A breeze sweeps past, bringing with it the smell of pine that lingers around me. It is the smell of home, catching itself in my hair that blows about my face, clinging to my cloak. In the fluttering breeze something catches the corner of my eye. It is held captive between the damp stones.
It lifts, then falls. Slowly. Dream-like.
I bend down and pull at it, feeling the coarse fibers between my fingers, the hand-stitched thread stained dark with wet. It is only a remnant. An odd piece separated from a larger whole, but the color triggers something at the back of my mind, and my eyes shift to the stones. The breeze teases against my cheek yet again and in the distance there is the gentle knocking of bellermines against the trees. And then I remember.
Matilde’s blouson, ripped and shredded by the weight of the river rocks at her dunking.
The memory knocks me to my knees, the wind stealing my breath. I reach out to touch it once more as a sprig of Rosemary, lush as if freshly plucked from the earth, blows across the yard, snagging itself upon the fabric of my sleeve. I pull it free and notice how white the skin of my hand is against the snow.
The bone. The bone is Matilde’s.
That night rushes back to me. I can still hear the wheels of the cart as they led her away, and this is where they brought her. Back home to Pyrmont.
Without thinking, I begin to dig. My nails collect the rich earth beneath them. I work at the frozen ground until I have cleared away the snow completely and the frozen earth stares back at me. With care, I reach across the dirt I have disturbed and smooth it, creating a natural marker, making sure it is no longer in hiding but in the open for all to see. She deserves that. I carve a tiny X into the ground. It is Matilde’s mark.
Next to it, I carve two bent lines, facing one another. It is Jera, the rune of peace, but I know this symbol is much more than that. It is about life and future and hope. I remember the lessons she taught me as if they were yesterday.
Laughter steals across the lawn. The children are here. I watch for a moment as Adelaide takes Niclaus by his hands and swings him high, the sunshine falling upon his hair.
I lift my hands to wipe them clean as Laurentz waves me over. I leave, and close the gate behind me.
The End
Acknowledgements
There comes a time in a writer’s life when the simple idea of a book becomes an all-consuming obsession—when you suddenly realize your first manuscript was practice for the next, and so on…and before you know it, you’ve gone from hoping to be published to typing THE END on your sixth book. I truly believe there is magick in this world—a special sort that takes a wish and threads, weaves, and molds it into something so completely wonderful.
And so now comes the task of thanking everyone who has helped make it happen.
My agent, Amanda Luedeke…I am so grateful to have you on my side. You are a constant champion of my ideas. Thank you for believing in my writing and helping my books find their way.
Kate Kaynak, I truly believe you and I share the same brain when it comes to this series. You’ve embraced Rune and her world with an intensity that mirrors my own.
Brooke DelVecchio, thank you for ensuring my fictional worlds will reach real ones, and for all you have done for me. I am so thankful for our friendship.
Lisa Amowitz, once again you’ve created a stunning cover and have captured Rune’s presence perfectly.
Cyn Balog—thank you! Palau won’t know what hit it once we get there…someday!
A bucketful of gratitude goes to my Street Team, Coven of Secrets. You are pure magick!
Chris, Christian and Megan—YOU are my inspiration. Every day and always.
About the Author
Photo by Megan Murgia
Jennifer Murgia writes Young Adult Fantasy and Contemporary novels. She has long loved the dark and speculative—and it’s from these dark places that she weaves fantastical stories, often hoping to find truth in them. She is the co-founder and coordinator of YAFest: an annual teen book festival in Easton, PA. She currently resides in Pennsylvania with her husband, her two children, and a very spoiled cat.
Praise for
Castle of Sighs
“A castle filled with the ghosts of witches… A Book of Secrets that holds the key to a terrible past… A being made of Magick… In Castle of Sighs, the magnificent sequel to Forest of Whispers, author Jennifer Murgia leads us through a spooky, tangled web of mystery, mayhem, and magic both light and dark as we follow seventeenth century witch Rune in her exploration of the ancient Castle Pyrmont, the ancestral home that has shaped the extraordinary lives of the women in her family. Be prepared to sit up all night looking over your shoulder and jumping at every sound while this book, like its predecessor, casts its spell over you. Definitely a must-read.”
— Molly Cochran, author of Legacy, Poison, and Seduction
“A creepy, atmospheric ghost tale to be read with the lights on. Jennifer Murgia has done it again!”
— Cyn Balog, author of Fairy Tale and Sleepless
Castle of Sighs Page 17