Page 57 of The Girl in the Castle

“No, I mean how are you feeling?”

“I’m on so many pills I don’t even know. It feels like someone wrapped my head in a bunch of towels.” She picked at the hem of the blanket. Her voice got smaller. “But I know I’m embarrassed,” she said, “for causing all that fuss. I’m sorry, Hannah.”

My heart ached for this girl I barely knew, this girl who swung so quickly from giddy mania to soul-crushing despair. “I’m sorry you were in so much pain,” I said. “I’m so glad you’re back. I missed you.”

“Thanks,” she said softly. Then she turned to me, and her face brightened a little. “You look nice,” she said. “What do you look so nice for?”

It was an innocent question—a compliment even. But it struck me like a hand across the face.

Was I trying to make myself look good for Jordan Hassan? Did I think that if I combed my hair for once, he’d forget that he was my chaperone and think we were just hanging out for fun?

What stupidity—what embarrassing, awful stupidity.

I sank down to the floor. “I’m ridiculous,” I said.

I could feel my heart beginning to pound. I wrapped my arms around my knees and squeezed.

“What’s the matter, Hannah?” Sophie asked. “Did I say something wrong?”

Her voice sounded far away and hollow.

I didn’t have to stay here. I could go.

Not with Jordan to a movie.

Farther away.

“Hannah?” Sophie said.

“Knock, knock—”

Jordan was standing in the doorway. He was already in his coat, a big blue puffer with a big North Face logo on it and yellow duct tape on the arm.

“Ready, Hannah?” he asked. His smile was electric.

I shook my head. I wasn’t ready. I would never be ready.

“No,” I said. “I’ve got somewhere else I need to be.”

CHAPTER 56

I walked the long road back to my village in a brown kirtle stained with grease. The freckled scullery maid had jumped at the chance to trade my gown for her rough-spun wool. That she’d never be allowed to wear such finery didn’t matter: once she’d smuggled it out of the castle, she’d trade it or sell it. A dress like that would be worth more than a few sheep.

My feet were blistered and my cheeks wind-chapped by the time I got to the outskirts of the village. Still, I started to run.

Mother, I’m coming!

But when I turned down the lane to my cottage, I faltered. What could I possibly say to her? Mary was our light, the best of us, and now she was gone. My mother should turn me away. Disown me. Say she never had a raven-haired daughter they called Blackbird.

I forced myself to start walking again, as a bitter wind swirled up the lane, cutting through the dirty wool of my bartered dress. Too soon, I was outside my cottage. And there was no smoke rising from the roof.

Panic rose in my chest.Is the rest of my family gone, too?

I slammed through the door. It was so dark and so cold insidethat I was sure it was abandoned. And then, from the corner of the room, I heard a faint rustling.

“Mother,” I cried. “Conn!”

A shape no more substantial than a shadow rose from a pile of blankets. “Hannah?” came the whisper.

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