Chapter 6
Niamh
We walked through the gate, and Wolfe clicked it closed behind us. People bustled about the town, as if seconds ago, it hadn’t just been invisible.
A secret castle. A secret city. It was unbelievable. Not the magic, but that they were able to hide it all from the rest of the world. The thought that I could be hidden away again like I was in my tower sent relief shooting through me for the first time in days.
I gazed in awe at the castle, which was spread out in the middle of the town, its peaks so tall they seemed to touch the clouds.
We walked across the cobblestone street that wound around the palace.
It was filled with tall, skinny buildings, some crooked and leaning, others with peaked roofs, and others that had verandas and little patios.
I peeked at a green and white striped awning that stretched out over tables with buckets full of vegetables and fruits, and my stomach grumbled at the juicy red apples.
In the tower, I’d just have to tell it when I was hungry, and food would appear, but the thought of being able to shop again, to choose an apple if I was hungry for one, was so appealing.
“We don’t have a lot of space, so we use the space we do have as efficiently as possible,” Cillian said, bright gaze stuck on me as I took everything in.
“This might be even more powerful magic than our tower.” Morton’s head swiveled in all directions as he looked around. “Where does it come from? What’s the object?”
Cillian gestured toward the massive white stone castle towering in the middle of it all. “It’s the castle. Its magic protects the city it serves.”
“Where does everyone live?” I asked, and Cillian swung his arm out toward the businesses.
“You’re looking at it. Most everyone lives in apartments above their businesses.
” He pointed to a few green hills sweeping out behind the castle.
“But some of our residents who don’t have storefronts live in cottages and cabins. And everyone else lives in the castle.”
My gaze swept to the stone castle in front of us as we approached the stairs that led up to it. Gargoyle statues sat on either side of the wooden doors with gleaming golden handles.
I stopped on the steps to take it all in.
Castles were usually practical—stone and grey and built for protection and defense—not for aesthetic. I thought of the castle from Bergenay, my home, how it had been fortified with tall guard towers and big stone walls that were supposed to be impenetrable.
Until they weren’t.
I looked in awe at all the stained-glass windows, the oranges, reds, yellows, and pinks bursting with coziness and warmth.
Vines hung from the balconies, some of them a vibrant green, others covered with delicate pink and purple flowers.
The white stone of the castle was pristine, no dust or dirt or wear on it, whereas the castle in Bergenay had holes from attacks, chipped stone, crumbling towers. It was always in disrepair.
I wondered how they kept theirs in such good condition, but then I remembered this was a secret, hidden castle. They likely didn’t get attacked or have to worry about intruders, and that made this place all the more appealing.
The tallest parts of the castle, the towers, had round wooden-slat roofs with windows that glowed from what I suspected were fires crackling in the hearths.
Everything about this place felt safe, secure, and that gave me hope that maybe this really was the best thing that could’ve happened to Morton and me after all.
That maybe our tower crumbling hadn’t been so bad.
“To think, you’re to be queen of all this,” Morton said in my ear, and I startled, forgetting he’d even been on my shoulder.
“I told them I’d think about it,” I said quietly. “I don’t have to be queen. Maybe the prophecy was wrong. Maybe I can just live here and be me.”
“Why not be queen?” Morton asked. “You’d get to be in charge of all this.” His tail flicked toward the castle.
Queen. That still seemed so impossible. The queen of Bergenay had been a warrior, someone who had fought alongside her soldiers.
She’d fought the brotherhood to the very end—right until they’d stabbed her and thrown her out a window.
She’d inspired people with her bravery. I’d never be able to do that.
“Is she coming or what?” one of the gargoyles said, and Morton jumped about a foot off my shoulder.
I gaped as the gargoyle glared at me.
“Sure, just let us hold open the doors for you.” The other gargoyle’s stone wings unfurled behind it, its short, squat face scowling. “It’s not like we have anything else to do.”
“You don’t have anything else to do, Barty,” Wolfe said. “This is your literal job.”
“They have names,” Morton whispered. “The stone gargoyles talk and have names.”
“Well, it is a magical castle,” I said, staring at the creatures in awe as they continued to glare at us.
“Hello?” One of the gargoyles waved its hand. “Are you coming in or not?” He spoke loudly and slowly, like I might not understand.
“She’s coming, Tal,” Wolfe said, and I wondered how he could possibly tell them apart. They were identical, with their long noses and pronounced foreheads, their bat-like wings sprawling out behind them.
“Y-yes,” I said, and I picked up the dusty skirt of my dress, almost feeling too dirty and ragged to enter something so beautiful, and walked up the steps until I arrived at the top.
“Magic,” Cillian said with a twinkle in his eye as I tried my best not to keep staring at the gargoyles. What godwitch was responsible for this magic?
“Right.” My heart was still hammering as we walked past them and into the castle, into my new home.
Hours later, my head was spinning. Cillian had given us a personal tour of the castle, which was as cozy on the inside as it had been on the outside, and now he wanted to show me to my room . . . except he seemed confused about where it was.
The three of us stood crammed into a spiral stairwell, Morton on my shoulder, and Cillian tapped his foot. “Should I put her in the east or west tower?” he asked Wolfe, whose jaw was locked, a vein bulging over his temple, and I was pretty sure he didn’t care if I slept right here on the stairs.
The stairs creaked underneath us, shifting, and Morton let out a howl and wrapped himself around my neck, making it hard to breathe.
Cillian and Wolfe didn’t bat an eye, which put me more at ease as the stairwell moved in an entirely different direction.
“Castle is at it again,” Cillian said. “It does this sometimes when it has a place it wants you to go.”
The stairs finally stopped moving with a jolt, and I planted my hand on the wall to stop myself from falling over. Cillian gestured for me to go first as Morton slowly unraveled himself from me.
We got to the top of a spiraling stairwell, which led to a single doorway, and Cillian reached out and opened it. The door swung open to a circular room with a bed, a wardrobe, and stained-glass windows that the sun shone through, painting the floor in a rainbow hue.
“Ah, apparently, the castle decided this will be your room. I’ve never seen this tower before.” Cillian rubbed his jaw, looking around in awe. “It’s nice.”
“Do people get trapped in here?” I asked, suddenly feeling nervous about those shifting stairs, worrying they might shift away and never come back.
“It happens,” Wolfe said, speaking for the first time since we’d arrived.
“Rarely,” Cillian said, cutting the guard a look. “Why don’t you get a little rest and get settled? We’ll send a lady’s maid with some new clothes for you. Maybe later in the week you can go shopping.”
I looked away. “I don’t have any gold.” I shoved my hands into the empty pockets of my torn dress. “I can work, though.” I thought of my former life before the tower, how I’d taken such pride in my job, loved going to work every day at the castle.
Cillian held up a hand. “Not necessary. All expenses will be covered.”
I bit my lip, not sure how I felt about that. I didn’t want them assuming I would take this job as queen. I’d been very honest when I told them I would have to think about it.
Cillian clapped his hands together. “Well, you get yourself settled. Maybe take a nap, and later I’ll give you a tour and introduce you to our chefs, Elowyn and Liam. Very talented. They cook some of the best food on the continent.”
He scurried from the room, leaving Wolfe standing there looking vexed while also looking like he was debating whether he should follow Cillian or stay with me and make sure I didn’t make a run for it. I certainly didn’t want any alone time with the guard.
“I’m fine,” I said right as a burst of wind shoved one of the windows open. Goose bumps pebbled my arms, and I shivered, hurrying to close the window, but before I could, fire blazed to life in the hearth, the flames high and hissing.
I shrieked and fell backward, Morton flying off my shoulder and making a garbled sound as he landed behind me, wings splayed out around him.
“What? What’s happening?” Wolfe yelled, an ember popping and landing on my dress, but all I could see were the flames rising higher and higher, swallowing everyone I loved in that castle while I ran away.
Just like it did every time I pictured those flames, my skin grew hot and my lungs grew tight, making it hard to breathe.
I massaged my chest, trying to loosen my breath, but it was too late.
My body had shut down and my brain was taking over.
Screams erupted in my mind, and I wanted so badly to silence them, but I couldn’t.
I sat frozen, watching that little ember burn a hole in my dress, wondering if it would burn me too, almost wishing it would.
“Niamh.” A strong hand grabbed my arm and yanked me to my feet, spinning me around so I came face-to-face with Wolfe. Those rich brown eyes stared intently, breaking whatever hold the fire had over me.
“I can’t stay in this room,” I said, trying to steady my breathing.
“She doesn’t like the fire,” Morton piped up from the floor.
“Then how does she stay warm?” Wolfe asked.
“She’s always had a jar of firebugs, a gift from when she was young, courtesy of the temple of the fire godwitch. Her parents paid a lot of money for it. The jar keeps her warm.”
“So where is it?” Wolfe growled while I gulped for air, trying to catch a breath.
“Somewhere in the rubble of the tower you destroyed.” Morton’s glassy black eyes shot Wolfe a pointed look.
“Please, fire,” I begged, “go away.”
Just like that, the fire disappeared from the hearth, a chill settling in the room as the windows rattled with the cold wind.
“You’ll be cold,” Wolfe said, and for once, I liked that he didn’t talk a lot. I liked that he didn’t ask why I hated the fire. That I wouldn’t have to relive the memories by talking about them.
“Blankets,” I managed, chest still burning. “I just need extra blankets.”
He nodded slowly, his face betraying nothing. “I’ll tell the lady’s maid.” And with that, he spun and strode out of the room, the door clicking closed behind him.