The View From Castle Always

by Melissa McShane

  “Then—”

  “Fine. I’ll be in the Library. And don’t bring him back to our rooms. I can be polite, but there’s a limit.” His walk as he left came close to being a stomp.

  “Truly remarkable, my lady. Where is your large friend?” Tristram asked, shutting the bathroom door behind himself.

  “He…has other things to do. Are you hungry? There’s food in the kitchen.”

  “I would prefer to begin my investigation. Will you join me?”

  Ailanthe remembered Coren’s warning, but Tristram didn’t look as if he were about to leap on her, so she said, “I can show you the places I haven’t thoroughly searched yet.”

  “Then let us begin.” He bowed low again, and Ailanthe stifled a sigh. His enthusiasm would quickly become tedious.

  How quickly, Ailanthe wouldn’t have guessed. Tristram felt the need to make comments on her beauty so frequently she finally told him to stop, only to be met with a look of incomprehension. “My lady, you should not be so modest,” he said. “I say only what is evident to anyone who sees you. Now, if you would direct the light this way?”

  They were searching the third floor, which was brightly lit, but Ailanthe never went anywhere without her lamp these days. There had been no more attacks in the last week, but the memory of freezing cold suffocation still frightened her enough that she wasn’t willing to risk stepping into any shadows. Tristram made a great show of testing all the windows in this room, which held a variety of musical instruments, lifting the curtains and knocking on the walls, and Ailanthe suppressed a sigh. She could make her excuses and leave him to his search—she probably ought to do that—but he was being gallant on her behalf, and she felt guilty at the idea of letting him roam the Castle unsupervised.

  So she held the light as he directed and tried not to think of Coren, who was probably having more fun than she was even if he was reading some of the driest of the Castle histories. Just how unhappy was he that she had chosen to stay with Tristram? She couldn’t think of a reason for Tristram not to eat with them, and she was certain Coren wouldn’t like that.

  She was only giving Tristram part of her attention when he said, “Where are you from, my lady?”

  “What? Oh. Lindurien.”

  “Ah, that accounts for your extraordinary beauty. I did not realize elves resembled humans so closely.”

  Ailanthe ground her teeth. “I’m not an elf, Tristram. You’d know an elf if you saw one.”

  “I beg your pardon, my lady.”

  “And please stop calling me beautiful. You’re exaggerating and I dislike insincerity.”

  Tristram turned to look at her fully. “I am never insincere when speaking to a lady. You must hear such praise infrequently, to dismiss my words with such certainty. I wonder that your…companion…does not tell you such things himself.”

  Ailanthe blushed. “Coren is my friend. We don’t have that kind of relationship.” But he thinks I’m beautiful.

  Tristram raised his eyebrows. “My mistake.” He finished his search of the room and bowed to indicate she should precede him out the door. “Have you both been here long?”

  “I’ve been here over a month. Coren’s been here six years.”

  “Six years?” Tristram stopped in the middle of the hall. “I wonder he has not gone mad.”

  “He’s the sanest person I know.”

  “He seems unwelcoming.”

  “He’s just very private,” Ailanthe lied. “Let’s try this room.”

  Tristram continued to ask her questions until lunchtime, then again all afternoon until Ailanthe was thoroughly sick of him. Coren’s proposal that they lock him in the Vestibule started to sound more appealing. By dinnertime her responses were short and unwelcoming, but Tristram either didn’t notice or chose to ignore it.

  When she took him to the kitchen, she couldn’t tell if Coren had been there yet or not, so she gathered a large armful of food and said, “All that work has made me very tired. I’m going to eat in my room. Do you remember the way back to your bedroom?” She’d found him a place on the Library floor despite the nagging, guilty feeling that she ought to offer him something closer to Coren’s suite.

  “Yes, but may I not eat with you, my lady?” Tristram sounded concerned and a little hurt, which made Ailanthe feel even more guilty, but not guilty enough to change her mind.

  “Tomorrow, perhaps,” she said, “but tonight I wouldn’t be very good company.” She walked with him as far as the Library, then ran quickly up the stairs, fearing he might try to follow her after all.

  Coren was in the window room, looking out over the ocean. He had a piece of dried meat in his hand and looked as if he’d forgotten it was there. “You started eating without me?” Ailanthe said.

  He turned around to look at her, surprised. “I thought you’d be with your gallant defender.”

  “I told my ‘gallant defender’ I was too tired for company.” She peeled the wax off a small round of cheese and bit into it. “He’s nice enough, but his enthusiasm is exhausting.”

  Coren gave her a wry smile. “Not too tired for my company, I see.”

  “You’re not exhausting. Quite the opposite.” She pulled a chair next to him and settled in to watch the sunset. He handed her a strip of the dried meat, and she made a face, but started chewing it anyway. His presence both comforted and disturbed her. She’d chosen to sit near him, so her acute awareness of his proximity was entirely her fault, but she loved being near him even though she had to kill the impulse to put her head on his shoulder.

  She risked a glance in his direction; he was gnawing on his meat and staring out across the ocean. “We, um, seem to have a lot of food,” she said.

  Coren shrugged. “The Castle can put it away for us.” He chewed silently for a while. “It occurs to me if I ever get out of here, I’ll have a lot of bad habits to break. I never tidy up anymore. Just drop my clothes on the floor, or leave books piled any old way.”

  Ailanthe tried not to picture Coren without his clothes on. “I’ve already fallen into those habits,” she confessed. “Though I still have to put my clothes away because they don’t belong to the Castle.”

  “I hope we get out of here before those habits become ingrained in you.”

  “Do you really think we’ll get out of here?”

  Coren looked over at her. His face was half in shadow, and Ailanthe had to struggle not to flinch at the image of that shadow detaching itself and leaping on her. “I think whatever magic you’re developing will eventually become strong enough to overcome the Castle’s restraint,” he said. “Especially if you’re taking that magic from the Castle itself.”

  “I hope you’re right.”

  He shrugged and turned away. “Your optimism is infectious.”

  “After a day with Tristram, I don’t feel so optimistic.”

  “Is he that tiresome?”

  “It’s not that. We’re going through room after room and not finding anything useful, like a longer rope. Or a broken window closer to the ground than the tower.”

  “I’m guessing your gallant defender—”

  “Just call him Tristram, Coren.”

  “All right. Tristram tried to break a window, didn’t he?”

  “He did. Several of them. The Castle will be mending a lot of broken chairs tonight. Though I almost thought he’d have success with the floor lamp.”

  Coren laughed. “I don’t like him much, but he does seem to be trying.”

  “I wish he’d stop complimenting me. The words have lost their meaning.”

  “That’s the Galendish for you. Empty compliments wrapped in protestations of eternal loyalty.”

  “I don’t think they’re empty. Just repetitive. And he hasn’t pledged me any kind of loyalty.”

  “He’ll get around to it. Just don’t—”

  Ailanthe hissed as Miriethiel leaped onto her lap, digging his claws in and kneading at her legs. “I think this cat presumes too much,” she said, unhooking
him and setting him on the ground.

  “He likes the meat more than we do,” Coren said, “though I don’t know how he chews it with those fangs of his.” He stood and walked to the window, where the sun had fully set and the clouds over the ocean made it hard to see where the waves ended and the sky began. Ailanthe watched him, admiring the way his tunic stretched across his broad shoulders, straining a little at the seams. “Just don’t assume,” he continued, “that because he’s using pretty words he won’t follow them up with an attack.”

  “Coren, you’re too suspicious.”

  “I don’t carry that sword for show, Ailanthe. I’ve had to fight more than a few questers who thought I was a threat.”

  “Tristram didn’t challenge you. And I don’t think it was because you intimidated him. I think he means what he says—he wants to help us find a way out.”

  “He wants to help you find a way out. He’s certainly not concerned about my welfare.”

  “But you’ll leave when I do. So what he thinks of you is irrelevant.”

  Coren sighed. “You’re right. I’m just in a bad mood because I don’t like him and I hate the idea of being indebted to him if he’s the one who finds the exit.”

  “But we’d be free. And he’d go his way and we’d go ours.”

  “Ours together?”

  Ailanthe stammered, “I—if we’re both far from home, I’d prefer to travel back with you. No sense separating if we’re going the same way, mostly.”

  Coren turned to look at her with that wry smile that made her heart beat faster. “I suppose you wouldn’t get very far without me to protect you,” he said.

  “I can take care of myself.”

  “Two questers. The shadow. And you might have died on the tower if I hadn’t been there.”

  Ailanthe flushed. “Coincidence.”

  “You’re too reckless for your own safety. I suppose I shouldn’t abandon you just because we’re free.”

  “If protecting me makes you feel more confident about your masculinity, I suppose I shouldn’t abandon you.”

  “Then we’re agreed. And all we have to do is find the way out.” He’d gone from smiling to serious in the space of two breaths. Ailanthe’s heart beat even faster. Tristram’s declaration of his desire to free her meant nothing compared to how often Coren had been there when she needed him. But to him, she was…not an obligation exactly, and she was sure he didn’t resent having to defend her and he didn’t think less of her for needing his help, but she wasn’t anything more to him than a friend, and that thought made her chest ache.

  “Are you sure you won’t join us in the search tomorrow?” she said, adopting a casual, friendly manner and hoping her heart would take the hint. “I really don’t want to be alone with him, and we are searching rooms I haven’t given much attention to. It would help.”

  Coren had been about to say something else, but now he scowled. “I’m not above begging,” Ailanthe said with a smile.

  He snorted, but said, “All right. But don’t expect me to be very polite to him.”

  “Just don’t start a fight and I’m sure everything will be fine. Now I’m going to bed with a book.”

  “Usael’s book?”

  “No, one of the ones about magic. It talks a lot about what magic is and where it comes from. I think it applies to the Castle. Maybe, if I can work out how it was built, I can work out how to take it apart.”

  “Don’t take it apart around us.”

  “I’ll do my best.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  She read until the Castle retrieved the book, late that night. She didn’t try to hang onto it, but sat in her bed for a while after it had gone, thinking. Coren was right that the Castle acted on itself, manipulating the magic it was made of, or that had made it, but that didn’t explain how it had gotten the magic in the first place.

  The author wrote of the limitations of spirits and their inability to work together, which meant even hundreds of spirits wouldn’t have been able to build something the size of the Castle. And she knew kerthors, while capable of working together well, needed to be able to visualize their goal in its entirety, and she didn’t think anyone could encompass the entire Castle in their mind. But she was only halfway through the book, and it was still possible the answer was in it somewhere.

  She looked around at the lights burning around the room. She’d turned on all three of her lamps, as well as the wall lights, and any shadows cast by one light were eliminated by the others. The problem was she couldn’t turn them all off at once, and every night she dashed around the room to put out every light before the remaining ones could cast too many shadows. Some nights she just left them burning. Tonight, the thought of having to race the shadows made her angry.

  She clutched the key in her right hand and imagined her hand on the switch of every light in the room at once, then twitched the fingers of her left hand.

  The lights flickered, but didn’t go out. Ailanthe was so startled she lost the image. She glanced at the lamp next to her bed. She took a deep breath and tried again, laying her fingers on the lamp’s switch and pretending to feel its smooth texture with every imaginary hand. “The Castle could do this,” she said, “and so can I,” and pressed down on the real switch.

  The lights went out. She felt a pounding ache begin behind her eyes, but she didn’t care. She’d made the Castle do as she wanted. She slipped out of bed and fumbled in the dark for her clothes. The door would open for her this time, she was certain of it.

  She went carefully down the stairs in the blackness, afraid her lamp would do no more than cast a hundred vicious shadows. She had run up and down them so many times she had no trouble navigating the landings and the steps until her foot touched the cold tile of the ground floor. Trailing her fingers along the wall, she made her slow, groping way to the flagstones surrounding the Honor Hall, then over the tiny squares of the blue hall’s mosaic floor, and finally to the inner door of the Vestibule.

  It was dark outside the little window, and she patted the door until she found the latch. “The Castle can open this,” she said again, “and that means I can too,” and pressed down on the latch.

  She felt it quiver, the tiniest bit, before resisting her again. She leaned on it with all her weight, but nothing happened. “Open, damn you!” she screamed, and pounded on the latch with her fist until it hurt too badly for her to continue. She sank down to sit on the floor, her hand still gripping the latch, and cried herself into a fitful sleep.

  When she woke, cold and aching, she wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but the Vestibule was still dark and her hand still hurt. She retraced her halting steps in the blackness until, safely in her room, she crawled into her bed and stared at nothing until a lightening behind the navy-blue curtains told her dawn had come. She rubbed her painfully sore hand and hoped she hadn’t done it any permanent damage.

  She used the bathroom, then went to the window room hoping Coren had already brought breakfast. “My lady!” Tristram exclaimed. “I thought we might share a morning meal, the three of us. Please, sit, allow me to bring you something.” He sat next to several chairs holding fruits and bread, plates, glasses, and a tall metal pitcher.

  Ailanthe blinked at him, then looked around for Coren. He was not going to be happy about this. Tristram ushered her to a chair, then brought her a plate of carefully arranged fruits and a glass of some pinkish-yellow drink that was surprisingly bitter and sweet at the same time. She and Coren had never bothered with dishes, and this touch of civilization made her both uncomfortable and grateful to Tristram for the courtesy. It seemed he really did mean all the gracious things he’d been saying.

  “What’s this?” Coren said from the doorway. He definitely did not sound happy.

  “Tristram has been kind enough to bring breakfast for all of us,” she said, fixing him with a stare she hoped he would interpret correctly as You promised to be polite. He stared back at her impassively, then helped himself to a half-
loaf of bread and a pot of jam, not bothering with a plate.

  “This is a most peculiar room,” Tristram said. “You did tell me, my lady, of the wonders this Castle shows through its windows, but I did not expect to see such disparate views in a single room.”

  “It’s the only one of its kind,” Coren said through a mouthful of food. Ailanthe glared at him. She didn’t know why he was being deliberately uncouth, but she guessed he intended to annoy Tristram, though how talking with his mouth full would do anything but make him look like a rustic bumpkin eluded her.

  “Sit with me, Tristram,” she said, ignoring Coren and indicating a chair near hers. Tristram joined her and offered her a loaf, still warm despite its trip up twenty flights of stairs. He smiled that dazzling smile again before tearing off a small piece of his own loaf and putting it delicately into his mouth. Ailanthe smiled to cover her confusion. He clearly wanted to underline the contrast between himself and Coren, and the look in his eyes told her he was doing it to impress her. She couldn’t decide whether she hoped Coren was watching or that his attention was still on the valley cliffs.

  “I have never seen such a place before,” Tristram said, indicating the desert. The sky was dusky tan; a sandstorm was coming, something Ailanthe had seen once before and had to turn away from because it felt as though it was trying to engulf her. “Where is it?”

  “The southern end of Rius-zara,” Coren said. So he was paying attention after all. “It’s all desert until you reach the ocean, where there’s a fertile border along the coast.”

  “I once visited Rius-zara,” Tristram said. “It is a marvelous place. Perhaps, when the door opens, it will take us there. I should like to show it to you.”

  “Thank you, Tristram, that would be…pleasant,” Ailanthe said, almost meaning it. He was more considerate than she’d guessed yesterday, and he hadn’t paid her any extravagant compliments, and he was very nice to look at, though not, to her eyes, as handsome as Coren; he was leaner, and taller, and his hazel eyes twinkled, but he didn’t have broad shoulders or an angular face or those well-shaped, powerful hands that were equally comfortable wielding a sword and turning the pages of a book. “And thank you for bringing the food. It’s delicious.”