25. Robin
Robin
T he days following the battle at Castle Blacklake unfold in a whirl of activity. Sounds of renewal fill the ancient halls—the rhythmic tap of hammers, the whisper of brooms, the gentle murmur of staff discussing repairs.
I walk through corridors marveling at how quickly order is reasserting itself in the aftermath of violence.
Workers patch stone walls, their hands steady as they erase the scars of that terrible night.
The castle feels both broken and vibrantly alive, like a wounded animal healing stronger than before.
And Eva moves through it all with composed authority, her presence a calming constant.
But then she’ll notice my attention and smile, reaching for my hand.
The change in the village is perhaps even more remarkable than the castle’s restoration. Where once suspicious glances and whispered warnings followed Eva’s name, now there’s respect, admiration, growing into something warmer with each passing day.
It’s two weeks after that terrible night when Eva suggests we visit the village pub—the very same establishment where she was once cursed and reviled. I stare at her in disbelief.
“You want to go in there ? You’re sure?”
“Trust me,” she says simply, taking my hand.
The pub falls silent when we enter, conversations dying mid-sentence as every eye turns toward us.
The tension is palpable, but different from before—less hostile, more uncertain.
These people watched their neighbors take up arms to defend the Lady of the Black Lake.
The narrative has shifted, even if the adjustment feels awkward.
Then, through the windows, I see a gleaming, silver BMW pull up in front of the pub, its elegant lines incongruous against the rustic village backdrop.
The woman who steps out of it is tall and radiant. Designer clothes flow around her perfect figure, and her hair is styled in perfect waves that catch the light.
“Do you think she’s lost?” I ask Eva in amazement.
And then the woman enters the pub. Gasps ripple through the crowd as recognition dawns. The woman who once cursed Eva’s name rises from her corner table with trembling hands pressed to her mouth.
“Nata!” she breathes.
“Mama!” The glamorous woman gives her a scowl. I’ve made an effort to learn more of the local dialect, so I understand when she continues, “Well, here I am.”
The woman bustles across the room to embrace her daughter, who hugs her back with an expression of exasperation. But her mother’s tears and joy soon coax a smile from her, and they sit down at a table together to talk.
I watch the other villagers’ faces transform as they witness this moment, showing raised eyebrows and surprised expressions. Eva maintains her composed exterior, but I catch the flicker of quiet satisfaction in her amber eyes.
“You did this!” I realize. “You made her come back?—”
“Shh,” Eva says with a smirk. “Come on. We can go now.” We slip out quietly, but I feel eyes on us, nonetheless: another village woman, watching us go. She follows, and outside, she approaches Eva with hesitant steps. Her eyes are bright with unshed tears.
She reaches for Eva’s hand and Eva allows her to take it, her expression gentle as she listens.
The woman speaks in the local dialect, words tumbling out. Her voice is hoarse with emotion, and I can’t follow more than a word or two.
Eva listens quietly, then says something back that I do understand. “I’m so happy for you.” The woman presses Eva’s fingers to her cheek, tears shining, and whispers something that sounds like a blessing before retreating.
Robin frowns. “What did she say?”
Eva shrugs airily. “Her daughter is the other girl who left the village. She wrote to her mother from Oxford, where she’s studying. She’ll be back to visit at summer break.”
I put my arm around her waist. “And that was your influence, I assume?”
“No,” Eva tells me with a smile. “It was yours.”
Back at the castle, I throw myself into the restoration efforts with renewed purpose.
The locked wing where Eva once kept her father is also getting an overhaul, to drive away the bad memories, Eva said.
One day, while helping staff move a heavy cabinet, I discover something unexpected wedged behind it—an old video camera, its case battered but intact.
“Eva,” I call over. “Come look at this.”
Curious, she carries it to the nearest outlet and plugs it in.
The screen flickers to life with a soft electronic hum, displaying a menu of recorded files.
She selects the first file, and the screen fills with grainy but clear footage of a toddler with clouds of dark hair and amber eyes that are unmistakably Eva’s.
The little girl babbles happily at the camera, chubby hands reaching toward the lens with innocent delight.
Behind the camera comes a voice warm with paternal love, coaxing smiles from his daughter with silly sounds and gentle encouragement.
The camera turns to show Zoltan himself for a moment, younger than I ever saw him, his face soft with emotion as he speaks directly to the lens, the tenderness in his tone clear, though I can’t quite make out the full meaning.
Eva gasps, pressing a hand to her mouth. “He’s saying…he knows I will grow to be my own woman,” she translates. “And that he knows I will make the Novak name proud in ways he cannot imagine.”
I put my arm around her as tears slide down her cheeks, as she replays the video and watches a ghost speak words of love and faith in her future.
“You were right, little bird,” she whispers.
“About what?” I ask, confused.
“You gave me hope that my father might smile at me once more. And now—he has.” She kisses my cheek, teary and happy, and watches the video again.
But later that evening, as we sit together in Eva’s study while she works through Consortium business, she sets down her pen and turns to face me with unusual vulnerability.
“I keep thinking about my father,” she admits, when I ask what’s bothering her.
“About my father, about Stefan, about the capacity for both good and evil in the same person. My father…I loved him, Robin, but he was not a good man. But he also loved me, protected this village, built something that could be transformed into something better.” She pauses, struggling with the concept.
“And I am the same. But I want to do better. To be better. So how do I honor the love I have for my father while rejecting his lessons?”
I reach for her hands, holding them steady between mine.
“You don’t have to choose,” I tell her gently.
“People aren’t all good or all bad. They’re complicated.
Your father loved you fiercely and also taught you terrible things.
Stefan betrayed you—but he also gave you wisdom that serves you well.
You can hold both truths without contradiction. ”
Eva absorbs this slowly, her expression thoughtful. “So I can be both ruthless and loving?”
“You already are,” I point out. “You’ve always been both, I think. You’ve always shown love and loyalty to those closest to you. The question isn’t whether you contain contradictions—it’s which parts of yourself you choose to nurture and which you choose to restrain.”
Understanding dawns in her eyes, followed by something like peace.
As deep spring settles over the mountains, life at Castle Blacklake finds new rhythms that accommodate my family’s permanent presence.
The decision to stay was unanimous, despite my fears that the kids would want to get away as soon as possible.
They really surprised me there—but then I saw how completely they felt they fit into Eva’s world.
Alicia and Maisie have thrown themselves into village school life, having discovered that learning can be an adventure.
The hands-on, outdoor approach suits them perfectly—Maisie’s cheeks stay rosy from mountain air and constant activity, while Alicia is thriving in education that comes through exploration rather than traditional classroom structure.
They’ve even learned the local language much more quickly than I have, much to their delight.
I find myself naturally drawn back to teaching, helping the village teachers with English lessons and curriculum planning. I love watching children’s faces light up with understanding, and it feels like a privilege to help their minds grow.
Adrian’s romance with Mira deepens daily, their connection growing from initial attraction into something more substantial. They spend hours talking about future plans, with Mira encouraging his dreams of American colleges.
“Wherever you get accepted,” she told him early on, “I’ll come with you. I want to see the world.”
“Why not go traveling in the meantime?” I asked innocently. “The whole of Europe is waiting out there for you.”
Both of them stared at me, then each other, and then the real planning began.
Dane has perhaps benefited most from our relocation.
Away from the stress of financial instability and family crises, he’s relaxed into simply being a teenager again.
He works on his high school diploma through correspondence courses, helps with technical projects around the castle, and has found a group of village boys who share his interests in gaming and computers.
One evening, Eva approaches me with an envelope and an expression of barely contained excitement.
“I have something for you,” she says, pressing the packet into my hands.
Inside, I find college application materials and course catalogs for distance learning programs in education.
Everything is already filled out in Eva’s handwriting—my personal information, academic history, even bullet points for a suggested essay response that capture my passion for teaching with eloquence I couldn’t have managed myself.