Page 106 of White Horse Black Nights

Here!

Are you ready to do what we talked about?I ask.

He eagerly darts across the room to the servant’s door, where he’s small enough to slip under the crack. I pull my bottom lip between my teeth, biting anxiously as the minutes pass.

Ten minutes later, the mouse returns, tugging a brass key between his jaw. I drop to hands and knees, scooping him up in triumph. His little heart beats fast from the exertion.

You did it! You’re a hero!

He proudly grooms his tail. I set him on my shoulder and reward him with a stroke on his head, then pick up the key that he stole from Brigit.

Something feels off as I unlock the servants’ door. A part of me still expects Basten to smell the mouse or hear the key turning, and storm in with his glaring midnight eyes. Dammit, a part of me evenwantsthat. I haven’t dared to ask where he’s been the past few days, because I don’t want anyone thinking I care about him. Rian is so shrewd that I’m worried he already suspects something.

WhereisBasten? The last time I spoke to him was with tears in my eyes, when I yelled at him to get out of my room after we made love. I’ve thought about that night a million times since then. Hating that I still love him. Knowing the sex was a mistake but not regretting it. Wanting to see him—to know he’s okay.

It doesn’t matter.Basten is nothing if not a survivor. Wherever he is, he’s doubtlessly fine, probably not pining away for me at all. This is my chance to investigate the voice’s source, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to miss it because I’m too wrapped up in thoughts about an asshole huntsman.

With the mouse on my shoulder, I make my way down the narrow passage, praying no servants are working this late.

GET OUT.

There it is again. I drift to a stop, concentrating. I try to extend my thoughts throughout the myriad castle levels as I ask:Who are you?

The only answer I get is a wall of anger crashing over me. It’s strong enough to steal my breath, and I grip the wood paneling to steady myself. Sweat breaks out on my brow.

It’s rare to feel animals’ emotions. Usually, I can only communicate with them through words, though when Myst feels strongly about something, some of her emotions spill over into my head.

It gives me the shaky fear that I’m not dealing with an animal at all—but somethingelse. Something that really doesn’t want me here.

OUT. OUT NOW.

The voice is so steeped in mad rage that it drowns out my own inner voice. Whoever the ghost is, it’s so deafened by its anger that I don’t think it can hear me.

Little friend, I ask the mouse,Do you hear the angry voice?

Its nose twitches.No.

All that really tells me is that it isn’t another mouse, since animals can only communicate with their own kind. I’m at a loss for what to do until the mouse scales down my body onto the floor.

Wait, follow me! I know angry!

The mouse leads me through twisting passages and down two flights of stairs. I follow after with my heart thrumming in my chest, afraid of being caught sneaking around but too excited to care. This might not be the ultimate freedom that I crave, but it feels thrilling to explore just the same. The mouse leads me through more unassuming doors that I wouldn’t have noticed otherwise. Luckily, Brigit’s key works on the locked ones.

We descend until I’m sure we must be far below ground. The air grows colder. The mouse leads me to a descending staircase, this one comprised of rough-hewn stone walls plunging into darkness. A barred iron gate blocks the way. The mouse scampers through the bars, but I stop.

The key doesn’t work, I say, frustrated as I rattle the gate.

The mouse climbs up the opposite side of the gate, and I hear a latch falling open under his small paws. The gate swings open.

The mouse continues eagerly into the darkness, but I don’t have its superior eyesight. Without a lantern, every step plunges me further into pure blackness. There’s no muffling carpet underfoot here, and my shoes clatter loudly on the stone, so I take them off and carry them. I keep my other hand pressed against the stones to help find my way without stumbling.

The air smells musty and dank, with a metallic note that shrinks my stomach. Growing apprehension tiptoes up my spine as I move lower and lower, unsure of where the mouse is taking me.

GET OUT!

A cry escapes my lips, startled by the voice’s ferocity. It’s so loud in my head that it feels like it’s coming from an inch away. Somewhere ahead, there’s a sharp thumping sound. The air has an odd taste—like iron.

My heart kicks into a faster clip.

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