seems to consider her words. He moves tentatively, shifting his hand from her hip to reach into her shadows. He glides his fingers through them like he’s skimming his fingertips across the surface of a pond, then pulls his hand away and curls his fingers into a fist. His gaze cuts to hers, determination etched across his face.
“Very well. We must leave now if we hope to arrive before nightfall.”
Chapter Thirty
Theodore pays the innkeeper well,just like Nadia assured her he would, and then they head straight for the livery. Decorum be damned, Nadia rides astride, the cloak Theodore brought along billowing out behind her. Her horse keeps pace with Theodore’s Friesian gelding, Castro, as they leave the hamlet behind and head for Thornwood, Nadia’s ancestral home.
They don’t speak as they ride, and Nadia tries to keep her mind focused on the dream of her mother, the sunlit bedroom, the book. Memories of her time held hostage try to claw their way to the forefront of her thoughts, but she shoves them back. She can face those demons later; for now, she must seek out the book. Though she knows not what it holds, something deep inside tells her it’s important, that she must get her hands on it before anyone else can.
Assuming they haven’t already.
They ride through the afternoon, resting only when the horses require it. The snowfall has ceased, and though the air is cold, Nadia has no complaints. Feeling the fresh breeze on her face just reminds her that she’sfree.
Night is just starting to spread its inky touch across the land when Theodore turns Castro off the main road and down a secluded dirt path.
Centuries-old trees line either side of the winding trail, and foliage grows wild. Spiderwebs crisscross the path, and Nadia ducks under one to keep from disturbing the delicate silk work. It seems this path has either been long forgotten or hasn’t been actively used in many years.
“Here it is,” Theodore says, easing Castro to a halt before the soaring wrought iron gates. “Thornwood.”
Nadia rides up beside him, trying to take it all in: the brick wall enclosing the front of the property, the black gates that stretch well over her head, the dark manor waiting silently in the distance.
She swings off her horse, and her boots crunch over the snow as she approaches the brick wall. A thick chain has been wrapped around the wrought iron gates, and it’s secured in the center with a heavy padlock.
“What’s this crest?” Nadia asks, pointing to the padlock as Theodore approaches.
He looks at it for a moment, and then his brows rise.
“It’s . . . the Kazamir crest.”
Anger floods Nadia’s bloodstream.
The Kazamirs have been here? Have touched something so sacred?
She tears the padlock free with her bare hands. The clink of the chain as it curls into the snow at her feet sends a few birds fluttering into the darkening sky, and then all falls silent once more.
“Why?” she whispers. “Why have they been here?”
“I don’t know.” Theodore moves closer to her, and his presence, his verybeing, somehow soothes her in this moment. He draws her in and presses his lips to her hair. “But we’re going to find out,” he whispers.
Nadia pushes the gates open, and they protest loudly at the movement. Though she can’t say for certain, she feels herparents would’ve seen to it that their property was meticulously and lovingly maintained, and the obvious degradation of the grounds weighs her shoulders down with sadness.
