Lodestone

by Katherine Forrister

  She had left her room to decipher the dangers within Highstrong Keep, and it appeared that one of the worst was stationed right outside her door. She feared that the statue and the whispering, screaming urn barely scraped the surface of what haunted the castle, rife with ancient magic and the rumored dark experiments of its powerful keeper.

  Chapter 6

  A sharp rap on the door startled Melaine from a groggy daze amidst rumpled bed covers. She sat up, glancing at her lit candle by her bedside. The wax had oozed into a useless pool, nothing but a stump left to support the lowly flame. Wasting a candlestick by letting it burn all night went against every bone in Melaine’s body, but her terror had stilled her breath from blowing it out. She kept imagining the vile statue’s face, leering inches from hers.

  Besides, there were dozens of candles in the iron chandelier over her head and in dusty candelabras in the outer sitting rooms. For the first time in her twenty-one years, Melaine had candles to spare. The thought filled her with delight, but a lingering sickness crept inside her heart at the realization that her excessive surroundings were already influencing her perspective on waste, and it had only been one night.

  The knock on the door sounded again, even more impatient this time.

  “Yes?” Melaine asked, her voice hoarse from her night of screams, ragged breathing, and fitful sleep.

  “It is morning, Miss Melaine,” came the critical voice of Karina. “You will eat breakfast and then report to the library.”

  “Library?” Melaine mumbled.

  “Across the garden and up the north staircase. Take the passageway to the left until you reach the northwest tower. The library is there. I trust you know your rights from lefts?”

  “Yes,” Melaine said, repressing a snarl. She swung her feet to the floor and stood. Karina’s clacking footsteps receded down the hall.

  Melaine took a deep breath. Despite her lack of sleep, she could feel the strength of recharged magic beneath her skin. Morning was a treasured time, but knowing every day would descend into weakness, stone by stone, often leeched even morning’s joy from her, more so with each passing year.

  Now, the Overlord was her only customer, and if he would uphold his promise to teach her pathways only the most powerful sorcerers could travel, then he would have to leave her with enough reserves to do so. If he kept his promise, most of the entrancing magic within her would remain hers.

  She pulled on some refreshing magic to fill the small basin on the table beside the mirror with clean water. She splashed her face and washed her body beneath her chemise, still marveling at how clean and soft her skin and hair looked and felt.

  She marveled at the contents of the armoire again as soon as she opened it, and she eventually managed to choose a deep purple gown with black, embroidered flowers dancing across the modest bust and encircling the floor-length hemline. It fit well, but she still felt like her narrow hips couldn’t live up to the gown’s full skirt, and her small breasts were inadequate to support such a charming bodice. She brushed her hair while eyeing the delicate jewelry box on the table. She had been afraid to touch it the day before, and the fear of being accused of stealing the precious jewels lingered. But why would Karina have put them there if she wasn’t meant to wear them?

  Melaine sifted through the jewels, barely touching each piece as she looked through the collection. There were sapphire rings, pearl necklaces, bracelets, and broaches wrought of silver. The entire box sparkled in the candlelight, the jewelry resembling celestial glimmers.

  Melaine chose a simple pearl and gold comb. Most days, she wore her long hair down. Her worn-out pins often broke, and she was unable to afford new ones to hold her hair in a bun or braid. The comb in her hands was so elegant that she couldn’t resist pulling her hair back into a bun and slipping the comb into place behind her head. She smiled, peeking at her reflection as if it would catch her staring and chastise her.

  Karina had instructed her to eat breakfast but hadn’t told her where to get any. Perhaps she would find it in the structure she suspected held the kitchen and larder. She hesitated at the door but then pulled it open. She hastened a peek at the place where she’d seen the frightening statue the first time and where it had been absent the night before.

  The statue was back. Stoic in its place, as lifeless as the others. Melaine shuddered and scooped up a waiting breakfast platter and cup from the floor and shut the door again.

  The bread, fruit, and cheese tasted like it could have descended from the Centara Palace itself. Melaine had never tasted such rich, fresh food in all her life, and the sweet mead that filled her cup was better than any Salma could ever hope to serve. For a few blissful moments, Melaine let all of her fears and anxious hopes dissipate into the simple pleasures of scent and taste and the rare, almost foreign, feeling of a full belly.

  Too soon, the day ahead pushed back into her thoughts. She took a bracing breath, placed her bare dishes outside her door, and left the safety of her bedroom. She eyed the statue as she swept past but again remembered Karina’s stern warning not to stare at anything in the castle for too long. She turned her gaze ahead and kept it there.

  Her palms grew clammy as she left the living quarters and descended into the garden. She glanced at the dark, low archway in the wall, which led to the dungeons where the whispering urn and whatever else dwelled. She looked away and found the short staircase that led into the northern section of the keep. She took a breath of fresh air to clear her head and admired a tree with bright red leaves that sheltered a bed of delicate, white wildflowers in the corner as she hopped up the stairs. The small garden was a paradise compared to the dirty streets of Stakeside.

  The inner corridor was dim, lit by green everflame torches on the walls. After a few paces straight ahead, Melaine turned down a horizontal passage that led to the northwest tower. Her heart raced faster with every step as she approached the library. Her gut squirmed at the thought of an entire room dedicated to books filled with difficult words, but surely, she wouldn’t be expected to read them. The Overlord was going to teach her himself. What use did she have for books?

  Her breath caught as she slowed before a tall, wide set of double doors. Their dark-stained wood bore deep carvings of horses and eagles, and they looked as ancient and weathered as the stone of the tower to which they allowed access. Their solemnity and height, twice her size, were imposing, but Melaine stretched out her hand and laid her palm on the wood. It was warm. The longer she held her hand there, the warmer the wood became. The heat was soothing and hummed through her body in a way she imagined a lullaby might sound coming from a mother’s lips to a child’s ears. She closed her eyes, and a faint, single voice whispered wordless comfort.

  “Come in,” murmured a different, more concrete voice through the soothing barrier.

  Melaine opened her eyes. The Overlord’s energy was faint from the other side of the doors, but she felt a tiny brush of his cool magic against her palm, interrupting the warm glow of the wood.

  She pushed. The heavy doors swung inward, magic aiding their movement like mechagics, but these doors seemed to hold an inherent power, living within the wood itself. The magic felt ancient, as old as the First Era carvings in the doors’ surfaces.

  Melaine’s black eyes widened as she stood in the doorway. She had thought the library would only reside on the ground floor, but she was so wrong. She was also wrong about the library being filled with books.

  Shelves soared up the walls to the high ceiling, covering every stone. They held objects of all kinds and sizes like in Vintor’s shop, and they were just as free of dust as far as she could see. Glittering figurines and ornate snuff boxes, taxidermies of small creatures, jars with questionable liquids, dried flower bouquets, necklaces strung with beads of teeth and bone, and sundry other items met her eyes, too many to comprehend. Even some sections of the spiral staircase that wrapped around the hexagonal perimeter were cluttered with objects large and small.

  A high window,
far above her head, let in a shower of crisp autumn sunshine. She could see the edge of a parapet outside. She wondered how far down the drop would be if she were to climb the endless staircase and stand on the balcony.

  The ground level where she safely stood was large enough to host rows of concentric, hexagonal shelves, while still leaving room for a collection of desks, tables, chairs, and a large open space with nothing but a deep blue rug in the center.

  Melaine was startled when she noticed the Overlord seated in a black, high-backed armchair near the center of the room, watching her. His hands were folded upon an oak, claw-footed table, but he leaned on his elbows with more weight than his poised posture should require. His bright blue eyes analyzed her for a moment, taking in her full appearance with more attention than he had the first time they’d met in the great hall. She was glad she was clean and better dressed this time, but that didn’t account for the brief, almost wistful glow in the Overlord’s eyes as he looked over the dress she’d chosen.

  She dared to take a step forward. The doors closed in a gentle swing behind her.

  “Good morning, my lord,” she said, not sure if she should kneel or curtsy—she had never curtsied in her life—or if he expected her to stand and wait for instruction. Should she even have spoken first? Even the simple phrase she had used sounded awkward. Deferential, polite niceties were not something people in Stakeside used very often.

  The Overlord lifted a single finger off the back of his other hand, motioning at a chair across from him. Melaine hesitated but then strode to the table and settled herself on the chair’s cushioned edge. She had chosen a dress with a small bustle this time, but there was still much more material on her rear than she was used to, and she felt off-balance.

  The Overlord didn’t lurk in shadow as he had in the imposing great hall upon his granite throne. Daylight softened the edges of his hollowed eye sockets and jutting cheekbones, allowing her to see the smooth, handsome cut of his features unadulterated by a guise of skeletal death. He looked less decrepit, closer to his true age of not-quite-forty, but dark circles still pooled under his blue eyes. Chapped fissures marred his shapely lips, and his black hair still hung in strings over his shoulders. He wore no jacket or vest, only a supple black shirt of thin silk as if any heavier material would anchor him to the floor.

  “Are you adjusting to your quarters?” he asked. Melaine crinkled her brow a fraction. His concerned tone was subtle but seemed to acknowledge the difficulties she faced being surrounded by such overwhelming luxury all at once.

  She gave him a slow nod. “They’re…comfortable,” she said, her voice still awkward to her ears. “It’s difficult to sleep in a new place,” she added, hoping that would explain some of her clumsy social behavior.

  “I trust you’ll rest better tonight,” he responded. She thought she heard a trace of envy in his voice.

  “Or maybe this castle provokes nightmares,” she said, probably with more cheek than she should have. The Overlord had lived here for five years, and he looked as sleepless as she felt.

  He expelled a short, dry laugh. “You’ll need to learn to live with them, Melaine.” His inhale rattled. “You’re too young and useful to go mad.”

  “Then you might call off your stone guard outside my bedchamber,” she said. “That might make me rest easier.”

  The man’s blue eyes flashed. “You shouldn’t go where you’re not expected.”

  “So that statue is one of your…experiments?” she dared, despite her desire to shrivel from the sudden strength in his chastisement. Though she wasn’t sure if knowing the Overlord controlled the haunting statue made her feel any safer than if it were some ancient spell.

  When he didn’t answer her question, she asked, “Is the urn?” Her voice dropped to a whisper like those that came from the clay before she’d smashed them into silence. She might provoke his wrath if he found out she had broken it, but her curiosity about the urn—and what her shattering of it may have caused—was too compelling to ignore.

  “This stronghold is ancient,” the Overlord responded. “It holds secrets. I’ve cracked most of them…and created some of my own. I cannot guarantee your safety, but you seem smart enough to survive.”

  Melaine quieted. There was no mistaking the warning in his tone. She had crossed a line.

  “Aye, my lord,” she said, suppressing her fluttering nerves. “I mean, yes. Yes, my lord.”

  The Overlord leaned back in his chair, bracing his hands on the armrests as if he would fall to the floor if they failed to keep him upright.

  “You will read these,” he said, nodding at a stack of books piled on the table. They were the only books in sight, despite this tower being called a library. “Do you read First Era Qaebian?”

  Melaine looked down. She gripped the folds of her fancy, dark purple dress through her black lace gloves. She shook her head once.

  “I thought that might be too much to hope for,” he said. “I’ll have to teach you the illusory disciplines myself.” He cleared his throat and winced as he swallowed. He made teaching her sound like a horrible chore, but then again, his every breath seemed an exceedingly exhausting task.

  “You can start with these.” He gestured again to the pile of books. “They’re in standard Dramorean.”

  Melaine looked at the books and opened her mouth, then closed it again. She felt her cheeks grow hot and bit the inside of her cheek to try to suppress her blush of shame and frustration. She didn’t dare disobey such a simple order, or he might not give her any others. She nodded to the Overlord and reached for the book on top of the stack.

  Her heart drummed fast, and her fingers shook. She wanted to ask about the objects filling the spacious library. They tingled with magic, and she was beginning to suspect they held far more knowledge than the books he’d tossed at her.

  This book was a slim volume, at least. She skipped reading the title and opened it to the first page. She buried her face behind the cover and tried to focus on the scrawling handwriting.

  She stifled the urge to mouth the words with renewed gnawing on her inner cheek as she put the letters together.

  The deeper realms of magic are unknown to most…

  She nodded in affirmation as she stumbled through the first sentence and moved on to the next.

  It is only with devoted study…

  Melaine continued to read in silence, but she focused so much on deciphering the words that she couldn’t take in the meaning behind them. She had to reread each sentence two or three times to comprehend a simple paragraph.

  She finally lifted a hand to turn the first page but gasped as the Overlord deftly took the book from her and set it down on the table.

  Melaine’s brow furrowed as her chest flooded with heat that spread up her neck and into her cheeks. She had taken too long. Now, he knew she could barely read.

  She wanted to apologize but couldn’t make the words come. Her pride strangled them.

  “When did you become a stonegirl?” the Overlord asked.

  Melaine did her best to keep eye contact.

  “I was eight,” she muttered. He didn’t speak, so she forced more words. “I was too old to get any sympathy when begging and too young to get a job that would pay me enough to scrape by. I was tired of stealing. I didn’t want to take what wasn’t mine. I wanted to earn it.”

  “Why lodestones?”

  Melaine stiffened under his gaze as if she could physically resist his digging into her past.

  “I saw an old woman peddling one day on a corner,” she said. “Her stones weren’t anything more than pebbles. She was tired and wrinkled and weak. And I thought, if she can do it, so can I. I didn’t realize most other people couldn’t. I started to make my first stones. People started buying them.” Melaine bowed her head. “The old woman died not long after. I didn’t put two and two together at the time, that I had stolen her business. I caused her to starve to death.”

  Melaine’s voice had become rough and h
arsh. She stopped speaking, but then a spark crackled within her, and she kept talking. She looked straight into the Overlord’s eyes.

  “I was too young and stupid to understand that one day I would become her,” she said. “An old stonelady kneeling on a corner, waiting to starve to death when a new stonemaker would inevitably take my place.”

  The Overlord’s eyes flicked from one of hers to the other with sharp interest. Was it approval?

  “And when you did understand, you came to me,” he said. “Do you understand the risk you took, Melaine Stonegirl?”

  “I wanted to be more than a stonegirl, my lord,” Melaine hissed. She swallowed her temper, soothing her tight jaw. After a pause, she said, “I need to be more than that.”

  He sighed as if she was trying his patience. “You already are, Melaine.” The sincerity in his voice washed Melaine’s residual anger away. He spoke with a commanding authority that was effortless after twenty years of ruling Centara and all of Dramore. It felt like he was making an official decree that she was, in truth, more than a stonegirl from the streets—that she could become more under his tutelage.

  He leaned forward with effort and rested his weight on his elbows, folding his hands together upon the table.

  “Overseer Scroupe said you wish to become a Follower.”

  Melaine’s heart jumped. She sat straighter. “Yes, my lord.”

  “Do you know where my Followers are now?”

  “In your palace,” Melaine answered, sounding wistful. “Protecting Centara.”

  “Guarding halls filled with nothing but vying courtiers and ambitious overseers,” he said, his voice flat. “Standing in doorways listening to vapid discussions of modern politicians. They understand that peace is better than war and are proud of their current duties, but they are far from satisfied. Those who aren’t dead or too old to function, that is.”

  Melaine frowned. To hear the Overlord speak of his own Followers that way, of the politicians and overseers that way, was…she didn’t know how she felt about it other than surprised.