Lair of the Lion

staircases. They were steep and uncomfortable, nothing resembling the ornate stairways that spiraled through the palazzo, connecting the various stories and wings together.
    There were very few sconces to hold torches, and the shadows lengthened and grew, and a heaviness grew in her heart along with them. She paused for a moment to get her bearings, midway up another steep staircase.
    Just as she was going to turn back, Isabella heard the mysterious whisper again.
    "Isabella." It was somewhere just ahead. She moved quickly up the narrow, curving staircase, following the soft sound. She had been cautioned to stay away from the wing where Don DeMarco kept his residence. Uncertain whether the staircase had twisted back and upward toward his wing, Isabella hesitated, one hand grasping the railing in indecision.
    She was confused as to precisely where she was heading, which was strange, since she'd always had a remarkable sense of direction. Everything seemed different, and that strange shadow in her heart grew longer and heavier. Surely if she accidentally ended up in the wrong part of the palazzo, she would be forgiven. She was a stranger, and the place was enormous.
    The soft whisper came again, a woman's voice beckoning her. Isabella again began to climb the endless staircase. It branched off in many directions, led to wide halls and narrow corridors. She had seen none of this with Sarina and was hopelessly lost. She had no idea which floor she was on or even which direction she faced.
    A door was partially opened, cool outside air rushing in. It felt good on her skin. Isabella was hot and sticky and out of breath. She stepped out the side door, staring in awe at the sparkling white landscape. She was definitely up high, on the third story, and the balcony was small, just a crescent-shaped overhang with a wide wall for a railing. As she took a step toward the edge, the door swung closed behind her.
    Isabella stared at it in shocked surprise. She tried the handle, but the door didn't budge.
    Exasperated, she pulled on the door, then pounded senselessly until she remembered no one was likely to be near the entrance. She was locked out in the cold wearing only a thin day gown. The balcony was icy, slippery beneath her shoes. The wind tugged at her clothes, pierced her with its icy breath. She suddenly realized she was on the balcony of one of the rounded towers, and below her was the infamous courtyard where a DeMarco had put his wife to death.
    "How do you get yourself into these things?" she asked aloud, taking mincing steps toward the balcony railing and gripping the wall surrounding her tiny prison. Clutching the edge, she leaned out, looking down, hoping someone would be in sight and she'd be able to attract attention.
    As she rested her weight against the railing, she felt the surge of power, of glee, flowing around her, the air thick with malice. Without warning the tiling crumbled out from under her. She was tumbling through space, her fingers clawing for something solid, a scream ripping from her throat. She caught at the neck of one of the stone lions guarding the sheer side of the castello. For a moment she nearly slipped, but she managed to circle the statue's mane with her arms.
    Isabella screamed again, loud and long, hoping to attract someone to her plight. She couldn't drag her body up onto the sculpted lion, and her arms ached from hanging. Snow had collected on the marble likeness, making it ice cold and very slippery. Isabella locked her fingers together and prayed for help.
    The sun had set, and darkness was settling over the mountains. The wind rose and fiercely attacked her dangling body in icy gusts. She was becoming so chilled, her hands and feet were nearly numb.
    "Signorina Isabella!" The shocked voice of Rolando Bartolmei came from above her.
    She looked up to find him leaning out over the balcony, his face pale with concern.
    "Be careful." Her warning was a mere croak of sound.
    "Can you reach my hand?"
    Isabella closed her eyes briefly, afraid that if she looked down she would fall. Looking up was even more frightening. Her heart was pounding, and she tasted terror. Someone, something had arranged her accident. Someone wanted her dead. She had been led right into a trap. Captain Bartolmei was on the balcony. She had to let go of her lion and trust him to pull her up.
    "Look at me," he commanded. "Reach up and take my hand right now."
    She clutched at the stone lion but managed to look up at