Saengo gives me an irritated purse of her lips. But she doesn’t stop me from shimmying through the square of space with a nimble ease that would make even Kendara snort in approval. The glass broke in large fragments, so I gather as many shards as I can from the ground, fold up the bundle, and hand it to Saengo along with the book. I scatter dirt over what slivers remain to conceal them from passing servants. An open window is far less suspicious than a broken one.

I flash Saengo a reassuring grin. Then I hurry along the side of the castle until I reach the perimeter of the bone palisade. I’ve seen very little of the rear half of Spinner’s End, but it can’t be that difficult to find Ronin’s study. At this time of night, the grounds are deserted.

I follow the bones. Outlying walls and buildings stand a good distance from the palisade and the trees just beyond. I pass a large yard filled with animal pens. Most of the animals are asleep, but a few sniff and dig through the dirt. One rolls on its back in a puddle of mud. My nose wrinkles at the smell.

Past the animal pens is a high wall with drooping weeds half clinging to the stone. An arched doorway leads inside. What lies beyond surprises me. It opens into an enclosed garden overrun by weeds.

A cobbled path winds beneath a series of stone archways into another walled space and even more intersecting avenues. It’s like a maze. Fascinated, I turn in circles, taking in the meandering pathways and secluded gardens. The arches are beautiful, the stonework chiseled into symmetrical flourishes and fantastical creatures. When these gardens were flowering, they would have been breathtaking.

Maybe I should return to the library and bring Saengo back here in the morning to explore more fully. I turn back just as an awareness awakens inside me. There’s a presence somewhere in these gardens. It becomes an ache in my joints, a pressure building inside me like a scream that needs release. The skin on the backs of my arms and neck prickles, although the air is warm. Something about this presence feels familiar, although I can’t place it.

Brushing the hair from my forehead, I stare in the direction of the path to my left. There are four paths in all, one leading back to the exit, and three more branching off into places unknown. But the arches over the left entrance are dressed in spiderwebs.

I haven’t taken more than a step before I freeze. A clicking sound fills the silence—something heavy striking stone. The space beyond the arch darkens with an encroaching shadow. The clicking grows louder, more hurried, like snapping pincers or … numerous legs over the cobbles.