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I turn back to the books.

“Who were you?” I mutter, fingering the spines.

I come across a peculiar one, titledSvellenta, written in the common tongue. I have come across the word before during my studies, but the translation does not immediately come to mind.Interesting, I think and hook a finger on the top of the spine to pull it free.

A loud creak cracks through the air. I stifle a yelp and jump back. Mouth open, I watch as the bookcase splits down the middle and parts, leaving a dark tunnel. I stare at it, chest heaving. The low whistle of the wind snakes through the darkness. It must lead outside. My heart skips at the thought, and I take a shaky step forward.

As soon as I enter the secret passageway, I am plunged into darkness. I nearly lose my nerve, but the call of the wind steadies me. If this leads outside…No. I do not let myself think of that. Not yet.

I inch forward, my hands on the walls on each side of me. I expected them to be rough-hewn, like some of the other passageways, but the brick is smooth. As though it has been built this way instead of carved. I take a deep, fortifying breath and move forward. The floor begins to slope down, so I carefully pick my way onward. One stumble, and I do not know how far I will fall. Without my sight, all I can hear is my own shaking breath and the promise of the wind.

Time slips away from me as I walk, but I press on nonetheless. The ground levels out again, and I catch a pinprick of light in the distance. My breath hitches. I stumble on, faster than before, trying to reach it. The light grows and grows, turning a deep, hazy orange. The light of the late afternoon sun. The air becomes less stale, and I feel the tickle of a breeze around my ankles. I break into a run, tearing through the tunnel to reach the light. The outside.The outside.

I come to a halt at the end of the tunnel as the world opens up.

I am somewhere in Mossgarde, but I do not know where. The passageway leads onto a raised platform high above the swamp below. Insects buzz around me, the trees rustle in the slight breeze, their leaves half-orange. I look up, but I can no longer see the sky, blocked out again by the canopy of branches.

I stifle a sob, clapping both hands over mymouth. I have done it. I have found a way out.

But I linger on the precipice between my prison and my freedom.I should run, I think.Run from here and never look back. Run to my Aunt, run to the border of Mossgarde and onward again until I reach the Glass Sea. Until I reach Frostalm.

I think of the snow hare.

My feet do not move. I stand with my fists clenched at my sides.

I think of Inez. Of Vanya. Eliza.

The prince.

I think of them all, and I know I cannot leave. To leave would be to doom them all to a lifetime of torment.

To stay would be to doom myself to the chopping block, another part of myself whispers angrily. And it is true. But it is not enough.

I turn from the exit and stride back the way I came. My fate is tied with theirs now.

Chapter 20

Winter arrives in a flurry of overnight snow and frost. Mock snow, Mossgardians call it. Thick enough to fall from the sky but melted to nothing by the time it reached the swamp. It never settles, but it is enough to chill the air.

I awake to a cold room, my breath turning to mist in front of my face. I blearily look through the window and see fat, heavy snowflakes falling. Already, there is a layer of snow forming along the windowsill.

I groan and throw my head under the covers, curling into the smallest ball I can. I instinctively make a checklist in my head of tasks to do—I need to save the swamp reeds from a hard frost and check the house for holes and drafts to stay warm inside. It takes me until the sixth task on the list before I quietly realise I do not need to do any of these things. I am not home. I have not been home for months.

I peek my head out of the covers to test the temperature again. It is chilly, but compared to the bitter cold of my father and I’s home, it is bearable. Particularly with the thick, soft duvet wrapped around me.

“Good morrow, miss.” Inez knocks at the door before entering with a breakfast tray. The smell of hot saffron tea and fresh bread wafts my way, luring me further from my warm cocoon.

“Good morrow, Inez,” I greet her. I have not spoken a word of the secret tunnel I found to anyone. It is too important, and though I trust Inez, I cannot risk the information getting to any of the guards.

She places the tray on my lap with a smile. New breakfast foods have appeared—warm honey cake, hot cocoa alongside the tea, and strips of salted marsh rabbit. Food to keep you warm. My mouth waters as I inhale deeply, but the memory of last winter chews at me. My father and I would often go to bed hungry as not much grew in the swamp during winter. If we could not hunt the swift marsh rabbits or sparrows, we would be resigned to the dregs sold at market. Often, we only had enough money for a bruised pond apple or two.

I push the memory deep, deep down and start my breakfast. As usual, I split it with Inez, who sits at my bedside and eats with me.

“I will need to dress you today, miss,” she tells me as we feast. “The prince has asked foryou to accompany him on a walk this morning.”

“A walk?” My heart thunders.

“Around the castle, miss,” Inez clarifies before taking a bite of buttered toast.