The View From Castle Always

by Melissa McShane

  “That’s mostly true. Will you join me?”

  He came around the side of the Hall and descended the stairs. “Oh Spirit,” he began.

  “That’s not necessary. The Castle knows what you want. The question is—do you?”

  He looked puzzled. “My lady, I believed the Castle chose for me. Its wisdom is as much greater than mine as the sun is to the stars.”

  “What’s your name?”

  “Damien, my lady.”

  “Damien, the Castle exists to show you possibilities. It can offer you choices based on what it reads in your heart. You’re the one who has to choose.”

  He swallowed. “My lady, that is a heavy burden.”

  “Choice usually is. Here, stand with me.” She offered him her hand and drew him to stand next to her. Across the room, empty windows filled with images that flickered almost too fast to be distinguishable. Damien looked from one to the other, his expression going from awe to fear almost as fast as the images themselves.

  “Each of these is a path you might take,” Ailanthe said. “You can see the possibilities along each path. See, there’s one in which you meet your true love and spend a lifetime together, raising a family.”

  “But she has no face,” Damien protested.

  “That’s because it’s not certain who she is, only that if you take that path, you will find her,” Ailanthe said. “On this path, you become a powerful ruler, and here you find the answers you’re searching for…do you understand?”

  “I believe I do, my lady. And I choose…how?”

  “Touch the window you want.”

  He walked over to the images and examined each window closely. He took so long about it Ailanthe became impatient. She wanted to read more of Usael’s story now; his wedding day was fast approaching. Her sister had been weaving the fabric for Elara’s dress for three weeks. Finally, Damien stretched out his hand and laid it flat against one of the windows. It popped like a soap bubble, and the other images faded away. Ailanthe hadn’t been paying attention, so she didn’t know which one he’d chosen, but Damien certainly looked happy about it.

  “Give me your right hand,” she said when he returned to her, and turned his arm so his wrist faced upward. “You came here because you wanted a destiny,” she said. “The Castle exists to show you how to use that destiny to make the world better, in small or great ways. It can’t force you to choose good. Your path is your own. But this token should remind you of why you came here in the first place, on those days when that path seems unclear.”

  She laid her palm on the inside of his wrist and closed her fingers around it, squeezed, and Damien winced. When she removed her hand, there was a circle about an inch wide glowing yellow-white against his fair skin, with a word written in tiny letters around its circumference. Damien raised his arm. “‘Freedom,’” he read.

  “It’s the Castle’s name,” Ailanthe said. “Do you have any other questions?”

  He lowered his arm and bowed to her. “Tell me your name again,” he said.

  “Ailanthe.”

  He took her hand and kissed it, making her flinch in memory. “You are the fairest creature I have ever seen,” he said, “and I would that you would offer me a token of your own, to carry with me into dark places.”

  “That glows,” Ailanthe said, pointing.

  “I had in mind something a little more…personal,” he said, and put his other arm around her waist and drew her in to kiss her, hard, his tongue thrusting against her lips. His hand slid down to grasp her bottom, squeezing unpleasantly.

  She drew the Castle around her in one swift thought and shoved, hard, sending the Galendishman flying across the Hall and striking one of the window arches so hard she heard his head bounce. “Eewww!” she shouted, resuming her human form, then screamed inarticulate rage until the ceiling quivered.

  She summoned an entire dinner service of delicate china and flung plate after cup at the walls, letting all of her pain and sorrow turn into fury that she smashed into shining pieces, littering the well-waxed floor with doubled images. When the last dish was shattered, she sat on the floor and cried.

  I am sorry, Rhedyth said.

  “Why didn’t you see that in him? How can you not know that he’s a horrible person?”

  He is not evil, merely stupid. And it was his choice to make.

  “Where are we sending him? Are we sending him someplace awful? Please say it’s someplace awful.”

  He wanted power. He is going to Eshkor. They will teach him to respect women or he will die for not learning the lesson. If he does not die, he will become a fair and just leader.

  “He’s probably going to die. I hope he does.”

  We are not punitive. And you do not.

  Ailanthe looked at the unconscious body. “No, I don’t. But that’s two in the last two weeks who’ve tried to assault me. Sometimes I think…no, I don’t.”

  You think Gweron was right.

  “He wasn’t right. But it’s not hard to see why he thought he was.” Ailanthe gripped the man’s collar and took both of them to the Vestibule, where she slapped him awake and tried not to take too much pleasure in it. Damien stirred, groaned, rubbed the back of his head, then looked up at her in fear. “My lady—” he began.

  “Shut up. No more ‘my lady’ unless you intend to treat me like one. Now listen.” Ailanthe drew in a deep breath. “Where you’re going, women are respected in ways no Galendishman ever thought of. If you try that on one of them, you’re going to lose a body part. I’ll let you guess which one. The Castle gave you a choice. If you choose wrong, it’s on you. Now go through that door and don’t ever come back here again.”

  She flicked a thought at the magic on his wrist and it flared white, making him hiss in pain. “That’s to remember what I’ve just said. And I hope…I really hope you have a long and wonderful life.” And not the short, painful one I see in your short, painful future.

  She held the Vestibule’s inner door open for him and watched him walk down the short corridor and out the door onto the steppes, where it was a gray day that promised a late spring storm. But the grass was already coming in green, she saw before he shut the door, and soon it would be summer, and the tribes would be on the move again. The year rolled on, even inside these stony walls, and she could see it from any window she chose.

  She shut the inner door and trudged back across the blue mosaic floor, the gold tiles a colder contrast against her bare feet to the cool ceramic. Today the hall made her feel like she was underwater. Could she drown, now? Not that she’d have the chance to find out, unless she got into the pool-sized tub in the forest glade bathroom and sank down to the bottom…no, that was too much like suicide.

  She let her many hands undress her and walked in her underclothes back to the dressing room, allowing the long walk to remind her that she was still human, mostly. She dressed in her own clothes and then stood in the theater for a while, gazing at the stage with its heavy red curtains of tattered velvet. It was in disrepair because that was how Gweron remembered it, and Ailanthe considered mending the curtains, but decided it wasn’t worth the trouble.

  She looked around at the high ceiling, painted with cherubs dressed as natives of every known country, surrounding a blue sky with white clouds. The gilding of the molding and baseboards was chipped, too, and some of the chairs had stuffing coming out of the seams. If she did find a way to bring a troupe here, she’d mend everything then. Otherwise, it was a waste of her time.

  She trudged up all the stairs, resolutely didn’t look at the arched doorway to Coren’s suite, and went to the tower. She had repaired this, finished the walls and set in a beautiful spiral staircase of cast iron painted white, with a handrail gently twisted to give a more secure grip. She’d also put in new cushions covered in soft green velvet to match the leaves of Lindurien.

  She still couldn’t tell which tree was home, so she chose one in the right direction and marked a spot on the glass to identify it. With Gweron
gone, the magic that had forced the Castle to set everything right at midnight—a part of keeping him in key form, Rhedyth had explained—was no longer active. Now Ailanthe could make as many messes as she wanted, but mostly she cleaned up after herself.

  She leaned against the glass and tapped the mark with her fingertip. She still hadn’t learned all the Castle’s secrets, mainly because she didn’t know which questions to ask. She was afraid to use the cooking Things Rhedyth had shown her; the box that heated itself and then heated the food made her nervous.

  On the other hand, she’d discovered a lens setting that made distant things seem close, and she sometimes spent hours watching things through the windows, birds and distant animals, though there were never any people. Wherever Gweron had anchored the Castle, it was in places far from human settlement. He’d at least meant people to really want to come to the Castle, whatever else he might have planned for them.

  She never looked at the city beyond the desert. She was never going back to those rooms again, not after the second night when she’d returned to her bed and it had still smelled like him, and she’d cried so hard she couldn’t breathe.

  She put her feet up and summoned Usael’s book. It felt like spying on him, even if she only saw what everyone else in the mother tree did and carefully skipped the parts where he and Elara were intimate, but it was also her only way to see home. She was so desperate for home she was willing to risk the dubious morality of watching it over someone else’s shoulder.

  Where was she? Wedding. Right. They were both so happy, and it cheered her to see how her people had welcomed Usael so fully. Pity she was never going to meet him. She turned a page. “Rhedyth,” she said absently, “what destiny did you give Usael?”

  True love.

  “Did he know that’s what he was getting?”

  No. Of course not. I could not speak to him, explain what would happen. He thought he wanted knowledge, but in his heart he wanted his life’s companion. I am happy he achieved both.

  “So am I.” The magic that gave Rhedyth such insight was far beyond Ailanthe’s power; she thought it might have been beyond Gweron too, something the Castle had gained as it became self-aware. Perhaps if you had no desires of your own, you were more clearly able to see the desires of others. But no, Rhedyth had wanted more than anything to be free to make her own choices. The only one who hadn’t gotten her heart’s desire was Ailanthe…or had she, and not known it?

  She had wanted to regain her balance, to be in tune with the trees again, but if this magic had taken the place of that connection, did that mean what she wanted—what she had always wanted without knowing it—was to become the Castle? Suppose this was her heart’s desire? She was afraid to ask Rhedyth, realized Rhedyth would know what she was thinking, and said, “Don’t tell me.”

  As you wish.

  Ailanthe realized she’d read the same line five times without understanding it, and closed the book. In Lindurien, the skies were clear; in Eshkor, the storm might have rolled in already. Whatever weather she wanted, she only had to look out the right window. She stood, took one last look at her home, and descended the stairs.

  When she was halfway down, the Castle bell tolled. She stopped with her hand on the spiral railing and sighed. They seemed to be coming more often these last two weeks. Two in one day, though, that was a first. Well, she wasn’t getting dressed up for this one. She would meet him, give him the speech, and see him on his way. Then she would eat something, and then read the afternoon away.

  At least she didn’t have to worry about running out of books. Or…she remembered what Gweron had written, about not knowing how long he might live, and she had to bite back a scream at the thought of being here alone for several lifetimes. She released the railing, which she’d had in a death grip, and went slowly down the stairs. No more slipping between walls for today. She was still human. Mostly.

  She was on the second floor landing, where four stairs met and crossed, when she felt the front door open. She kept her attention resolutely focused inward. If it was another Galendishman, she didn’t want to know about it until she couldn’t avoid it any longer. Then, distantly, she heard someone shout, “Ailanthe? Ailanthe!”

  “Coren,” she whispered. It wasn’t him. He couldn’t be here. She put both hands on the railing to keep from falling, and reached out—male, Hesperan, very agitated, taking the shortest route to the Honor Hall—

  “Coren!” she screamed, and flung herself through the Castle to end up in front of the Honor Hall in time for him to come racing across the flagstones and nearly bowl her over. He stopped in time, took her face between his hands and kissed her with a kind of desperate hunger that made her cling to him, sobbing, five weeks of heartache vanishing in that moment.

  His cheeks bristled with three days’ growth of beard that scratched her face, and she kissed him harder, welcoming even that touch. She threaded her fingers through the hair at the base of his neck and drew him closer as Coren did the same, kissing her as if he never meant to stop.

  His fingers brushed her cheeks and came away wet, and he broke away long enough to say, “What does it mean that my kisses always make you cry?”

  She shook her head. “You didn’t want me,” she said. “You wanted Hespera.”

  He looked stunned. “I want you more than anything.”

  “No, you didn’t. The Castle knew your heart’s desire. That’s why it sent you home.”

  Coren grimaced. “Yes, but I assumed you’d be with me when I went there,” he said. “It’s a building, Ailanthe. A magical, powerful building, but I’m not sure how well it really understands the human heart.”

  Ailanthe wiped more tears from her eyes. “Rhedyth!” she shouted.

  Silence, then, I can see where I might have…made a mistake. She sounded embarrassed.

  “You realize we can’t represent ourselves as knowing the heart’s desire if this is the kind of result we give, right?”

  “Are you talking to the Castle?” Coren asked, looking as if he thought she’d gone insane.

  “Yes. Sort of. It’s like talking to myself, only I answer back. What are you going to do about it?”

  “About you talking to yourself?”

  “That was addressed to Rhedyth. Well?”

  I will look more closely in the future. It is clear that sometimes the human heart deeply wants things that are well tangled together. In my defense, had I known his true desire, I still could not have sent you with him. And I am certain this has never happened before.

  “Well, it can’t happen again.”

  “Ailanthe, I don’t hear anything.”

  “I know.” She laid her cheek against his bristly one, feeling lighter than she had in weeks. “All this time, I thought you didn’t love me.”

  “I’m sorry it took so long. I went to Lindurien first. I thought if the Castle had sent me home, it might have done the same for you. But I met—I couldn’t believe this—I met your father—”

  “But Usael’s book never—”

  “I didn’t see Usael. It took some doing to communicate with your father, but we each spoke a little Enthalian and I managed to explain what I was after, and he said you hadn’t been back in months. So I took a chance and came here.” He held her close, his hands stroking the small of her back. “And you thought I’d abandoned you.”

  “Thank you for coming back for me.”

  “Thank you for waiting in the one place I’d know to look for you.” He withdrew to arm’s length and took her hand in his. “Let’s go. I’d like you to meet my family. My brother has two sons now, and he’s gotten so fat—the whole time I was there, I wanted so badly for you to be with me.”

  “How long were you there?”

  “Twelve hours. Long enough to sleep, eat, and borrow some money from my brother in between trading silent glares with my father, who still hasn’t forgiven me for running off in the middle of the night like that. But then, he wanted me to marry Deyanara.” Coren made a face.
“There’s a town a day’s walk south of here where I think we can find a ride.”

  “No, Coren, I can’t…” She pulled her hand free of his. “I have to explain something to you, and you might change your mind about me once you understand.”

  Coren tilted her head up so he could kiss her again. “I am never,” he said when he released her, “going to change my mind about you.”

  “I hope not.” She took a deep breath, reached out for his hand again, and drew them through the Castle until they were both standing in the window room. Coren staggered and clutched at her shoulder to keep his balance. “I…on second thought, I should have warned you I was going to do that,” she said, “but I couldn’t think how to explain it, so I decided to show you. This is part of what I am now.”

  “You really do have magic like Gweron’s,” Coren gasped.

  Ailanthe shook her head. “I mean, yes, I do, and that’s why…let’s sit down, and you have to promise me you won’t say anything, or ask questions, until I’m done, because it’s a little complicated.”

  She used her extra arms to drag a couple of the blocky chairs together, making Coren’s mouth hang open in surprise at seeing them fly about on their own, then sat next to him, his hand in both of hers, and told him everything Rhedyth had told her that night. As promised, he sat silent, watching her as she spoke, his face impassive. When she was finished, he withdrew his hand gently and said, “Well.”

  His voice was as impassive as his face, and it left Ailanthe feeling sick and afraid. “Do you understand all of that?”

  He pursed his lips and nodded. “You’re the Castle. You can’t leave or it will be destroyed. And it will wreck most of the world if it’s destroyed.”

  “That’s it.” He still looked so distant. She looked over his shoulder at the desert window. A rare storm was coming in, rain, not sand, and she wished she were alone already, that he would say whatever it was he was thinking and leave, and then she could watch the rain and see what the desert looked like afterward.