Chapter 12
Niamh
“So we’re not actually safe here?” Morton asked as we wandered the halls of the castle.
I wasn’t even sure where we were at the moment, but I didn’t particularly care because we were walking across a glass bridge that made it feel like we were gliding on air.
From the bridge I could see a waterfall in the distance, tumbling down from high, rocky cliffs.
I wondered if the cliffs were part of Fairwitch Isle or outside of it.
Then I wondered if we could see outside the invisible barriers or if we could only see what the magic allowed us to see.
I tapped my chin, thinking about that lithaguar from yesterday.
It had disappeared when it got high enough, so that must mean that just like the outside world couldn’t see in, we couldn’t see out.
“Hello?” Morton’s pink tail waved in front of my face. “Are you listening?”
I turned and continued walking across the glass bridge. “Well, we’re technically safe while we’re here.”
He curled his tail back over my shoulder. “But we could not be here at any moment?”
“Correct,” I said. “From what Cillian said, we have six weeks to make the castle accept us, but it could also disappear us at any time before that.”
“I miss the tower,” Morton whined.
“At least that little fire statue appeared in our room,” I said, thinking about how I’d walked in and noticed how warm the room was, then discovered the little statue of the fire godwitch sitting there in the hearth and realized it must’ve been magical, providing heat.
The castle must have liked me if it gave me that little statue to keep me warm.
“A statue isn’t going to do us any good if we could disappear at any moment.”
We left the glass bridge and walked into a hallway full of paintings.
I squinted, noticing a painting of all the godwitches flying on dragons through the air.
Apparently that was how they traveled, which seemed so odd.
Dragons no longer existed, all of them going extinct at some point in the past, though Ashami had once told me there were rumors of dragons hiding deep in the mountains in the north.
The godwitches barely looked human, and I reached out to trace the vines that sprouted from the earth godwitch’s head, the petals that surrounded their black eyes.
My gaze traveled to the painting of a bog. There were many bogs around the continent of Aubergn, and this particular one had a woman with sleek black hair standing on a floating piece of land, green smoke rising around her that matched her skin.
“That looks ominous,” Morton said. “Look at all that green water.”
“And the smoke rising from it.” I shuddered. “That looks like the kind of place where you would definitely go to die.”
“I wonder where it is,” Morton mused.
“Oh that’s the Cragh,” a cheery voice said.
Morton and I shrieked at the same time.
“What was that?” Morton’s head swiveled from side to side.
“Who was that?” I put a hand to my chest.
My heart was still hammering as I turned, coming face-to-face with a painting of a woman with long black hair, smooth skin, and rounded, angular eyes . . . that stared right at us.
“Hi,” she chirped, and both Morton and I screamed at the same time.
“You’re talking,” I said.
“I can’t believe I actually have visitors.
” She walked out of frame, disappearing and leaving the reddish background of her painting.
“I haven’t had visitors in so long!” She reappeared in the bog painting, standing in front of the steaming water and next to the green-skinned woman. “It gets so lonely!”
“Why can’t the other paintings talk?” I asked. “Or can they?” My eyes shifted back and forth.
“No, no.” She waved her hand. “Just me. And I don’t know. I guess the castle liked me so much it brought me to life.” She paused, eyes rolling upward. “Well, as much as a talking painting can be alive.”
“How odd,” Morton murmured.
“It gets lonely being the only painting who can talk,” the woman said. “I’m Margaret, by the way.”
“I’m Niamh.” I stepped forward, studying her in her long beige dress and plain brown slippers. “Why don’t you get any visitors?”
“I’m not sure.” She donned a thoughtful expression. “People just stopped coming one day, and I couldn’t leave this hallway. I used to be able to visit paintings all around the castle!”
“Maybe this is a secret hallway?” Morton asked.
“But why would it suddenly become secret when it wasn’t before?” I tapped my chin, then my eyes widened. “Maybe now that we’ve found you, that means you can leave the hallway.”
I turned toward the double goldens doors in the distance. “What’s behind those doors?”
“The library.” Margaret tugged at her shiny black hair, plaited in a braid.
Morton perked up. “I’m starving,” he whispered.
“Are there paintings in the library?” I asked.
Margaret stilled for a moment, then gasped. “I think so.”
“Do you want to try to go into one? We’ll meet you in there?”
Margaret let out a little squeak and nodded, and we walked alongside her down the hallway as she hopped from painting to painting.
We got to the door, and Margaret entered the last painting, bouncing on her feet. “Oh, I’m so excited to finally be able to leave this hallway again.”
I bit my lip, wanting this to work. If it didn’t, we’d have gotten Margaret’s hopes up for no reason, and then I’d feel awful, and a selfish, small part of me wondered if upsetting one of its paintings would be enough for the castle to kick us out.
Morton and I looked at each other, and I willed those self-serving thoughts away, then nodded and reached for the brass handle of the door. I opened it, then stepped inside, gasping.
We stood in a library. A real library, all the books and shelves and the smell of paper making it feel like we were back in our tower again.
“I don’t want to complain, but this library is incredibly dirty,” Morton said.
“Maybe no one has visited the library either? Maybe it was lost along with the hallway?”
His tongue forked out, and he slithered down my body to the floor. “I don’t know if I can eat books covered in so much dust. It’ll make me sick.”
I frowned, realizing he was right. Cobwebs stretched from corner to corner, and thicks layers of dust covered the books and shelves.
I passed a shelf that was broken in half, all the books caved in and piled up.
“Oh, I can’t help it. I’m so hungry!” Morton glided across the floor, devouring every book in his path.
“Morton!” I yelled.
“That’s surprising,” he said, letting out a loud belch, paper crumbles falling out of his mouth and floating to the floor along with a poof of dust. “Did you know this castle was undiscovered for hundreds of years? It was only colonized in the last few centuries.”
He kept going, eating book after book, all of them strewn across the floor.
“This place is a disaster.” I glanced at a spiral staircase, which had missing steps, the banister missing rails and covered in dust. The upstairs looked like even more of a disaster, overgrown with leaves and vines that wrapped around the bookshelves, crushing a few of them.
“It is!” Margaret said, and I whirled around, staring at a painting of a ship on the ocean, Margaret standing at the helm.
“Margaret! You made it!”
Heat prickled my cheeks. I’d been so enamored by the library that I’d forgotten about Margaret, but I wouldn’t make that mistake again. I knew what it was like to feel alone, and I’d do everything I could to make sure Margaret never felt that.
Morton looked up from where he was currently eating another book, his body rotund and stretched.
I wagged my finger at him. “I think that’s enough books. Your mouth is coated in dust.”
“Hi, Margaret,” he said with a mouthful of paper.
Margaret tilted her head, staring at the bookwyrm.
“Well, I’ve never seen that before.” She squealed and jumped up and down on the helm.
“It worked. I’m free! Finally! Oh, I can’t wait to visit all my favorite places, catch up on all the gossip.
” She leaned forward and whispered, “Before I got trapped, I heard the high prince was getting married.”
I stiffened at that.
“I never found out who she was, but my money is on Ceri.”
My eyebrows shot up in surprise. Ceri. That woman in the market Wolfe had told me was Cillian’s best friend.
“Why do you think that?” I sidled closer.
“Oh, everyone knows he’s in love with her,” Margaret said, and my stomach dropped to the floor.
“She doesn’t want a relationship, and he’s always been a playboy.
Well, until he became high prince, but they’re not fooling me.
I see the way they look at each other. Or I did.
” She gasped. “Are they already married?” She frowned.
“Are they dead? I don’t actually know how long I’ve been trapped—”
“No one’s dead,” I assured her. “And no one is married either.”
“Oh.” Margaret straightened. “Well, that’s good to know.” She leaned forward, squinting. “My goodness, this library is a mess.”
I was more than happy to turn the conversation—and my thoughts—away from Prince Cillian. “It looks more like a jungle than a library,” I murmured as I wandered around the space.
I swiped my finger along the arm of a chair, the seam broken open and stuffing spilling out.
“Oh, that was good,” Morton said, now on his back, his stomach distended. “I’ve been surviving on little scraps I’ve found around the castle.”
He regurgitated all the papers, and they flew in pieces back to the books where they belonged, the air a sudden flurry of white and cream. I ducked as a paper barreled toward my head, waiting until the commotion died down and the books were all back together.
Margaret appeared in another painting, standing in front of a stack of books. “If you vomit all the books, then how do you ever get full?”
Morton slithered up the chair. “It’s not the pages I’m eating, it’s the stories.” His voice sounded wistful.
Margaret wrinkled her nose. “Do some ever taste disgusting? Or give you food poisoning?”
I turned to Morton, my curiosity sparking. I’d never thought about asking him that before, but it was fascinating to think about.
“Oh yes.” Morton nodded. “Some books are ghastly. Mainly the ones that are badly written.” A shudder ran through his body.
I glanced at the windows. They were covered in so much grime, I could barely see out them. “This place is a mess. I don’t know how it can even function as a library.”
“It can’t,” Morton said. “Not like this.”
“It’s such a shame.” I walked toward the large stained-glass windows, where any light shone through.
Rectangular windows lined either side of the large stained-glass ones, stretching across the back wall.
I reached out and rubbed some of the grime away with the sleeve of my dress, letting in a ray of sunshine and revealing some of the gorgeous detailing—books carved into the colorful glass panels.
“Maybe you two can clean it,” Margaret said. “Oh! And I’ll be here to cheer you on!”
“Perfect,” Morton mumbled.
“Well, I have nothing better to do,” I said. “Although I am supposed to be getting to know the castle so it’ll accept me.” But I would much rather be spending my days among the books.
“So you can get your key?” Margaret asked.
“Yes,” I said, leaving out the part about me potentially marrying Cillian. I didn’t feel like bringing up that topic now that Margaret had made it clear how Cillian felt about Ceri. That would be a whole other complication to worry about.
“So what do we do?” Morton asked. “Just start cleaning?”
I walked toward one of the broken shelves and plucked out a book. “No.” I tucked the book under my arm and sat in one of the chairs. “We just found the library. Let’s enjoy it a little bit before we get to work.” I snuggled deeper into the chair and opened the book to start reading.