Turns out the stones don't do shit when they're buried underground. Helga had mentioned how they absorb heat during the day, allowing for some insulation throughout the long nights, but when the stones are six feet underground, all they absorb is cold, wet dirt and clay.

Freezing and aching from shivering all night, I wake up before dawn in this miserable rectangular room with the unfortunate need to use the bathroom. I caught a glimpse of the shared toilet in bathing room, and I'm less than thrilled. It's nothing more than a bench with several holes in it. There aren't even any doors or blankets to block the sight.

Thankfully though, I seem to be the only one awake at the moment. Gretta had said getting up early would be a difficult adjustment, little did she know before, I've always woken up before dawn. Game is most active during those hours.

I seize my opportunity and hurry into the bathroom, allowing myself that indecency, closing my eyes and trying not to peer through the open archway into the room full of sleeping women. Once finished, I return to the room and take it upon myself to start the fire. Most of the other women are slowly starting to wake; groggy moans and irritated sighs filling the shared space.

Back in my little corner, I pause at a few pitchers of water and some soap left at my washbasin. I look around the room for any signs of who might've left it, but everyone is now slowly rising from their beds, hair all tangled matts and shifts wrinkled with imprinted lines upon their features. No one even looks in my direction.

I try to look around the basin to see if there's any note, but nothing. I can only assume Helga left it, as Gretta, Nadine, and Bianca all ignore me and make their way into the bathroom. I briefly glimpsed their faces when I trudged in here last night, a small part of my heat leaping at their presence, but my aim was solely on my bed and its sweet reprieve.

Something in me warms at the thought of Helga coming all the way down here just to leave me some water. I'm also left to wonder just how early that woman gets up on her own.

I wash as best I can, shaking with the cold leaking in from the roughened stones around me. Suddenly homesick for the small but private bathing tub in Luiza's house, I quickly dry and slide into my clothes, thankful for the layers.

I rub my arms and try to pace about the space while avoiding the other women. My teeth won't stop chattering. Haven't stopped chattering all night, actually. Having wet hair now doesn't help, even after I braid it back.

I take a moment to double check everything in my section: my coin purse is still there, my dresses and other clothes still intact in the trunk, and my boots are right where I left them. I unceremoniously make my bed before I slip my feet into said boots and decide to head up to the kitchen. No sense in waiting around for the others to leave.

The trek up to the main hall helps my body warm, at least. And though I shouldn't be, I'm surprised to see Helga waiting in the Hall of the Four. She's eyeing a room off to the left, but they snap to me as I approach. I swear a ghost of a smile laced with approval stretches across her lips as she hands me a wooden bucket. Inside are some scraps of old, dirtied clothing, a large plastic bag, and a box of matches.

"I must admit, I'm impressed." She hums, meeting me halfway. "Most don't wake up this early on the second day."

Or don't wake up at all, she means.

I shrug my shoulders, ignoring the blush in my cheeks at her compliment. Then again, when was the last time anyone ever complimented me?

"I had to." I admit. "It's the best time to get the most game."

She angles her head at me. "What's the biggest thing you've killed?"

I blink at the sudden question, the interest. I can't stop my eyes from widening, but she waits for an answer. I clear my throat. "Um, I would suppose a boar. Maybe a lynx."

Not my most, willing kill. The lynx started following me around one day as I hunted. I initially thought it was going to kill me, until I saw it licking its lips at the bundle of fish I'd caught. I tossed it one, and that was that for a while. Unfortunately, it developed some kind of rabies at some point, and I had to kill it. I didn't dare sell or eat its meat, but Duke did pay a wonderful price for its pelt.

I count myself lucky that I hadn't had much of an interaction with a bear, but I was so desperate one winter that I contemplated hunting for one. The only encounter I can think of, if one can call it that, is when one hiked up a tree I was posted in. I could hear its claws rake across the bark and then its furry snout and head rose up a minute later. I was frozen in place, unwilling to move a muscle. It sniffed about my head for a few seconds before casually descending without further interest. I nearly wet myself but called it a miracle I left alive. It made me hesitant to go back into the wood for a while, knowing I might not be so lucky next time. And that I'm not the apex predator anymore once I step into those trees.

Helga nods slowly. "At what age did you start hunting?"

I shift uncomfortably at the attention. "My father taught me when I was younger, but it was shortly after his passing that I actually started."

"How old are you?"

"Eighteen."

A moment of silence. And then, "Did he teach you how to bargain?"

"Of a sort. I also picked up a few things from around the village; at least from those who pitied me or those who were kind. And might I ask, why are you asking these questions?"

Her eyes flick back to the door tucked unto the wall. At this angle, it would be over my shoulder. I turn and look too.

It's of simple make – pinewood from the color – with a simple door handle. I look back to Helga and she looks to me.

"There's something I want you to see." She says, and steps past me.

I follow, hesitant, but settle a bit once the door opens. Inside, there's red draperies and a small alcove. It's rather warm and inviting with its green wallpaper and mahogany décor and furniture. I've just stepped over the threshold when a charming laughter fills the room. "So we meet again!"

My mouth drops and my eyes widen as I behold Duke sitting in that alcove with a small table before him filled with an array of inventory.

I can't help the smile that spreads across my face. Dare I say happiness and joy blooms in my chest like a summer afternoon. "Duke! Wha-what are you doing here?"

He salutes at me with a large cigar between his swollen fingers. "Where there's coin to be made. How has the castle life been for you?"

I look over my shoulder to Helga, cold and indifferent as she dips her chin. I turn to Duke and walk up to the two-step dais where he's tucked into the alcove. "Well, I'm still alive."

His laugh fills the room again. "Miracles come in small packages, don't they?"

I can't describe what it means to see him here, however long he has. But if he's doing business with Lady Dimitrescu, then that means I'll get to see him every once in a while. It might just be the help I need – to see a friendly face. "Will you be here, often?" I ask. I don't even care about the near impossibility of how or when he even got inside.

Duke seems to understand my question. "As often as Miss Dimitrescu requests my presence. But it would be nice to catch up with you. I had meant to see you before you left, but it seems I missed my opportunity."

Duke wanted to see me before I left? I had always known we were mutual business partners, and I know his prices came from pity rather than admiration for any skill I might have, but to think he actually wanted to see me before I left for the castle . . . it's touching.

"I guess it's not completely missed. But if you were going to have business with Dimitrescu, why even worry?"

Shadows wash over his eyes, likes clouds in a clear summer sky. "I didn't know if it would be the last time I saw you alive."

His eyes dup to my neck, and I resist the urge to cover up the bruise no doubt blooming just beneath my ear. I hadn't bothered to look at it this morning. I didn't want it to discourage me any further than the encounter.

I gather my skirt and bend into a curtsy. "Well, I would hope to see your around, Duke."

"As to you Ms. Erika. Do come by in your spare time."

My brows furrow in confusion. "I don't have anything to trade anymore."

He waves his hand, the ruby and emerald and amethyst of his ringed fingers catching in the light of the candles. "Nevermind the trades; I could use someone to talk to."

I blink at the offer of friendship thrown to my feet. The promise seems impossible – I doubt I'll be able to find the time to even glance at Duke for more than a minute, but . . . in a place like this, to have an ally – a friend . . .

"I'll do what I can, Duke. But I won't make that promise. It seems like I'm going to be flooded with work for a while."

"I understand. Just know that it's there, should you ever want it."

That means more to me than he will ever know. "I appreciate that."

"We must be getting on, Erika." Helga interjects. I'm surprised she waited this long. "There's work to be done."

I glance to Helga, then to Duke, who is eyeing the old woman with a glare I've never seen before. He catches me staring, and immediately, it's gone. He lifts his cigar to me once again. "Please, be well."

I'm still for a heartbeat, then curtsey again with my head bowed. But then – "Actually, I have a request to make, if you'd be so kind, Duke."

"Hmm? And what might that be?"

I take an encouraged step closer, and Duke leans forward as best he can, leaning his head out. I lean in as far as I can without tipping over his table of wares. I lift my hand and whisper in his ear. His answering smile is impish with delight. "Of course. I'll do what I can."

"Thank you." I breathe.

I turn and follow Helga out of the room. She doesn't say a word for a moment as she leads me into the main hall. Even as we begin to mount the steps, still not a word. I'm worried I might've done something wrong, or if she felt insulted to be left out of the conversation, but as I'm about to ask –

"You've done business with that man?" Her tone almost sounded shocked if a bit disgusted.

"I didn't have much of a choice. He was the only merchant that took me . . . seriously. That even bothered to bargain with me for my kills. Whether it was pity or some form of intrigue, I do owe him a lot. And not in a literal sense."

Helga hums with disproval.

"I'm sensing the fact that you don't like him much."

"The man's grotesque appearance rivals that of Lord Moreau. That full belly and rolls of skin – "

I snort. "I would love to have that problem. Also, I don't think it's fair to judge him on his appearance seeing as we're working for a nine-foot-tall serial killer." She stiffens as we turn a corner in the hallway, passing the wine room. I, too, look around expecting to see if there are any eyes on the walls. I don't know where we're going, but I've already come to trust her. "Anyways, he's never given me any trouble. Never squandered me into a debt, took advantage of my lack of experience, even showed me some delicious meals from the simplest of meats."

"I just don't trust him."

"You don't seem like you trust a lot of people."

She glances over her shoulder at me, and I can't stop my smirk. I've never seen her so . . irked. It's almost amusing.

"Nevertheless, it's none of your concern what business I've done with him." I add. "Only remember that he helped kept my family alive."

Another hum of disproval.

I sigh and roll my shoulders. "So, where are we going? Aren't I supposed to be heading to the kitchen?"

"Soon. First we must light the fires in the castle."

I trip over my own foot. "All of the fireplaces? Not just the family's fireplaces?"

"You are a scullery maid. An underservant. You serve the other servants. Which reminds me, you also need to prep the tea for them when they awaken."

My footsteps become heavier. "You're joking."

She glances at me again, and I could've sworn she grinned. "My humor isn't as sharp as one might expect. Fortunately, you're only assigned this section of the castle. The others can be found through the courtyard. And with your conversation with The Duke, we need to make up for lost time."

"You're the one showed him to me. And to be fair, I didn't even think you had a sense of humor."

A breath of a laugh as we turn another corner. The courtyard of this place acted as the epicenter – branching off to different sections of the castle such as the opera hall and a tower leading to the castle attic, and Dimitrescu's private chambers. Even if I'm only stationed on this side of the building, it's still the largest portion of it with both floors and many hallways.

"Likely with you mending the fireplaces, Gretta might prep the tea, even mop if she's quick. But I wouldn't put your faith in that girl."

That yawning pit in my chest stirs. I give a cold chuckle as I say, "I don't have faith in anyone. Not anymore."

Not since my own mother left us to starve while she drowned in pleasure and alcohol.

"Am I to expect this chore routine every morning?" I ask.

"If you prove competent. Would you rather scrub and mop the hot, stuffy kitchen?"

"I'm honestly thinking about it."

Then again, I wouldn't want to have another encounter with the daughters like before. And who knows what they're like in the mornings.

We stop before a room, and when Helga turns to me, my gaze is hard. We blink at each other for a second before she opens the door. Inside is a massive, dark bedroom, lit only by a few candles, and points to the looming fireplace.

"Start here, then work your way down through the floors." She pulls out a ring of keys and hands them to me. "Some rooms require special keys; these will help. We usually keep the fireplaces heavily stuffed with wood, allowing them to burn most of the night. You should only need those scraps to keep them going. Clean out the ash, and remember to be quick, but efficient."

I nod.

"And, be careful," she cautions. "The Mistress's daughters don't like when it gets cold."

She leaves me as she always does – with her chin high and shoulders square – and I am alone.

I enter the room and examine the fireplace. It doesn't seem that bad, and if I work it carefully, I might be able to fit the ash in one rucksack. I kneel before the fireplace and calm my breathing.

I decide efficiency is more important than how fast I get it done – despite being due for the kitchens in a matter of hours. I don't want to be caught in one of the denizen's bedrooms, but I certainly don't want my head bitten off because I didn't complete a chore the proper way. And if Dimitrescu's daughters don't like the cold, I'm sure they won't give a rat's ass about leftover ash, so long as there's a strong fire.

Sighing, I crawl further into the fireplace and begin.

Two hours later, my eyes are burning and aching, my clothes covered in soot, and after combing through every inch of every fireplace I found among the rooms, my skin has turned a decaying black and stains up to my elbows. Helga never said where Dimitrescu and her daughters sleep, and so every tick of the clock becomes a death knell, every footstep outside the many doors cause me to reach for the iron poker poised next to each hearth wall. Nobody said anything about fighting back – never specified that I wasn't allowed to defend myself. If it came to it, at least I'd go down swinging.

I've reached the second to last room – the very last being the dining hall – and rather than get a flogging because I got ash in their food, I'll just clear this room while they finish their breakfast. I have no doubt I missed my kitchen duties, and I can only pray to Mother Miranda that Helga told Kathryn of this 'trial chore' as means to excuse my absence in the kitchen. Who knows, maybe Helga gave me this chore so I wouldn't have to face the Dimitrescu family. After what transpired last night, I almost hate to think about what they're like in the morning. I should still be able to make it there in time to help clean the dishes. Maybe that'll provide some damage control with Kathryn and the others.

I cast a glance around the bedroom. The only two windows have been blocked by heavy draperies, no exists save the one I just stepped through. The bed is enormous and neatly made, its red sheets of velvet and silk. There is nothing else in the room beyond basic furniture; not even discarded clothes or books or weapons. As if its occupant never sleeps here.

I pull out the shovel and begin my work scooping the ash into the bag as I did the others. By now, the sack weighs as much as a full-grown pig. There's still enough room to get a good half of the ash along the top before I have to tie it off.

I manage to get a few more scoops into the bag before I deem it full. I wipe the handle of the shovel on my apron before setting it back and doing my best to clean my hands to avoid getting any ash on the very expensive furniture.

I securely tie the bag, reorganize the logs, and have just ignited the fire when –

"There you are, little kitten."

I lunge for the poker as I shoot to my feet, my back to the hearth and the iron rod hidden behind me.

The blonde of the three daughters stands behind me with the door open. I didn't even hear her come in. She wears her hood this time, her features hidden in shadow, but still that tattoo on her forehead seems . . . darker. As if it swallows any light. I swallow at the smear of red around her mouth – sloppy, and rather disgusting. It looks like blood, but I hope it's just some red sauce.

"We missed you at breakfast today." She drawls. Her words are anything but sincere.

I bend my knees slightly, preparing to run, to duck, to do anything to get to the door that feels far, far away. "Helga assigned me to clean the fireplaces, or you'd rip off my skin."

"Did she now." A feline smile.

A fly drifts past my head, and I wave it off with a snarl of disgust.

I clench my jaw and gesture to the fireplace with one hand, still keeping the poker tucked behind me. "Is this clean enough for you, My Lady?"

"Ugh, spare me your useless, human dramatics."

Human dramatics? Did she really think that highly of herself?

"I'm just trying to be respectful, Miss . . ."

Her eyes narrow in such a way that seems to promise death for not knowing who she is. In truth, I really don't. Aside from being occupied with keeping Lacy alive, the village only spoke of Dimitrescu. Her daughters are known of, but I can't recall their names ever being mentioned.

"No one told you my name?" she croons.

I give her a flat look. "I haven't had the chance to ask. It's my second day."

I fold in my lips; at the sharpness I failed to stop. I considered surviving the first night a success. I'd been too exhausted to speak a word, as I had planned. I didn't even think they'd give me a second glance after yesterday.

Then again, I might've made them more eager to test me since I didn't breakdown at their first . . . attack. At least, not in front of them. I imagine other women crumbled and whimpered and begged upon their first interaction. I'll have to prepare myself for more to come. These women seem relentless.

"You're awfully bold, given your . . . situation." She smiles again, and it doesn't meet her eyes. "Are you going to put down that poker, or can I expect you to start swinging soon?"

I swallow my curse and bring it out but don't put it down.

"A valiant effort, but useless," She lets out a low laugh that slides along my bones, warming my blood. "I can't decide whether I should consider you admirable or very stupid for being so bold with me."

"Consider it second nature. I'm used to having to fight for my life." It might not be as valiant as a knight in shining armor, but fighting starvation and trying to keep my little sister alive seems like a step in the right direction. I can't feed my family if I'm mauled by some predator.

An angle of her head, her hair shifting over her shoulder. I can't stop my eyes from looking at the pigeon-blood ruby clasped to her throat. If I brought that to Duke, it might've set us up for quite some time.

It's then that I see a bloodied sickle in her right hand. It's dried on the blade, cracking and crusting and falling as she adjusts her grip. My eyes flick back to hers, and she's already grinning at me, having caught my staring.

Whatever I think she's done with that sickle, it's probably true. And much worse.

I remember Helga mentioning the castle dungeons on the tour, as well as whispers of it and who might've gone down there among the other women; at least when I was dosing off.

I lift the iron poker, just a little bit. But I don't balk at her golden stare.

"You seem different than your sisters." I state, hoping to distract her from my disrespect. But I can't help it. This is the most I've talked to . . . anyone since arriving at this castle safe for Helga. But she's a servant just as much as I am. This is an actual member of the family. I can't seem to hold my tongue.

A casual shrug of her shoulders. "Being the oldest, maturity comes at its quickest."

A kernel of information. I suppose I should be flattered by that; and that she hasn't sliced my neck yet with that sickle.

"Must be nice to have such freedom. Such luxury. This castle is a beautiful place."

Feeble and obedient. Feeble and obedient.

She places a hand on her hips as she casts her gaze about the room, as though she could see the entire expanse of the castle. Another fly whizzes by my head, causing me to flinch at the sound. "I suppose. But, I have to make my own fun."

A lick of cold kisses down my spine. Only someone with too much money and too little to do would say something like that. Someone who's never been hungry or frightened or bothered to think how the rest of the world lives.

It was obvious what she's like, her entire being practically on display without conscious thought . . . or care, perhaps. A woman definitely used to giving orders. And having them obeyed.

Gorgeous but spoiled.

A disappointment and a waste.

"Why did you come to see me? Is there something I can help you with?" How did she even know where I was?

"So many questions from a little human."

I clench my teeth as I relent to putting the poker back. "I'm due in the kitchen once I clean the dining room fireplace. If there's something you need –"

She leaps upon me before I can even finish the sentence.

Pounce, is a better word for what she does. It's all a quick blur of feeling hands on my shoulders, the pain of the wall in my back, and the sharp blade of her crusted sickle against my neck.

My head bangs into the wall in the process, and I have to blink to refocus my vision. I can feel the blade brushing against my skin. Just swallowing might cut my throat as the tip is embedded into the wall.

My vision steadies, and I avoid gasping – avoid any movement of my throat – as I see the eldest daughter's face inches from mine. Her breath smells of blood and rot, her golden eyes piercing into mine. Her stained mouth stretches into a smile, and she bites her lower lip as she braces her other hand above my shoulder against the wall. A small inhale will have her chest against mine.

Horrific, stunning – the face of a thousand nightmares and dreams.

"Let me give you some advice, new meat." Her voice is an erotic caress. "Best behave yourself, and don't let anyone else see that fire of yours. They're not as kind or patient as I am."

My mouth dries up. I whisper, thinking it will somehow lesson how deep the blade sinks into my skin. "Why help me?"

Another smile – more genuine this time. It unnerves me. "Because you're the first thing in this castle that doesn't bore me."

I hide my trembling as she yanks the sickle out of the wall. I sink to the floor clutching my throat waiting for the warmth pooling of my blood.

But, nothing.

I take my hand away and find a thin smear of blood across my palm. My fingers fumble over my throat, and I do hiss at a slight sting when I locate the graze, but it's no deeper than a papercut.

The eldest daughter takes my hand and her tongue licks across my palm, wiping away the blood in a single stroke. I bite my tongue, trying to ignore the brief throbbing between my legs.

Wrong. This is wrong.

The daughter wipes her mouth and sighs with content. She turns and heads for the door with a giggled hum. She glances over her shoulder at me when she's at the threshold.

"Ta-ta, little kitten."

She steps through and, for some reason, I scramble to my feet and bolt after her.

But when I reach the door only seconds after her, everything is vacant.

Empty. Not a single soul.

Safe for a little housefly buzzing its way down the hall.