Nomi’s heart pounded. There was no air in this dark, and her thick woolen cloak, so useful as a disguise, dragged at her shoulders, warming her past the point of comfort. The cloak itself was a torture device, pulling at her throat and drenching her in sweat. Finally, when she could stand it no more, she unhooked it and let it drop to the floor. The stuffy air suddenly felt cool against her skin.

She moved silently, precisely. She took tiny, measured sips of air. She tried to orient herself based on what she knew of the palazzo, but couldn’t sort out where in its heart she might be. So she slid through the darkness and pressed her ears to the walls and listened. Her fingers drifted, seeking out latches or other anomalies. Her mind filled with images of Asa, asleep in bed, her jagged knife poised above his heart.

A few yards to the left of the ladder, with her ear pressed against the wall, Nomi caught the faint cadence of a woman talking and the lap of water. Perhaps she was near the Graces’ bathing chamber? As she retraced her steps, she bumped into an odd little lip of wall. No, it wasn’t part of the wall. It was a hinge. She dropped to her knees and felt every inch of wood, praying. Her fingers snagged against a small, round nub. She tugged at it, and slowly a panel opened toward her. She peeked through the gap and found herself looking at a potted fern. She was about to open the panel a bit more when the sound of voices grew louder, and two sets of slippered feet glided past. She was sure now. This was the Graces’ chambers.

She slipped the panel closed, memorized the feel of the tiny doorknob, and noted the distance back to the ladder. She shuffled down the passageway until she came upon another small door, this one opening to Malachi’s silent bedroom.

Her pulse fluttered wildly in her throat. She slipped a hand to her boot, reassuring herself of the knife hidden there. The next small panel led to the Superior’s chambers.

Nomi pulled the door open a sliver. She took a deep breath and held it.

Listened.

In her mind, she saw her parents’ broken bodies, the bruises on Serina’s face. She saw Renzo’s haunted eyes. She was doing this for them. And for herself.

But it wasn’t quiet in Asa’s room. His voice, low and dangerous, murmured, “That’s not good enough.”

Terror razored through her. The memory of his dagger slicing into skin, the way his eyes turned ugly, came back to her.

He was awake. Someone was with him. She couldn’t kill him now.

Nomi closed the panel in silence, the blood pounding in her ears.