Minnie spent her first days in the castle hunched over a wooden stool, stripping endless potatoes from dawn to dusk. When the light grew too dim for work, the kitchen staff gathered for a simple meal, accompanied by silence or quiet, work-related talk. Afterward, they took snacks for the next morning and retired to their cots, only to report back again at the break of day.

  She often thought of the boisterous meals with her noisy family back in Greengrove and wondered if she would ever see them again. The letter she'd received from Martha, a week into her castle service, stayed tucked in her apron, lending her warmth in the hardest moments. She wrote back when she could, brief notes scratched out when ink could be spared.

  She also had time to think about her own actions, which, in retrospect, seemed quite foolish. Tomash and Nellie had married over three seasons ago. She had barely seen him since she stopped lurking around the woodpile, and hardly even thought of him lately. And yet she’d thrown a hissy fit over the fact that his wife looked happy, put herself in danger, and hurt the people who loved her in the process.

  The more she turned it over in her mind, the more certain she became: the urge to go to the castle had been there first. Her jealousy of Nellie had only given her an excuse, a reason to attach to the unreasonable.

  Lost in thought, she nicked her thumb with the knife. Again. Her hands were covered in scratches and shallow cuts. She winced, sucked at the skin, and went back to peeling.

  The gruesome, yet safe, routine of potato peeling was not to last. One day, just as the breakfast trays were being loaded, it became obvious that one of the kitchen runners was missing.

  The Head Cook noticed at once. Her mouth thinned, and she spoke quietly with the guards before drifting through the kitchen for the rest of the day, watchful and withdrawn. No one asked questions. No one needed to.

  When the guards returned that evening, she drew them aside for a brief exchange. Whatever was said left her colder than before. By dinnertime, the kitchen had settled into a careful, subdued rhythm. Even the spoons were handled softly.

  As they scraped the last of their stew from the bowls, the Head Cook rapped her knuckles on the table.

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  “Bill’s gone,” she said flatly. “Vanished sometime last night. You know what that means.”

  Of course they knew. But nobody was stupid enough to say it out loud.

  Minnie’s fingers throbbed from a shallow cut she hadn’t noticed until now. Her heart skipped a beat. She didn’t know what happened to runners who vanished, but her imagination offered vivid suggestions. Fear twisted in her stomach, sharp and sudden.

  The Head Cook scanned the room with eyes like rusted nails. “It means we need a new runner. Any volunteers?”

  No one moved. The whole crew fidgeted like children caught stealing cookies. A few looked at their hands. One girl swallowed loudly.

  Minnie’s fingers throbbed with every heartbeat. Before she could think better of it, she raised her hand.

  The Head Cook gave a short nod. “You start tomorrow. Follow Brent tonight. Learn the routes.”

  Brent didn’t say a word as he led her out of the kitchen, but his pace was punishing. He stalked through the corridors like something was chasing him, forcing Minnie into a half-jog just to keep up. Her legs throbbed from a full day hunched on a stool, and her fingers still stung from cuts, but she didn’t dare complain.

  At the third turn, he finally spoke. But not to her.

  “Damn you, Bill,” he muttered. “Told you a thousand times to leave that cleaner girl alone. And now you’re dead, and I’m stuck with this useless broad.”

  Minnie wanted to tell him she wasn’t useless, and not to call her broad, and who did he think he was anyway, but she was out of breath, so she kept her mouth shut.

  They passed a corridor lined with red-veined marble. Brent didn’t slow.

  “Mind the Head Maid,” he said, this time to her. “She’ll scream your head off if you drop so much as a crumb.”

  Another turn. A steep flight of stairs.

  Minnie stumbled, hard, her toe catching the top step. She flailed briefly, caught herself on the wall, and flushed with embarrassment. Brent didn’t stop.

  “The Captain, he’s worse,” he added, almost cheerfully now. “Stay away from him.”

  He glanced over his shoulder with a smirk that didn’t reach his eyes.

  “Course, none of them are around right now. Not when the Crone might be up and about. But they’ll be here tomorrow.”

  It was meant to scare her. And it did.

  But under the fear, another feeling swelled: frustration. Not with Brent, not even with the castle, but with herself. Once again, she’d hurled herself toward danger without thinking, pushed by a feeling she couldn’t name. She’d told herself she volunteered because her back ached, because she was bored, because she wanted to be useful.

  But none of that was true.

  It was the same strange pull that had brought her to the castle in the first place. A gravity, silent and absolute, calling her forward without explanation or consent.

  She followed Brent in silence, jaw tight. He stopped talking when it became clear she wouldn’t rise to the bait.

  Their tour of the castle was brief and joyless. When it ended, they returned to their cots without another word.