To the unaccustomed, Cachtice Castle was something of a labyrinth. The South and West Towers had been built first, hundreds of years ago now, with a maze of interconnecting corridors between them. Defense had been a greater priority in those days, and though later years of peace and wealth had seen the narrow passageways illuminated and adorned, the path through them was no less convoluted. But Edda had been Countess of this castle for a decade. Even if she had rarely walked its halls unattended, she trailed her memories through them.

It was unnerving to follow her own footsteps through the empty corridors. Indeed, she had never known them as they appeared before her now—identical to the ones she had walked before, yet so much more foreboding. It was terrifying in its own way, to be alone in a place where usually there were others; all the worse because she half expected to turn the next corridor and have her ruse uncovered. Certainly, her heart leapt at her throat each time she came to a fork or bend, where down the dimly lit path she might come face to face with a suspicious servant.

Being seen by a servant would be unfortunate, yes, but not disastrous. Few of the servants had seen her as yet, and she didn’t think it likely that she would be recognized immediately, dressed as she was in Marta’s clothes. Running into the Steward would be another matter entirely—one she had to hope would not come to pass. But even that prospect was less frightening than the one she grappled with in the corner of her mind—the one she struggled to set aside, that she might not bolt right back to the safety of her rooms.

Far worse than the Steward might find her in these corridors. She had no blackthorn upon her. The sun had not fully risen yet, and there were no windows here.

To calm herself, she endeavoured to focus on how she had chosen to be seen today. It was not as simple as the apron and dress she wore, though that was the first layer of it. There was more to playing a role than purely looking the part. This was something she knew from experience. When she had become the Countess, she had changed the way she looked, yes, but also the way she carried herself, leaving behind her own mannerisms for more refined ones. She had not spoken or danced or smiled or even breathed as Edda Belten of Hesse, but as the Countess Elizabeth Bathory.

And so, as she neared the Grand Hall, which would take her most directly to the North Tower, she tried to become Marta.

The Grand Hall was a later addition to Cachtice Castle; a vast, opulent space framed by impressive staircases on either end, serving not only to awe guests upon their arrival, but also as host to the castle’s most important gatherings. Beyond even that, it connected the older parts of the castle to the new, with many corridors converging upon it. If there was any place she might encounter another of the castle’s residents, it was here.

Her steps faltered only momentarily as she alighted upon the landing which overlooked the Hall, not far from one of the staircases that descended into it. Marta would not dawdle when she was about business—even at the splendor of the Hall before her—but she might hesitate slightly given her unfamiliarity with the castle. She quickly and surreptitiously scanned the Hall below for movement and, noticing none, continued on.

The landing thinned to a balcony that lined the second floor of the Hall in both directions; a space for onlookers to retire and gossip at balls, while dancing proceeded below. Edda turned along it, keeping her head straight in a way that Marta might. She was a maid going about her way, she reminded herself. It would be odd if she appeared too unsure. Already, she had hunched forward and rounded her shoulders to make her height less noticeable. But she did not actually wish to go unnoticed. No, she simply wished to appear as though she were exactly where she should be, headed toward a place she had every right to go.

She had just about made it to the far end of the Hall when footsteps alerted her to the presence of another, somewhere beneath her in the Hall proper. Almost immediately, her heart began to thunder, her mouth dried, and her hands grew sweaty. But she did not allow her sudden apprehension to reflect in her demeanor; rather, she maintained her pace as best she could. If it were another servant, Marta would have no reason to be wary of them. And if it were not a servant, then even if she showed her fear, it would do her no good.

But no voice called out to her, and the footsteps went about their way in much the same way she did.

Finally, she passed beneath the large archway that would take her out of the Hall and directly toward the library. Her unease lifted somewhat, but did not dissipate entirely. The corridors in this wing of the castle were noticeably wider, with higher ceilings and more frequent sconces, their warm glow lighting her way. It was far more pleasant to walk through, but also meant that any she encountered would see her face very well.

Erected within the lifetime of the Count’s great-grandfather, this section of the castle stood as a monument to the Bathory family’s wealth and influence. There were fewer paintings and tapestries gracing the walls, but decorative columns and borders had been carved into the stone itself. Several other corridors branched off to the left and right of the one she walked, but for the most part, it was a straight line toward the base of the North Tower, where a magnificent set of mahogany doors marked the library entrance.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

She could remember being awed by these doors the first time she had seen them. The wood had been worked into delicate grooves and curves all along their length, expertly carved to give the impression of an untamed forest. But today, her eyes slid toward the polished brass doorknobs, a rather abrupt wave of anxiety coming over her as she focused on the keyhole sitting beneath them.

Silly, stupid Edda.

The doors would be locked. For good measure, she raised an unsure hand to the doorknob. Grasping the cool metal, she twisted and pushed but found only resistance.

Her stomach sunk. As far as she knew, the late Count’s library had been hardly used since his passing. Although widely considered to be a respectable collection of books and manuscripts, compiled by a man of great knowledge and taste, the library may well have never existed during Edda’s time as Countess. Save for the few occasions she had entertained guests there, it had materialized in her consciousness only a handful of times, usually at the behest of some curious nobleman. But books were not a feminine pursuit. None had questioned the Countess’s disinterest in the finer details of her husband’s collection, so Edda had had little reason to visit the place in thought or person.

Perhaps that was why she had forgotten that it was kept sealed.

To preserve it in the state that her husband had left it, was the excuse Edda herself had given to those visitors who were not granted access. Whether it was, indeed, marital devotion or—as Edda had vaguely suspected—some sort of political maneuvering that kept the library doors closed to most mattered little to Edda now. She could feel frustration bubbling up within her. She had come all the way here, only to be foiled by her own stupidity. Hadn’t she been ever so eager to use her memories of the past to her advantage? How could she have forgotten something so basic?

It was at that moment, as she stood berating herself before those ornate doors, that she heard the approaching sounds of hushed voices and hurried footsteps. Eyes widening—frustration abruptly replaced with fear—she quickly glanced behind her. They were not yet in sight, making their way down a corridor somewhere behind and to the left of her, but they were not far off, either. If she did not hide, she would certainly be seen as soon as they turned the corner. And she hadn’t an excuse for why she should be in front of the locked library doors.

Shaking with nerves, she turned away from the library and down the corridor to her right—not running but walking as quickly and lightly as she could in the direction opposite the voices. She hastily scanned the path ahead, cursing the wide, brightly lit hallway. Not a column or tapestry to conceal her. The voices had turned onto the main corridor now, and, though she could not tell for certain, they did not seem to be moving away from her. Her heart pounded within her chest, so loud she was certain they would hear it before they saw her.

Panic seemed to blur her eyesight as the voices grew closer, yet she still refused to run. It would be far more unnatural to be caught running, she knew. A maid would have no reason to run, unless she were up to no good. So, Edda maintained a steady pace, so focused on appearing innocuous that she almost went right past the stairwell. It connected to the hallway at a right angle, ascending the North Tower in a gentle curve.

Doubling back, she ducked into it and out of sight. Hoping she had not been seen, she began a slow climb as she listened, past the rushing sound of anxiety in her ears, to see whether the voices still neared or had made any comment on her presence.

“Do you understand what you have done?” a woman’s voice hissed. They had stopped, it seemed, some ways back from where she was. “This amounts to theft!” Edda blinked, pausing with one foot on the next step. Had she heard that right?

“Hush now, Ildi. Is it here?” another woman asked, clearly exasperated.

The hallways were just silent enough for Edda to hear someone fumble with a doorknob, turning and pushing to no avail. “Mother of curses, it’s locked,” Ildi swore, a tinge of desperation in her voice. Were they trying to enter the library, just as she had moments ago? Edda’s heart hammered against her ribs. “We’ll be banished. Your father will have me flogged.”

“Quit your puffing,” the other woman said sharply before demanding, “Your hairpin.”

“What!” Ildi exclaimed.

“Give me your blasted hairpin.”

Edda’s breaths shook as she eased herself back down the stairs, flattening her body against the wall so as not to be seen. She should want no part in what Ildi and her difficult companion were about. The library was locked and she had failed; so the smart thing to do would be to stay hidden until they left, and then head straight back to her chambers before she was caught. Edda chewed her lip, listening to the muffled movements of the two women she could not see.

Despite herself, she was curious.

There was an assortment of soft rustling and gentle clicking from their direction. “Mother and maiden, Neta,” Ildi whined, “Where did you learn such a thing?”

Swallowing thickly, Edda crept closer to the edge of the wall. Her hands were fisted in her skirts to prevent them from trembling. She had not expected to encounter others here, at this time. She could not have known about Ildi and Neta, because she had never attempted anything like this before. Would she really just return to her chambers, having accomplished nothing more than a walk in Marta’s clothing?

Could she chance a look at them? Did she dare?

Before she could decide either way, a loud pop resounded from down the hall. Someone gasped in surprise. “That does it,” Neta said smugly, and then Edda heard unmistakeable groan of the library’s massive doors opening. Her eyes widened. How had they done it? They certainly had not had a key.

“Mother and maiden,” Ildi repeated, her voice shaking.

Steeling herself, Edda pressed her chest to the wall and inched forward just far enough to poke the top of her head out from the stairwell. She watched for a moment, then two; her shock and confusion mounting.

Agneta Szalai extracted a small pin from the door’s keyhole, a triumphant smile on her face. Beside her, her reluctant maid—a wiry, pale young woman—fidgeted uncomfortably. “Come now,” Agneta said, slipping into the library.

With a defeated sigh, Ildi followed, and the library doors closed behind them.