I raced across the atrium and hurried up the stairs. The woven runner muffled my footsteps, while the stairs, carved from the same limestone as the hill the castle stood on, were silent beneath my weight. I ascended in a crouch, hoping that, with its thick urn-shaped spindles, the banister would hide me from any soldier who happened to pass below.

Once I reached the top of the staircase, I darted for cover behind a tall urn. Breathing heavily, I peered into the hall beyond.

No sign of Koschei. Had he gone into one of the rooms?

I glanced behind me, making sure that no one was coming up the stairs, before edging into the passage. The drapes were drawn over windows. Electrical lights glowed in filigree cradles, casting shadows that resembled writhing serpents across the floor.

Every few steps, I looked behind me, expecting at any moment to find myself surrounded by soldiers. The corridor was empty. So far so good.

At the first door I came across, I squatted down and pressed my eye against the keyhole, queasily aware that if the door were to suddenly open, I’d be knocked flat on my back. Blackness confronted me.

I rose to my feet and went to the next door, listening keenly for any sign of life beyond the solid oak panel. No movement, no voices. Just silence and an unlit room.

Koschei must have come down this passage, so where was he?

A blade of light gleamed through the bottom of the next door. I looked through the keyhole and gasped.

The room on the other side was as decadent as the rest of the castle’s furnishings, with hand-carved furniture and decorative stuccowork. But the floor was covered with a blood-splotched sheet instead of a luxurious rug, and heavy chains stretched across the bed.

A figure lay motionless atop the mattress. All I could see of him was a shackled arm, bloody clothes, and a dark tangle of hair.

Mikhail.

I took out the pair of keys I had found in the laboratory and inserted the larger one into the lock. The lock clicked, and when I turned the knob, the door swung outward with ease.

“Mikhail,” I said softly, entering the room.

No response.

I eased the door shut behind me, slipped the keys into my pocket, and went to his side.

He lay in a deep slumber. An assortment of bottles and medical supplies rested atop the small bedside table. His wrists were shackled to the bed frame’s carved posts, the chains long enough that he could move and sit up, but not reach for anything beyond the bed’s confines.

“Mikhail,” I repeated, tapping his cheeks with my fingertips. His skin was cool and clammy. If not for the slow, even breaths that lifted his chest, I would have thought he was dead.

What should I do?

It briefly crossed my mind that I could wrap him in the sheet and drag him through the castle the same way I had transported him through the woods. No good. I wouldn’t be able to take him down the stairs. Even if I could somehow maintain my grip on him during our descent, his head would strike the stone with every step.