The corridor was silent once more but for the sound of Edda’s own tremulous breaths. She blinked several times, as though clearing her vision might also clarify what she had just witnessed. But there was little mistaking it, was there? Her view of the hallway had been unobstructed, lit brightly by the flickering oil lamps. There was hardly a shadow to be found in the space between where she stood and the library—nothing for her eyes to be deceived by. Those mahogany doors had opened, and Agneta and her maid, Ildi, had disappeared within.

And, if her ears had heard right, they had stolen something. Or was it that they intended to?

She retreated into the stairwell, her mind racing. This most certainly sounded like something she did not want to involve herself in. Thievery! She had her hands quite full enough without adding that to the pot. If she still had any sense left in her—after forgetting the library would be locked, after coming so close to being caught—she should find her way back to her rooms right this instant. If she started walking now, she could put a reasonable enough distance between herself and the library before anyone else came upon her.

But Edda hesitated, unwilling to leave the relative safety of her hiding spot. She did not know how long Agneta and Ildi would take in the library. It was possible she’d walk right into them as they left, and she was not entirely sure how that encounter would go. Before today, she had thought of Agneta as quiet, moody, and rather uninteresting. But she had somehow unlocked the door of the library, using a hairpin no less. And there was the uncertain matter of the theft…

Edda chewed her lip, anxiously. She did not know enough about Agneta and Ildi’s activities to guarantee that she could silence them if they recognized her. She was, herself, in a rather questionable state, and in some ways her intentions were little better than theirs. But she could not just wait for them to leave, either.

Or could she?

Agneta would have to make it back to the South Tower before the summons came for the midday meal. She would be expected to dine alongside the other girls and—as far as Edda could remember—she had been neither noticeably late nor absent to any gathering, at least until her sudden nuptials in the summer. Furthermore, if Agneta and Ildi were indeed up to no good, nothing in Edda’s memories suggested that they would ever be caught.

It was a gamble. Edda glanced upward, to where a sliver of morning light flooded in from a window, half hidden around the curve of the tower. There was still time. The longer she waited, the riskier it would be to make her way back to her chambers. But if her reasoning held fast, the same was true for Agneta and Ildi. If anything, they would need to be more cautious than she if they wished their supposed crime to go unnoticed.

And, perhaps, once they left, the library door would still be unlocked.

Edda counted her breaths as she waited, eyeing the window warily in an attempt to keep track of the time. She hoped she would be able to tell if the sun was climbing too high in the sky, but really she was trusting Agneta and Ildi to leave well before noon’s approach. She kept herself pressed closely against the wall at the entrance of the stairwell, near enough to hear if there was movement in the corridor but hidden enough not to be seen from it.

The time seemed to pass excruciatingly slowly, but it could not have been more than a quarter of the hour before she heard the tell-tale groan of the library doors as they opened once more. Quiet voices, deep in argument, surfaced again within the corridor. Edda tensed, barely breathing—listening desperately to ensure they were not headed her way.

“They’ve been through them already,” Ildi griped miserably, “They must know it was missing.”

“They’ll look again for it, I’m sure,” Agneta replied, sounding rather unconvinced herself, “I put it with the others, so they’ll just think it misplaced amongst the travelogues.”

Those massive doors creaked shut, and the soft scuffs of the women’s footsteps could be heard as they hurried away—back the way they had come, it seemed. Their voices dissipated with their departure until Edda could no longer make out their words. And soon, the only sounds she could hear were her own measured breaths, shaking ever so slightly with anxiety.

She did not venture out immediately. If the library doors were again locked, she would have to make her way back to the Grand Hall with little delay. She did not want to be caught lingering in this wing of the castle, which had been seldom occupied since the Count’s passing. If Agneta and Ildi had decided to pass through the Hall, as well—for it was the most efficient path back to the South Tower—she wanted them to be well ahead of her. So, although her body thrummed with nervous energy, she forced herself to remain where she was for a few minutes more.

Restless as she was, Edda considered the snippets of conversation she had heard between the two women. She did not want to involve herself in their scheme—that had not changed—but something in their exchange had bothered her. They had returned something to the library—likely a book—perhaps having taken it at an earlier date. Whether that amounted to theft, or just a bit of wrongful borrowing, was not her concern. What she found peculiar was that they had alluded to someone else visiting the library in search of what they had just replaced.

There were very few at Cachtice Castle who could even read. And the doors of the library opened only with the Countess’s permission.

It could mean nothing at all, of course. Maybe the Countess intended to lend a book; it had happened during Edda’s time in her role, and it was not implausible that it might have happened before, without Edda’s knowledge. But Edda had come to the library on this day with the vague notion of learning something. This was as good a place to start as any.

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That all depended, of course, on whether the library doors remained unlocked. Steeling herself, Edda poked her head out of the stairwell, sneaking a swift glance down the corridor to where the library lay in wait. There was no sign that anyone approached, and enough time had passed that Agneta and Ildi must be well clear of the hallway. Taking a deep breath, she wiped her sweaty hands on her skirts—smoothing apron and dress alike—hunched her shoulders and set out once more.

The short walk back to the library doors was a strained one. She felt even more on edge now—not only had she nearly been seen here already, but time was increasingly of the essence and still there was no guarantee that she would be able to enter the library. But for all the trouble she had been through, she was determined to come away with something today. She could not bear to return to her rooms as ignorant as she had left them.

Although Edda had hoped for it, her heart very nearly leapt out of her chest with surprise when the doors to the library eased open at her gentle insistence. The noise they made, even opening to such a small degree, seemed comically loud in the silence—loud enough to wake the entire castle, she felt. Hastily, she squeezed herself past, shutting them behind her in the span of a breath. With her back pressed against the cool wood of the doors, as though to prevent any from following her within, she listened for several long moments—certain she would hear footsteps converging upon her.

When, finally, she was able to convince herself that she had not been discovered, she turned her attention to the Count Bathory’s library. It enveloped her, as daunting and impressive as she remembered it. Below the high, vaulted ceiling, mahogany bookshelves stood in long rows, creating shadowy aisles through which visitors might wander. Straight ahead, a massive writing desk sat framed by the shelves; the large windows behind it providing the vast space with its only illumination—that of a morning which was fast advancing toward noon.

She hadn’t the time to wander around any longer, she realized. Even if she knew that Agneta had placed the book she sought amongst the travelogues, she hadn’t the first idea of where those were kept. It would take far too long to scan each shelf when she hardly knew what she was looking for. But before her frustration could return full force, her eyes alighted upon a sizable wooden chest set before the desk. Had it been her first time in this library, she might not have looked twice at it. It was finely crafted, with polished iron straps and handles—not at all out of place in a room so splendid.

It might be empty. It could be full of garbage, for all she knew. But it was right in front of her. And it was the first time she had ever seen it.

Edda went straight to it, falling to her knees as she reached it. To her relief, there was no padlock. The lid was heavy, but she pushed it open with only a sharp protest or two from her still swollen wrist. As she took in its contents, she released a breath she had not realized she had been holding. It was half-filled with books. Perhaps these were those the Countess intended to lend out? She could not be certain, but it was the only guess she had to go on.

The light of the windows was blocked almost completely by the desk and the lid of the chest, but through squinted eyes Edda was able to make out several titles—printed in fine letters along the ornamented, leatherbound spines:

The Travels of Benjamin of Tudela

Sir John Mandeville’s Voyages and Travels

The Transylvanian Journeys

For the first time that day, Edda felt a spark of triumph—muted though it was by her urgency. Were these the travelogues that Agneta had referred to—not shelved, as Edda had assumed, but gathered in this chest for whatever reason? If she was correct, the book she searched for might be among them. She reached in, pressing her finger along the covers as she continued to scan the titles.

She had been through nearly half a dozen of them before one caught her interest. Her eyes narrowed. Carefully, she picked it out from its resting place, snug between The Pilgrim’s Chronicles and Across the Carpathians; it appeared a bit older than the others, certainly thinner, with a rougher and more worn binding.

“In the Aspects of Mother, Maiden, and Crone,” she murmured. It was not an account of someone’s travels, that was for certain. Was it some kind of theological text? No, she hadn’t the time now to read through it and find out. She was skilled at reading, but she was more accustomed to correspondence than the scholarly or religious language she might find within. It might take her hours, even days to decipher the book entirely, small though it was.

She would have to take it with her.

It was a terrifying prospect. She had wanted no part in Agneta and Ildi’s thievery, and yet she now considered her own. She would return the book, of course, but that did not excuse how her actions would be interpreted if she was caught carrying it off today. Would they throw her back in the dungeons? The thought was like having ice water poured down her back, and her fingers stiffened, dropping the book back into its place.

She began to tremble, clutching the side of the trunk for purchase. Not the dungeons. Not again.

Her breaths began to shorten as her chest constricted, and she shut her eyes against the sudden tears behind them. This was madness—all of it. What on earth had she hoped to accomplish here? This had been a stupid, silly plan right from the beginning, and she had known it the moment she found the library doors locked earlier. It was pure, dumb luck that she had found herself here, and she would be pushing it beyond belief if she went any further.

She could not steal the book and risk putting herself back in that dark, cramped cell ten years early.

A sharp, lancing pain from her left wrist, warning her of the tightness of her grip, seemed to pause her spiral. She swallowed back a sob as she pushed herself up from the ground, shutting the chest as she did so. The daylight grew still brighter in the peaceful quiet of the library. She had to go back. Already, servants would be about. Marta might even be on her way back to their chambers by this time, and Edda had little desire to explain this excursion to her.

She turned, taking one step, then two toward the doors.

Back to safety. Back to ignorance. Back to allowing Marta to take all the risks, while she did nothing but wait, as wilfully stupid as ever.

She did not know what came over her. She could not have explained it to herself. One moment, she had raised her foot to continue back to her rooms, and the next, she was once more before the open chest, stuffing In the Aspects of Mother, Maiden, and Crone down the front of her dress. For good measure—and with just as little thought—she grabbed Across the Carpathians, as well.

Adjusting the baggy apron about her—tying it such that the books were concealed about her waist—and tamping down the fearful tremors that immediately beset her, she began the journey back to the South Tower. In her mind, Marta’s matter-of-fact words from the night before echoed solemnly.

I’ll steal it, if I have to. She would not let Marta be the only one.