Midnight's Daughter

Since I shared that view, I decided that a frontal assault might not be the best plan. I was confident that I could take on a couple of half-frozen guards, but if one managed to raise the alarm, it would put an early end to my evening’s plans. I looked for other options, but there weren’t many. Despite being located at the peak of the mountain, the castle was surrounded by high, deep walls of natural stone and featured three tall watchtowers designed to keep people like me outside.

I became well acquainted with those walls, since I spent the next half hour scaling them, clinging to the few narrow ridges where the outer stones didn’t fit together perfectly. Every time I stayed in one place more than a few seconds, my hands froze to the rock, ensuring that when I moved on, I left a little more flesh behind. My movements caused chunks of ice to cascade from the edge down the fifty feet of dirt slope that surrounded the castle, to the steep drop-off below. I looked down once, and immediately regretted it. I didn’t look again.

The wind almost knocked me off twice, bringing with it stinging bits of ice that scoured my skin and threatened to blind me. It howled around my ears like an angry demon, seeming to take it personally that I continued to hold on by my fingertips. More than once, I was bashed against the stone hard enough to have me worrying about the state of my rib cage. And when I finally made it to the top, I had to wait, hanging on the almost featureless outer surface of the walls, until the guards on patrol moved away.

As soon as they did, I hauled my half-frozen body over the parapet and dropped to the ground. It was less of an improvement than I’d hoped. The biting wind was gone, only to be replaced by the bone-chilling cold of winter air trapped inside thick stone walls. Even worse, I had no idea where I was supposed to go and the castle was crammed with soldiers. Everywhere I looked, bodies flowed through the shadows before coming out into the moonlight.

I’d hoped that an assault in the middle of the night would find most people asleep, but I should have known better. Considering whom I was dealing with, night around here was probably busier than day. I finally lost patience and crossed the open courtyard at a run. For a wonder, no one saw me. It helped that most of the guards were huddled into their cloaks, more worried about not freezing to death than about possible intruders.

I entered the castle unseen. The cavernous arches of the corridors were immense above me, and even my softest footfall seemed to ring into infinity. I ghosted along the walls and somehow made it to the large main hall without being seen. The air was filled with the clatter of plates and goblets, and lanterns pushed at the darkness, spilling large puddles of light on the floor and dispelling the concealing shadows. It was obvious that I would have to wait for the group of soldiers gathered along one of the room’s long tables to finish a late meal before I continued. The smell of their food made my stomach growl; how long had it been since I’d eaten? I couldn’t remember, but the scent of beer and cold lamb caused my abdominal muscles to clench uncomfortably.

I turned my attention to the sight of a new-looking tapestry on the back wall. It showed an armor-clad figure at the head of an army, who I assumed was either the father or the son because he was riding a dragon. Both belonged to the Order of the Dragon, a group created to fight the Turks, which had given them their famous nickname. “Dracul” means dragon, so “Dracula” was literally “son of the dragon.” It seemed a good bet that the painting was of the son—he was spearing an enemy on the point of a pike.

The soldiers finally left and I moved into the echoing space, trying to keep to places that did not have dried rushes on the floor to crackle underfoot. The ceiling above was so high that it disappeared into darkness, and seemed to pick up every stray echo of sound. At last, I reached a high, arched door, leading to a short, dimly lit corridor. Nearby, a set of stairs wound up into blackness, the lack of torches an encouraging sign, as only my prey was likely to be able to see his way without them.

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