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long flowing blond hair. She does not need to see his face to know who he is — her best friend, Fane Dalca.
    Tiny rocks, plucked from between the stone slabs, rattle in Fane’s hand. He tosses them into the depths of the well. Gravel patters against the tunnel floor, coming to rest against her shoes.
    “What troubles you, boy?” a gruff voice inquires.
    Roseline cups her mouth to conceal her gasp. Why is her keeper, Vasile Serban, speaking to Fane? Their lengthy history together usually ends in bloodshed and threats of beheading. Why would Fane go to him now? It makes no sense.
    “How is she?” Fane asks. Roseline drops her head as guilt swells in her chest. She is the reason he risks his life tonight.
    Vasile shifts, digging the toe of his boot into the ground. “You know you shouldn’t ask.”
    “All the same, I need to know,” Fane presses. He pushes off from the rim of the well, turning his back to Roseline as he leans against the circular stone. “How bad is it?”
    She can picture Vasile’s wild mane of marble-streaked hair, obnoxiously large nose, and the left eyebrow that perpetually twitches when he is nervous. Roseline learned long ago that it is a mistake to assume Vasile’s disheveled appearance carries over into his duties. He is Vladimir’s lapdog, through and through.
    He is certainly not the person Fane should be speaking to about his master’s wife. Especially with such emotion laid bare in his voice.
    “She will be able to walk by dusk,” Vasile shrugs. Roseline’s fingers clench into fists beside her leg at his emotionless response. “It could have been a lot worse.”
    A growl rises in Fane’s throat. “You speak as if you do not care.”
    Vasile approaches, his eyebrows furrowed. “And you care far too much.” The warning edge to his tone only confirms her fear — her friend is walking a thin line.
    Fane crosses his hands over his chest; his black leather jacket pulls tight across his back. Roseline stares up at him, wishing she could reassure her friend, to find some way to tell him she is safe, but her escape will have to suffice.
    “Have you looked in on her?”
    Vasile says nothing. His silence unnerves Roseline. Is he delaying? Has her escape been discovered and Vasile is buying time? She glances back down the tunnel, expecting to see Vladimir creeping silently toward her, but it remains empty.
    “Leave her be, Fane. You know what will happen if Vladimir finds out you have been to see her.” Vasile’s hand comes to rest on Fane’s shoulder. Fane and Roseline stiffen at the same time. “I will check on her when we wake. I am sure she will have healed by then.”
    His grip tightens as Vasile steers Fane away. Roseline commands her lungs to hold fast until the door slams behind them. Still she waits. Precious minutes pass, but she cannot risk exposure.
    One wrong move and her dreams of escape will come crashing down.
    She reaches for the grate, praying Fane has made it to his room on the far side of the castle. Even then, he might hear her. His hearing is the best among her brethren.
    Careful not to draw blood, she bites her lip as she inches the grate up onto the path. The groan of shifting metal makes her cringe. Her muscles coil as she waits for the inevitable sounding of the alarm but none comes.
    She lifts her duffle bag up through the opening and quickly follows it. Kneeling on the rocks, she wipes away any trace of her presence. She tightens the strap over her shoulder and darts across the courtyard and out into the garden grounds.
    Roseline flies over the grassy hills, past blooming fall flowers still damp with morning dew. She picks her way through rocky paths until she reaches the perimeter wall.
    Without any hesitation, she leaps into the air. Her feet plant firmly on the wall and race upward. Pushing from the balls of her feet, she leaps to a nearby tree, grasps the worn branch, and swings back and forth. Her fingers release and propels herself easily over the