When Helga comes to fetch me the next morning, she finds me sleeping on the floor, wrapped in a blanket.

"Erika," she says. I make a mumbling noise, burying my face farther into the pillow. "Why are you sleeping on the ground?"

I open an eye. Of course, she doesn't mention how different I look now that I'm clean. I don't bother concealing myself with the blanket as I stand. The yards of fabric they call a nightgown covers me enough.

"The bed was uncomfortable," I say simply, but quickly forgot the housekeeper as I behold the sunlight.

Pure, fresh, warm sunlight. Sunlight that I could bask in day after day if I got my freedom, sunlight to drown out the endless dark of this castle. It leaks in through the heavy drapes, smearing itself across the room in thick lines. Gingerly, I stretch out a hand.

My hand is pale, almost skeletal, but there is something about it, something beyond the bruises and cuts and scars, that seems beautiful and new in the morning light.

I run to the window and nearly rip the curtains from their hangings as I open them to the gray mountains and bleakness of the village. I gape at the bluish-gray sky, at the clouds slipping on their shoes and shuffling towards the horizon.

I am cheerful — jubilant, really — and my mood improves when Helga coils my braided hair onto the back of my head and dresses me in surprisingly fine hunting clothes that conceal my miserably thin form. A long-sleeved shirt that's lightweight, and colored to look like aging timber, a pair of fitted denim jeans that slide into rubber hunting boots. An unfamiliar material to wear on my feet, but they feel comfortable and durable.

Lacy has always loved clothes—loved the feeling of silk, of velvet, of satin, of suede and chiffon—and was fascinated by the grace of seams, the intricate perfection of an embossed surface. And when I've saved up enough money, when we are free . . . I'll buy Lacy all the clothes she wanted.

I laugh when Helga, irked at how I stood in front of the mirror for five minutes, admiring myself, half-drags me out of the room. The budding sky makes me want to dance and skip down the halls before we enter the main hall. However, I falter as I behold the thin groups of women scuttling into the kitchen. I catch a glimpse of Gretta and her red hair, of Nadine, and Bianca before they disappear behind the double doors of the dining room.

Work has already begun for the day, work that will continue without me safe for when I bring them whatever harvests I can gather. My stomach clenching, I avert my eyes from the women, keeping up with Helga as we head to the Hall of Four, where Bela is already waiting for me.

I spare the eldest daughter a small nod, lessening my smile. But even she seems to be in a good mood as she returns the gesture without hesitation, and it seems . . . genuine. Helga stops before her and gives a small curtsey – apparently even she feels more relaxed around Bela as well. The eldest daughter barely dips her chin.

"Is that what you're wearing?" I ask.

Helga looks to me with surprise, and a bit of horror. But it's a genuine question. Bela is only wearing a long – but different – style of black dress. If she won't be sweltering in the lingering summer heat, she might be more than troublesome when meandering around.

"Were you expecting something else?"

I ignore Helga's glare. "Well, yes. Something more, practical."

"I'm perfectly capable of hunting in this, I promise you." She flutters her eyes at me. "Unless you'd rather I switch with Cassandra. She's the more practical hunter, after all."

I pout, and debate sticking my tongue out at her. "Are you going to bring anything?"

"I'm not the one whose hunting."

True, but if she's going to be unarmed, and god forbids something happens to her on my watch –

"Duke said he has something for you before we leave." She then says.

I look over to his room where the door is wide open. He meets my eyes and waggles his brows. Then I look to Bela, "Is it, something your mother bought for me?" I don't think there's any real way to ask that without sounding improper. I wouldn't be surprised either way if Lady Dimitrescu actually bought me some supplies, or if I have to buy them myself – and it's taken out of my paycheck as well.

The thought raises another question: will I be charged for any of this. Using the castle room, buying supplies for myself; my clothes, my weapons, any accessories that should come with it –

"Consider it a gift on the house, Erika." Duke calls from his room.

I look to Bela and she shrugs her shoulders, her smile still there – still seemingly genuine. I go into Duke's room and give him a friendly nod as I step up to his table. Bela follows.

"I have something that'll help you with your hunt, Ms. Erika." When I tilt my head to the side, I watch as he reaches back and pulls out the most complicated bow I've ever seen.

Its limbs are designed in a sharpened recurve with multiple strings attaching to pulleys, and random rods sticking out everywhere that I don't even know what to make of it.

Duke chuckles at my confusion. "It's called a compound bow."

Compound indeed. I've never seen anything so intricate. It's intimidating. Duke does his best to introduce me to it, explaining each of its odd attachments and what they do. After the first few sentences, my head is spinning on a top. Limb pockets and bolts, cam systems and axels, cables and cable guards, stabilizers, variation arrestor, and even a mechanical release.

I have to stop him after ten minutes. "That's very kind of you Duke, but, maybe I'll just stick with what I know."

Even Bela looks like her eyes were spinning in her sockets. Duke gives another laugh. "I understand. It may seem intimidating, but it's supposed to be an advancement; help make things easier. It'll be here, when you're ready."

He then proceeds to show me the more, simpler bows of his inventory. Traditional bows, if a bit more modernized; including a more comfortable grip and darkened limbs that recurve like an elegant sweep of bird wings. Helga delivered my paycheck last night after our lessons, so I pull the Lei from my pocket and pay for the new bow.

Duke is kind enough to include twelve arrows as part of the purchase, and their quiver at a discount. They're not wood or feathered like I expected; everything seemingly made from a type of plastic. Doesn't matter much; in fact, it might even be more useful. The fletching won't ruin s quickly, and they'll likely be easier to clean.

"At least let me give you these," Duke says, pulling forward some flickering ends of what look like arrow nocks. "Designed for greater efficiency in low light, enhanced precision, and vastly improved retrieval, these proven lighted nocks help bowhunters see arrow impacts under any light and find arrows on pass thru shots."

I don't think I'd need for the hour I'm hunting at, but I certainly won't pass up that kind of product. Maybe I can test it one morning. I buy at least three of them. Duke explains how they'll start glowing when I attach them to the arrows. I tuck them into a pocket on the quiver and buy a hefty length of rope for some snares before I bid him thanks and farewell.

As I'm leaving the emporium, Bela and I find Lady Dimitrescu conversing with Helga in the Hall of Four. She's the first to notice us, followed by the housekeeper. "Ah, there you are."

"Good morning, Mother." Bela says sweetly.

I bow forward at the waist, the bow clutched in my hands.

In her gloved hand, Lady Dimitrescu holds a long cigarette holder, the tip of the tobacco barely a glowing ember. She grins. "You're looking refreshed, Erika."

I give a smaller bow of my head. "My new room is more than I could've hoped for. I'm grateful for your generosity. If I may ask, what are you expecting of me, today?"

"Whatever can be served for the course of three meals. I won't put my hopes in a little thing like you carrying things like a deer and a hog together. And make sure to tally it so you will be rewarded accordingly."

"Will it be through Kathryn, in the kitchen?"

She snorts. "No. Bring your list to Helga and she will give you appropriate commission."

Another bow. "Yes, My Lady. What time are we expected back?"

"I don't think my little Bela could go much without her breakfast. Be back in time so she can have her fill."

"Yes, My Lady."

"Do bring her back in once piece. I can't afford to lose her."

I blink in surprise. "Y-Yes, of course My Lady. I would never."

A brief pause, and another giggle. "Oh, I was talking to Bela, my dear. But thank you."

The eldest daughter rolls her eyes. "Yes, Mother."

"Well, off with you. The Duke and I have some business to discuss."

I give a timid nod and look to Bela. Still that smile holds, only now it's lined with a hint of mischief.

Before I can have second thoughts about what the hell I've just gotten myself into, she turns. And I'm left with no choice but to follow.

Bela guided me towards the pretty, painted stables located at the back of the castle. There are only four workers total, and even though there are only four horses who seem relatively healthy, I can't imagine the work that has to be divided between the four woman. Especially when observing the way two of them handle the horses, they don't seem the most educated.

One has already pulled a black gelding, finishing the final strap of the saddle as Bela approaches. They all bow to her, but don't even look at me. I step aside to let a stablegirl pass.

"Never seen a horse before?" Bela questions as she approaches the surprisingly calm creature. No fear shone at all about having a sadist murderer in its presence.

"I have," I sneer. "I've just never rode one."

Bela laughs, mockingly. "Never? In your life?"

I fight the heat flooding my cheeks. "Not professionally. Just at smaller ones chained to a roundabout at the village festivals."

And my kind of hunting can't be done on horseback. Mine consists of careful stalking and well-laid traps and snares. I don't know how to give chase atop a horse.

"Is the trek far from here to the woods?" I ask.

"Yes. Far enough that we need the horses, and I don't need you tired before we even get the chance to hunt."

I clench my jaw to keep a retort from slipping off my tongue. I watch as she swings herself into the side saddle with graceful ease. It is admirable, and surprising. It must've been obvious on my face, because Bela asks, "Didn't think I could handle a horse?"

"You didn't really strike me as a rider."

"One of Mother's many teachings. Useless; since we're always stuck here in the colder seasons, and she barely lets us leave the castle grounds. But I do adore surprising you." She motions for them to prepare a horse. I lean against a wooden wall as I wait, keeping an eye on the doorway for signs of Lady Dimitrescu, and offer my own bland replies to Bela's remarks about the weather.

Mercifully, I am soon astride a white mare, riding with Bela through the summer-shrouded woods beyond the gardens. I keep a healthy distance from the eldest daughter on the broad path, hoping that she doesn't try to startle my horse.

The thought doesn't sit well, and I shoved it away – but I don't hesitate to marvel at the way the sun illuminates the leaves, and the clusters of crocuses that grow like flashes of vibrant purple against the brown and green. Things that aren't necessary to the task at hand, but I mark it as I scour the surroundings: the shape and slope of the hills, what trees are good for climbing, sounds of nearby water sources. Those things can help me survive if I ever need to.

Only birds and the chittering and rustling of small animals sound as Bela and I enter the still green southern forest. I've never hunted through these woods, as they are part of the castle property. There is no path here, nothing tame about it. Oaks, elms, and beeches intertwine in a thick weave, almost strangling the trickle of sunlight that creeps in through the dense canopy. The moss-covered earth swallows any sound I make.

Old – this forest is ancient. And alive, in a way that I can't describe but can only feel, deep in the marrow of my bones. Perhaps I am the first villager in five hundred years to walk beneath these heavy, dark branches, to inhale the freshness of summer leaves masking the damp, thick rot.

"Is hunting about being quiet, or are you just bad at conversation?" Bela asks, falling back to ride beside me.

I adjust the weight of the quiver strap across my chest, then run a finger along the smooth curve of the yew bow in my lap. The bow is larger than the one I used at home, the arrows heavier and heads thicker. I'll probably miss whatever target I found until I adjusted to the weight and balance of the bow.

Shortly after his passing, I dipped into his insurance and purchased my bow and arrows. I'd since allotted a small sum every month for arrows and replacement strings.

"Are we going to keep the horses tied somewhere once we're close enough?"

Bela clicks her tongue. "I was leaving that up to you. I only know how to get back."

I immediately tug on the reins, making the poor horse stumble back a couple of steps. I rub its neck in apology as I dismount. "We'll leave them here then. We won't go too far, just enough that I won't scare them, and they won't scare any game."

Bela only hums as she follows my lead and helps me tie the horses to a secure, low hanging branch. She falls into step beside me, and keeps up better than I expected. About her waist sits a satchel she had grabbed from the horse's saddle – apparently it contains some snacks and a skein of water should we need it.

The lands are as empty as the castle itself, though I occasionally glimpse something shining in the corner of my eye. Every time I turn to look, the shimmering transforms into the sunlight dancing on a nearby stream, or the wind fluttering the leaves of a lone sycamore atop a knoll. As we pass a large pond nestled at the foot of a towering hill, I could have sworn I saw four shining female heads poking up from the bright water, watching me. I hurried my steps.

"Well?" Bela presses after ten minutes of walking on foot. "No game good enough for you to slaughter? We've passed plenty of squirrels and birds." The canopy above cast shadows upon her hooded head.

"I don't even know why I'm doing this, honestly. You seem to have enough food on your table that I don't need to add to it, especially when there's always plenty left over." I doubt squirrel would be good enough for their table.

Bela snorts but doesn't say anything else as we pass beneath a flowering lilac, its purple cones drooping low enough to graze my cheek like cool, velvety fingers. The sweet, crisp scent lingers in my nose even as we trek on.

"I didn't think hunting would take such, effort." Bela chimes.

I clench my teeth. "My particular style requires cover . . . and quiet."

"Ah, an ambusher?"

"Of a sort. Some prefer to track, others decide to hide and wait."

Bela skips ahead. "Hm, doesn't seem fun."

"It's personal preference. You need a little bit of both to –"

WHACK!

I yip in startling pain as a thin, low-hanging branch smacks the side of my head, barely missing my eye. As I press my hand to my temple, I hear Bela giggle. I growl as I follow behind her, contemplating tripping her or just shoving her into the nearby stream I hear.

"I wouldn't have accepted this position if I'd known you would use it as an excuse to torment me."

Bela smirks. "Apologies, Erika."

Eventually, I find a glen of young, skinny birch trees, then stalk in ever-widening circles until I encounter the stream. Not deep, but so wide that I have to take a running leap to cross it.

"We'll settle down here."

"Why?" Bela asks, not even trying to hide her boredom.

I bury my fury as best I can. "A clearing is our best option. It's wide and open, with no trees or bushes to hide them. All living things have to come to water eventually."

At this point, I'm just trying to kill time and energy so she'll find even talking to me boring. So I bring her along as I show her the different hiding spots for snares, different routes the animal could travel if I don't get a killing shot, teaching the basics in poisonous plants. And a few alternate routes, should we run into any dangerous animals. It is then I realize the genius of the rubber boots: durable for all kinds of weather, and terrain.

When I'm sure of every root and rock and hollow in the surrounding area, I return to the small clearing encircled by those white trees and lay my snare.

I motion Bela over to a sturdy, dense oak whose vibrant leaves can hide us entirely from anyone or anything below. "We'll hide up there."

"Why not in the shrubbery?" she asks, but this time she actually sounds interested with the promise of something happening.

"If we run into some dangerous animals, we'll see them coming rather than having them step on us. Being trampled by a moose is a mistake you only make once."

Her eyes widen, and I bend my knees and ready my hands. "Can you climb?"

Her golden eyes flick between me, my hands, then the tree. Hesitation ripples like stained glass.

"I won't drop you."

"It's not that." She grumbles.

"Then what?"

A heartbeat of silence, and then, "Nothing."

She walks over and I fight the urge to shrink like I normally would in the castle. Out here, I have the advantage; even if I still can't kill her – not if I want to keep Lacy out of their sights. But somehow, the idea of not having her company isn't as reassuring as I'd thought it would be.

She comes close enough for us to share breath, and places her hands on my shoulders. Her breasts are fuller than I allowed myself to see, and the deep V of her dress does little to hide her distinct cleavage. I can almost see myself in my reflection in the pigeon-blood ruby clasped to her neck. I have to look down when her foot places in my hands, and ready my arms to haul her up.

"On three." I say. Bela nods. "One, two, three."

Together, she propels herself up, and I give her a lift. I'm caught off guard by how light she is. It almost sends me careening back into the trunk. Her weight is noticeable in that she weighs no more than Lacy. It's, disturbing. She looks so well fed. I shove the thought away as I watch her settle.

I have to admit, she can climb better in a gown than I would. I shimmy up after her, settling close to the trunk while she sits with her legs dangling over the edge, her skirt fluttering in the breeze.

"So now we wait."

I nock an arrow and place it across my lap. "That is how it works."

She huffs. "I always thought they track it and corner it, and just fire."

"If it's active, yes."

She looks to me, her hair glinting in the streaming darts of sunlight. Her skin nearly reflects alabaster. I've never seen someone so pale. As if she's never seen sunlight. "How do you mean?"

"If the animal was just there no more than a few minutes ago, yeah they'll track it and kill it. And that's after decreeing if it's worth tracking at all."

"How can you tell how recently it's been around?"

I shrug. "Mainly scant. If it's still gleaming fresh or if it has already hardened from the day's weather. Footprints for how deep they go and if they're still readable; see where they lead and if it's to a game trail."

Bela tilts her head. "What's that?"

"A game trail is a clear path in a forest lacking substantial undergrowth due to the frequent passage of animals, such as deer, raccoons, maybe even bears."

The Dimitrescu daughter chews on her lip. "You had to learn all of this by yourself?"

I across to her, folding my arms. Her mocking smile has dissipated. "My father taught me when I was younger. And kept his lessons going up until he passed. And I used that skill to provide for my family." Bela hums, but it's the delicate twisting of the corners of her mouth that have me sneering, "What?"

She shrugs her shoulders then. "You must've been a favorite among the village."

I bristle, trying to calm my breathing. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"I know what my mother taught me, and I'm aware of what the women in the village learn as well. Men must've been fighting over you when you came of age."

"Are you mocking me?"

She looks to me, brows narrowing. "What? No. If anything, I'm trying to compliment you. Be appreciative. What man wouldn't want a woman who can hunt and cook?"

"One whose too insecure in his masculinity to treat me as an equal." The answer came too easily, the woods so familiarly bitter. "And it didn't help that my mother smeared our family name after my father's passing."

"Did she even do anything before she became a cheap whore."

I don't argue against her words, her insult. "She tried to teach me how to be a lady. I learned basic table manners and of the like, but if company wasn't over or we weren't at a social gathering, I couldn't care less. She didn't like that too well."

"She resent you for it?"

"All that and more. I think she might've hated me even before my father passed."

A heartbeat of silence, safe for the rustling of leaves in the gentle wind. Then Bela asks, "What did he look like?"

"Why do you care?" I snap. Where are these questions coming from? What did she care? "Usually hunting is about being quiet."

Her face shifts into a snarl. "We're going to be around each other for a while now, if not forever" – I don't let the words hit their mark – "why not get to know the other?"

"You don't seem like the kind of person to 'get to know' someone."

"What do I seem like, to you?"

"You don't seem like much of anything." Other than a spoiled brat whose so bored with her life that she has to mock me in whatever way she can. I can see her chest cave slightly as my words find their mark.

Bela flutters her lashes and gives me a shit-eating grin that has me grinding my teeth. "Yes, who wouldn't care about you and that oh-so-charming personality? Were you always like this, or was it something developed to spite your mother?"

If I'd inherited anything from my mother, it would probably be her viper's tongue. I straighten and lean forward. "Why not tell me about yourself, first? A tip for a tip."

She averts her eyes, looking back out towards the clearing. "I'm not that interesting."

I give a heavy snort. "Bullshit. You're living in a castle with a near ten-foot-tall mother of noble blood; you don't look like either of your sisters, and you spend your free time torturing young women and eating the men."

"And that's interesting to you?"

"How it came about, yes. Let me ask you: how did you come to know Lady Dimitrescu?" I bat my eyes just like she did.

Bela looks down around the clearing, her shoulders drooping in a way I haven't seen before. Almost, unsure. Her brows narrow. "I was, in darkness, for a while. And after a long time, I woke up, and there she was. Cassandra and Daniela were there too; and the next thing I knew she – Mother, walked in, and decreed she would take care of us. I was so, scared and yet, empty at the time that I didn't question anything. And, at least I can say I don't regret it."

I blink. I'm not sure if she's just fucking with me, or – No, that look on her face. It's too human to be anything but. There's something more to the story that she's not telling, or that she genuinely doesn't remember.

"What do you mean you were in, blackness?" I ask quietly.

A pause. "It was just, darkness. Everywhere. With no beginning or end. And I just remember, floating. And feeling so, insignificant."

Her eyes thin, her mouth pursing in an expression I cannot place, but I know there is pain lingering at its foundation. So I say, "I think my nose is the only feature I inherited from my mother. I could still remember how her nose would crinkle with feigned amusement when one of her fabulously wealthy friends made some unfunny joke. At least I have my father's soft mouth, and his eyes. People always talked about his eyes."

"They are beautiful." Bela says.

A corner of my mouth tilts up. "As are yours."

Each compliment came out so easily, so, naturally that I can barely contemplate the surprise.

My eyes are the only real thing I'm proud of in regard to my physical self. Though it makes a mockery of my too-sharp cheekbones and hollow cheeks. I could never really bring myself to look at my slightly uptilted eyes. I didn't know if I would see my father or my mother looking back at me. Sometimes I wonder if that was why my mother had insulted me about my looks. I am a far cry from ugly, but . . . I bear too much of the man she'd loved for her to stand it. For me to stand it, too.

The afternoon sun creeps overhead, hot enough even through the canopy that I had to roll up the sleeves of my tunic. My stomach grumbles, and Bela pulls a hunk of cheese out of the satchel. Eating it would be quieter than the apple that had been packed, as well. When I finish it off, I swig water from the skein, parched from the heat.

I move about as much as I dare on the branch, only to keep the blood flowing to my limbs. I'd just settled in again when a twig cracks followed by silent footfalls.

Quietly, I loosely nock an arrow. Closer and closer the steps creep.

Bela leans forward, so much so I hold out a hand, afraid she might fall. She hikes her skirt up, uncaring of manners, and crouches on the branch like me. She prowls closer with such stillness, such restrained strength that I am jealous.

A doe emerges from the woods, her gait relaxed, her ears turning this way and that. Behind her, I see the movement of a little fawn trotting along side her, nibbling at her abdomen for milk.

My posture slackens as I behold the little creature. I look to Bela, worried she'll pounce on the thing, but find her gaze locked upon the two deer. Her brows are furrowed, her lips pursing. I'm about to quietly suggest we wait, but there's another shifting of movement.

I jerk my head towards the clearing.

A buck, no more than three years old, emerges into the clearing. He doesn't look around, only aiming for the stream to drink.

He's beautiful, as most bucks are. His antlers sharpened and broad. But those are useless thoughts; distracting ideas that have made me lose more bucks than I'd care to count.

He sidles up to the female, her turns so that her flank blocks the little fawn – his back still decorated in white freckles.

The buck comes closer, and the doe stands her ground huffing through her nose.

For a moment, I don't see the deer.

My heart races as I see myself, and a familiar male face that's haunted me for the past year and a half after a cold, cold winter.

The sound of my skirt ripping, the feeling of wood pressing into my back –

The buck advances on the doe again, and this time she kicks him in the chest, sending him scurrying a few feet away from her and her fawn.

Without hesitation, I shoot him in the heart.