From the corner of my eye, I could see the black fin of the river monster angle in my direction, drawn to my kicking. I struggled to keep my head above the water. As the cold began to numb my legs, I tried to kick faster against the current so that it would not tug me into the deeper water. Hyacinth paced on the shore, watching me.

Suddenly the current swept my feet from under me. My head dipped underwater. For a moment I hung there, no longer in control, a rag doll in the tide. I panicked. My breath escaped from me in a cloud of bubbles, and I kicked frantically. Whispers swirled around me—voices that sounded like Woferl, like my father and mother. In my struggle, I opened my eyes in an attempt to see. Out of the murky distance came a shadow, and when I jerked my head toward it, I realized it was the river monster gliding its way toward me, its eyes white and its jaws splitting its head open.

I screamed and screamed. Bubbles rushed up before me, obscuring my view. Through my terror came Hyacinth’s words, clear and cutting as a blade.

Aim true, Fräulein, for you have only one chance.

The river monster sped up. I hoisted the crossbow in front of my chest. In this frozen instant of time, I could suddenly see myself suspended in the water, the gleaming tip of my weapon pointed straight at the creature’s gaping mouth.

I pressed the trigger.

The arrow sliced through the water, straight into the monster’s jaws, and disappeared into the blackness of its throat.

The creature roared. It jerked away from its path toward me and thrashed, kicking up dirt from the riverbed. Everything around me turned into a haze of darkness. I struggled up, aiming blindly for the surface. My chest threatened to burst.

Miraculously, my feet found their way again, and I came up with a terrible gasp. Behind me, the water frothed with the creature’s dying throes. Its shrieks were gurgled now, the sound filling with blood. The smell of metal choked the air. I reached the opposite bank and scrambled up the side. Mud and grime sank deep into my fingernails.

I reached the top of the banks and threw myself to the ground in a heap. When I looked back at the river, I could see the trail of dark blood leaking from where I had been. The river monster was nowhere to be seen. I sat for a moment, gulping air, wiping tears from my cheeks. The crossbow lay beside me, useless now.

On the other side, Hyacinth took a step toward the moat. To my shock, the water now parted where he stepped, as if God had touched the water and split it like the Red Sea. The dry riverbed revealed the corpse of the river monster, which Hyacinth now stepped over without a second look.

I turned toward the forest of thorns, pulled the sword from my back, and dragged myself to my feet.

As Hyacinth said, the thorns parted with a hiss at the first brush of the blade against their brambles. I cut my way steadily through until I could barely see anything around me except their sharp points. They caught against my dress, ripping lines through the fabric as I went. Behind me, Hyacinth had crossed the river and was walking through the beginning of the path I’d carved through the thorns.

A rogue branch lunged for my foot, its thorns cutting a bloody line across my ankle. I cried out, swinging the sword down blindly at it. The blade made contact, and the bramble shrank away as if from fire. Other branches reached for me, hungering for skin. I hacked at them even as they closed in.

I missed one branch. It twisted around my ankle, tightening, its thorns digging hard into my flesh.

This is the end, I wanted to sob. I will not be able to escape it.

Suddenly, its grip loosened. I saw Hyacinth behind me, his teeth bared, his jaws having sliced straight through the branch. “Hurry,” he growled.

A surge of strength rushed through me. I swung the sword as hard as I could, and the last of the thorns before me parted. I stum-bled out of the branches and fell to my knees against solid ground.

When I lifted my head, I was staring at the entrance to the castle, its front gates wide-open. Bundles of dead, dried grasses were tied to every iron bar. It reminded me of the billowing grass in the valley of the arrow, and I shivered at the memory of the wind’s whispers.

The sword in my hand had turned dull, its surface slowly eaten away by the poison of the thorns. I dropped it, watching the blade vanish into nothing, leaving only the hilt. Then I struggled to my feet and went on without looking back.

I walked across a barren courtyard where great processions must once have marched through. Dark drapes hung across every castle window. Old flags of a once-great kingdom now hung in tatters from the castle ramparts. When my eyes lingered long enough on their faded embroidery, I could make out the hint of a sun, great golden waves of thread radiating out from a central circle. It was such a familiar symbol. I frowned at it, trying to place where I might have seen it before.

As I went, the hairs on the back of my neck rose. No one walked these grounds, and not a sound came from anywhere except my own feet against the stone, but still, I could sense the gaze on me, coming from some hidden place.

At last, I reached the tower entrance. The stairs that curved upward, the same from the château, were wet, and water pooled in the dip of each step’s worn stone. I peeked at the shadows to make sure no one stood there, but I could only see to where the stairs disappeared into the darkness.

I began to climb.

The windows were smaller than ever, their dark drapes billowing, and the little light they let in was not enough for me to see the steps in front of me. I kept my hand pressed against the curve of the wall. Against the stone hung tapestries of the kingdom’s royal family. They were worn with age and weathered by water and wind, but I could still make out the face of the king in his youth, smiling and confident, with his young queen at his side. The same sun symbol from the flags shone behind them, and in their arms were cradled two infant children.

I paused on the steps to linger on the likeness of the queen. Her dress was white and gold, trimmed with lace, with a sweeping skirt that pooled like water near her feet. The gown, the curve of her cheekbones, the arch of her neck . . . everything about her looked so familiar.

The stairs seemed to grow taller and narrower as I went, so that sometimes I had to pause and feel for the top of the next step before I could continue. My feet made no sound against the wet stone. Occasionally I heard a tiny splash as I stepped into the puddles formed by the water.

Something glided past one of the windows. I thought I heard the whisper of the wind as it went. Behind me came a sound. I thought it might be Hyacinth, but when I turned to look down, all I saw were the billowing drapes of a lower window, as if something had slithered inside. Again, my skin prickled with the sensation of another presence.

Footsteps, slow and laborious, came from somewhere far below me.

“Hyacinth?” I whispered into the dark. No one answered.

Panic started to rise in my throat again. I continued my climb, as fast as I could without losing my footing against the slippery stone. Behind me, the footsteps followed.