Coren flicked the silver end of the staff. “Because you had this, and even then I bet it was mostly luck. Why were you carrying it, anyway?”
Ailanthe looked at it, saw the knuckles of her left hand were white where her fist clutched the staff. “I didn’t. I made it appear when I was afraid I was going to die. Coren, I’ve never seen it before now.”
“It’s from the armory. You must have noticed it in passing.”
“But I have to know things well to make them appear.” Ailanthe switched the staff to her right hand and flexed her fingers. “I don’t think I summoned this.” A sprite flowed past her face, and she batted at it.
“Let’s find out,” Coren said.
Ailanthe hadn’t been in the armory since the first day, when she’d thoroughly explored the first floor. It was a large room that was more a museum than a store for arms and armor, with weapons in display cases and mounted on the walls, and armor made of everything from hardened hide to shining riveted metal on stands. Coren pointed at a corner of the room, where ten or twelve staves stood upright in a barrel. “There it is,” he said.
Ailanthe pulled it out and compared the two. “They’re identical. I swear I don’t remember ever seeing this before.”
“You must be improving, then.” Coren studied her face. “It’s getting harder to claim that you’re summoning these from somewhere in the Castle.”
“I think I’m making them. But I don’t see how.”
Coren reached out and tapped the key, making it swing. “I was about to come looking for you when you shouted. I think I found something about the Castle that could explain what’s happening.”
Back in the Library, they sat side by side on the bench surrounding the hero books and Coren opened a book bound in purple-dyed leather. “Give me a moment,” he said, “I dropped this when someone shouted my name like she was in mortal danger. Which she was.” He mock-scowled at Ailanthe. “Here. This book is about summoning spirits to work magic, and there’s a chapter—well, more like a section in a chapter—about how spirits work magic by shaping it and letting the shape fill with pure magic.”
“The way kerthors do with music.”
“Yes. And the book says creatures of magic are capable of the same thing. And the Castle is a creature of magic. Not exactly a creature, but you see what I mean.”
“But the Castle doesn’t make new things.”
“It has the capacity. I don’t know why it doesn’t. But that’s not important. What matters is the key.” He flicked it again. “I think the key is linked to the Castle’s magic, and it’s allowing you to use that magic as if you were the Castle.”
Ailanthe eyed him skeptically. “I think that’s a lot of guesses.”
“It makes sense, though.”
“Then you should try it.” Ailanthe removed the key and held it out to him.
Coren shook his head. “I could try, but I don’t think it would work for me. It’s your Thing.”
“Oh.” Ailanthe put it back around her wrist. “Thanks for coming to my rescue even though it turned out I didn’t need it.”
“I see. And you were going to do what? Roll that man all the way down the stairs and across the Castle to the exit?” Coren shook his head, then gripped her hand. “Please promise me you won’t approach any more questers.”
“I…all right.” He cares what happens to me. His skin was warmer than hers, his hands dry and striped with calluses from his sword exercises. She couldn’t meet his eyes. Not meeting his eyes was something she did frequently these days.
Coren glanced over his shoulder at the empty space where Usael’s book had been. “Bad enough you’re reading these books now. Didn’t I warn you most of them don’t end well?”
“I think I can cope with an unhappy ending or two. But don’t worry, I’m only reading the books that haven’t ended yet.” She remembered she’d left Usael’s book in the tower, then decided she’d let the Castle put it away for her. Her impatience to know what happened next returned full force.
Coren raised his eyebrows and let go of her hand. “You are? How are you managing that?”
“The glimmering, of course. It’s not that hard to see.”
“Glimmering?”
They looked at each other for a moment. “You don’t see it,” Ailanthe said.
“No.”
“And I suppose you don’t see the sprites’ rainbows either.”
Coren shook his head. “The only rainbows I see are when I happen to be at the right window after a storm.”
Ailanthe looked over her shoulder at the white-bound books, some of which glittered with faint but unmistakable iridescence. “I think I may have been taking some things for granted,” she said.
“I think we need to look around the Castle and see what else you see that I don’t,” Coren said.
Chapter Ten
“His eyes are definitely greenish-yellow,” Coren said, holding Miriethiel’s chin between his fingers. The cat stared back at him, unconcerned. “Not blue.”
“Well, I see them as blue, and that makes me nervous,” Ailanthe said. “If he’s a creature of magic, or has some sort of magic on him…he’s slept on my bed, Coren.”
“Mine too.” He released the cat, who sauntered away with no sign of interest in either of them. “But the eye color is all you see about him that’s different from what I see?”
“Yes. And the sprites are getting clearer, and sometimes the stones of the walls have this sort of clear jellylike coating, just out of the corner of my eye. I don’t like it.”
“I don’t blame you. That sounds unnerving.”
“Yes. Like I’m turning into something I don’t recognize. Back home I was the least magical person you could imagine.”
“You still are, if it’s the key that’s doing it.”
Ailanthe shook her head. “I’ve tried leaving it behind in the morning, but it doesn’t make a difference. Whatever it does, it’s altered me somehow.” Her voice shook, but Coren didn’t seem to notice, his attention back on Miriethiel.
She looked at him, at the tall solidity of him, and wished she dared put her arms around his neck and take comfort in his embrace. It was increasingly difficult for her to behave normally around him, to maintain a calm and friendly demeanor to match his and not stare at him when he ate or read or, God forbid, while he exercised. It was also increasingly difficult for her to continue to lie to herself that she only felt this way because she was lonely and he was, in theory, available.
He was intelligent and had a dry sense of humor, he was fiercely committed to finding a way out of the Castle, he loved telling stories about his family and encouraged Ailanthe to do the same, he’d saved her life, and the better Ailanthe knew him, the more she was convinced he was the most remarkable man she’d ever met. Now his glance threw her into confusion, which she covered with laughter, and she tried not to stand too near him, because that made her heart race in a way she was certain he could hear.
She was mostly sure he had no idea she’d fallen in love with him, but if he did, he was good at pretending otherwise. She hoped he didn’t know. How humiliating that would be if he didn’t feel the same.
“Maybe it’s keeping him young,” Coren mused. “Miriethiel. He was here when I arrived, but he doesn’t look any older than he did six years ago.”
“I hope it’s something that innocent.”
Coren turned to look at her. “So. The cat’s eyes, the Castle stones. The haze you say is inside the cold room. The floor of the Honor Hall, which to me looks dull. The hero books. And the sprites are becoming more visible. That doesn’t seem like much.”
“There could be a million other things we don’t know about because we don’t think to compare our perceptions of them. And I really don’t want to go through the whole Castle playing that game.”
“Neither do I.” He stretched. “I think it would be interesting to know if any of the other Things the Castle brings out for questers are magic like your key.�
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“We could find out. You could step into the Honor Hall and I could look at the Things when they appear.”
“I’m not going to do that,” Coren said. “I don’t want the Castle tricking me into taking anything.”
“That’s probably wise. Well, we can intercept the next quester and find out.”
“Just don’t try it without me.”
“I promised, didn’t I?” Ailanthe looked over at Miriethiel, who was washing himself, so she wouldn’t have to see Coren’s intent gaze. To distract herself, she stretched out her hand, concentrated briefly, and caught a long, skinny loaf of bread out of the air. She tore it in half and offered one to Coren, then bit into hers. It was warm and soft as if it had just come out of an oven somewhere.
“I still feel strange eating food you’ve created,” Coren said, though since he said it through a mouthful of bread his objection was blunted. “As if I’m eating the same loaf over and over again.”
“You’re probably doing that with the Castle food,” Ailanthe pointed out. “And it hasn’t killed you yet.”
“Nevertheless, I’d like something more than bread for dinner, and it’s that time. Want to help me carry?”
Raw salmon wasn’t nearly as good as broiled, but it was so much more delicious than dried meat, and Ailanthe had no trouble finishing her filet, though she had to chase Miriethiel away from the plate with its pile of tiny, needlelike bones. The full moon painted the desert sands silver and cast pale shadows across the dunes.
She leaned forward, hoping to see movement far below; sometimes the furry inhabitants of the desert made an appearance when the cold of night descended. Instead, she saw her own reflection, the pale circle of her face and the halo of her brown hair she wished she’d thought to have trimmed before leaving her mother tree. She was a ghost hovering above the desert, crouched over on that strange cube of a chair. The notion made her smile; the ghost smiled back.
She saw Coren behind her, moving past toward the door, then the lights went out and her ghost disappeared.
“Sorry, I should have warned you,” Coren said when she jerked around. “I thought I saw a whale out there and the lights were a distraction.”
“Did you see one?”
“No, it was just waves.” He brought a chair next to hers and sat facing the window. “I don’t understand why this place fascinates you so much.”
“It’s about as far opposite to my home as it’s possible to be, I think,” Ailanthe said. “I think…it’s hard to explain, but when I’m in the tower, it hurts to be so close, and looking out here, it’s peaceful because there’s nothing about it that reminds me of home.”
“I think I understand. I never look out the windows on Hespera anymore. Too painful.”
The moon cast its silvery light over them both, and Ailanthe could see, without turning her head, Coren’s foot and leg and his hand where it rested on his thigh. “What did you do, back home?” she asked.
“I didn’t do anything. Or, rather, I used to work on my father’s farm, but it wasn’t what I wanted my life to be. I was traveling when I ended up here, looking for something new. Though this isn’t what I had in mind.”
“Did you have something in mind?”
He shifted his weight and moved his hand from his thigh to the chair so it rested next to hers. “Not really. I suppose, if I had, I wouldn’t have needed to wander. Now I just want to go home again. Though I still don’t want to grow olives.”
It would be so easy for her to put her hand over his, curl her fingers around his palm. “If you were a farmer, where did you learn to use a sword?”
Coren grinned. “Taught myself out of books. If I ever came up against a real swordsman, I wouldn’t last a minute, probably. But that sword…I saw it on the stand in the armory, and it was so beautiful I couldn’t help picking it up. It makes for good exercise, at least.”
His nearness was making it difficult for her to concentrate on their conversation. She focused on the horizon and saw lights far too steady to be stars. “Do you see that? Or is it just me, again?”
“Where?” She pointed, and he leaned forward until his forehead nearly touched the glass. “I…that could be a city. I’ve never seen anything manmade out of these windows.”
“What city could it be?”
“I have no idea. I’m not even sure what desert that is.” He turned to face her, and this time she had no excuse for not meeting his eyes. They were filled with that light again, that alert, interested light, and she wished she were the cause of it. “I’ll look it up in the morning. Not that it matters.”
“It’s nice to know what we’re looking at,” Ailanthe agreed. She turned to look out the window again and the room moved with her, just a little. She had enough time to gasp before the pale shadow of her chair flowed up her legs and wrapped itself around her head.
She tore at it, trying to free her nose and mouth, and overbalanced and landed on the floor, cracking her elbow painfully against the boards. Colored lights swayed in front of her eyes, and she felt herself become dizzy from lack of air and the intense cold wherever it touched her. Then bright light flared, and the shadow shrank to nothing, and she lay on the floor staring at the high ceiling and sucking deep breaths of warm air into her starved lungs.
“Did it hurt you?” Coren demanded. He knelt at her side and lifted her to sit against him, his arms going around her. She clutched at the front of his tunic, too grateful at being alive to be self-conscious. “You never said they were that aggressive. It wasn’t even very dark in here.”
“They come out of shadows, not darkness. Darkness against light.” She was still light-headed and wasn’t sure she was making sense, but the way only the shadow of her chair had moved while the darker corners of the room remained empty had given her an insight. “Damn it, if I have to see the Castle’s magic, why can’t I see those things?”
Coren released her and offered her a hand. “Maybe you will, eventually. Are you sure it didn’t hurt you? I got to the light as quickly as I could.”
“It was smart of you not to attack it directly. Thank you.” Ailanthe rubbed her elbow. “I was going to read some more, but now I think I just want sleep. Don’t worry, I sleep with all the lights on.”
“Lights make shadows.”
“Not if you use enough of them. I’ll be fine. I’ll scream if they attack again.” She tried not to remember that it hadn’t given her any chance to scream just now.
Coren still looked unconvinced, but he followed her to her bedroom door, checked all the corners and under the bed, and said, “Sleep well.” When he was gone, Ailanthe laid down on the bed and stared at the ceiling, which was much lower than the one in the window room and painted dark blue. A storm was rising in the forest outside her window, the wind battering at the glass, though with the curtains closed she couldn’t see how the trees were faring against it.
She could have asked him to stay, said something about fearing further attacks. Now she remembered his arms around her and her cheeks burned to think of how she’d clung to him. She curled on her side, closed her eyes and imagined him next to her, neither of them moving, just lying together, his arm around her shoulders and her with her head on his chest listening to his heartbeat. She was a fool.
She stripped down to her underwear and crawled under the thick blue and white blanket. This bed wasn’t as soft as the first, but it was still far softer than anything she’d had at home. If the creatures came out of shadows, it would be more sensible to turn out all the lights and sleep in total darkness, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it, remembering the furtive hunched movements of the shadows and their terrible clutching at her body. She shuddered and pulled the blanket over her face, then pushed it back again. It took her hours to finally fall asleep.
Chapter Eleven
Ailanthe sat cross-legged on her bed and clutched Usael’s white-bound book in both hands. A week had passed with no new attacks and no strange new manifestations of magical pow
er. All that had changed was that Ailanthe now saw the sprites clearly, their bodies tinted red or blue or violet along with the coruscating rainbow specks outlining their edges. Two fluttered past now, giving off brighter sparkles when they brushed against each other. They circled her head, then dropped through the bed and out of sight.
The clock above the dresser told her it was about fifteen minutes to midnight. She wiped first one palm, then the other on her trousers, never entirely letting go of the book. Coren had said the Castle didn’t retrieve things exactly at midnight, and that the actual time varied, so she wasn’t taking any chances.
He’d also said, “I should be there, in case the Castle strikes out at you.”
Ailanthe had responded, trying to sound casual, “Wouldn’t you, um, lose your clothes when it happens?”
He’d opened his mouth, closed it again, and said, “I’ll be right across the hall.”
Now she opened the book and re-read the most recent section. Usael had convinced Banazir to teach him to be a kerthor. Most of the story was now about his training, which didn’t much interest Ailanthe, but in between learning to play the flute and the harp, and practicing the language, he did his best to become part of the community. She’d wept when he met her father, who’d asked Usael so many questions about the Castle and told him proudly about his daughter and offered him every hospitality, saying he hoped Ailanthe might find the same reception wherever she ended up.
The tears threatened to well up again, and she scrubbed at her eyes and told herself to focus. If she was going to stop the Castle reclaiming this book, she needed no distractions. 11:56. She’d sat up once to watch the Castle take back a pottery bowl with a glossy green finish, and it was just as Coren described—one moment it was there, the next it wasn’t. She should have done it again when her vision started to change, but it hadn’t occurred to her, and now she didn’t know what to expect.
She shifted, uncrossed her legs and stretched, crossed them again, and closed the book. The hero books’ iridescence had gone from being a glitter to something more like the rainbows that spread across an oily surface, still faint but easy for her to detect. Idantra’s book wasn’t among the active ones; she felt guilty that she didn’t feel more sorrow over that. She had no idea which book belonged to the Agranite and didn’t really care.
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