by Jade Mere
Table of Contents
Blurb
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
About the Author
By Jade Mere
Visit Dreamspinner Press
Copyright
The Architect and the Castle of Glass
By Jade Mere
Chasing his dream will send him into a dark and twisted nightmare.
Tahki’s only goal is to become a world-famous architect, even if that means betraying his father’s wishes by abandoning his comfortable life for one of unpredictable danger.
After Tahki blindly accepts what he thinks will be a dream job, his skills as an architect are put to the test as he is given the bizarre—and slightly unethical—task of turning a remote castle into a new-age machine for Prince Dyraien. The castle provides a challenge unlike any he’s had before, and Tahki finds the only way he’ll be able to succeed is to swallow his pride and work alongside Rye, a guarded young man who is quick to see the flaws in both Tahki and his work.
Yet the looming deadline proves to be the least of Tahki’s troubles. When a horrifying creature begins to haunt him, Tahki turns to Rye for help. The more he learns about the history of the castle, the more terrifying the hauntings become. Even with Rye by his side, Tahki realizes achieving his dream might send him down a dark path from which he can’t return.
Dedicated to my family. Thanks for putting up with me and all my quirks.
Chapter 1
THE WALLS had eyes.
It was something Tahki’s brother often said. You couldn’t do anything in the palace without someone seeing you. Even now, with the lamps long extinguished and the moon only a sliver in the desert sky, Tahki felt exposed. Objects that looked nothing like a person—potted aloe plants, an empty spice cart, silk tapestries—appeared suspicious.
He tried to keep focused on the sandstone path as he ran barefoot across the courtyard. Warm air filled his lungs. He left the palace and all its sleeping inhabitants behind. No one had seen him. Not tonight, not the previous night, and not the night before when this whole business of sneaking out had started, the night he’d made the decision to finally compete at the World Fair of Innovation and Invention.
Tahki tripped over a loose tile and stumbled, his tool belt crashing to the ground with a thunderous clank. He stood stock-still and waited, his eyes darting to the palace on the hill behind him. If anyone saw him like this, they might mistake him for a thief instead of the son of a renowned ambassador. He took a deep breath and rubbed his drawing wrist. If he rushed now, he might make a mistake. The fair was fourteen days away, which meant he had less than twenty-four hours to earn his father’s permission to attend. All the greatest minds from around the world traveled to the fair every year to enter their inventions in competitions. Weapons experts, transportation designers, architects, they’d all be entering in their respective fields, and with any luck, Tahki would be submitting his architectural designs right beside them. Only his father stood between him and the fair. Between him and his freedom.
He scooped up his tools and continued down the path. Three years ago, Tahki had turned fifteen, and every year since, he’d asked to leave Dhaulen’aii and travel to the fair, but his father’s answer had always been the same: too dangerous. Six months ago, when he’d turned eighteen, he realized that if he wanted to attend the fair, he’d need to prove to his father he was a capable architect.
And tonight he would prove just that.
Tahki stepped inside an ancient red-roofed temple and threw his tools atop a pile of paper and charcoal. The temple had stood over five hundred years. It smelled of tea tree oil, jasmine, and a musky odor he’d come to associate with unwashed monk robes. The temple was small, only one room that might fit a dozen people inside, an unused and neglected space after a sandstorm took out one of the eastern walls ten years ago. Almost every one of the twelve pillars looked chipped, and the tiles on the east roof sagged. The square room was empty, save for an altar against the far wall and a red rug below it. Monks still left food on the altar every few weeks to rot as homage to the gods. People starved on the streets, yet the monks wasted food every week to honor these deities who never came. He didn’t understand how the monks leaving food for the gods was any different from children leaving baby teeth on their bed stand in exchange for a copper coin. Adults deceived children all the time, so why wouldn’t they understand that they too were being deceived?
Flies buzzed around a pile of rotten mangoes. Tahki walked to the altar and threw the red rug over it to quiet the swarm. When you lived in the largest desert in the world, your greatest enemy was the heat. But the monks insisted on putting themselves in a deep meditative trance inside the sweltering temples. Sand fever had already claimed a dozen victims, and summer was still a month away. The monks were more at risk than anyone because they refused to leave the temple when it became too hot. It was stupid to suffer so much and get nothing in return but a sore ass, but then, he’d never understood meditation.
His father, however, did and joined the monks every afternoon for several hours of mindful practice. It was his father’s love and dedication to the gods that had given Tahki the idea to repair the temple. Not just repair it, improve it. If he could make the temple more bearable to meditate in, his father would finally acknowledge his talent for architecture and allow him to enter the fair.
Before Tahki set to work, he checked his progress from the night before. He ran his hand along the unfinished support beams he’d paid a carpenter to craft from a Gojuri tree. He’d never constructed anything before, only designed on paper. But he wasn’t building a new temple; he was fixing an old one. All you had to do was follow the schematics. Any simpleton could do it, if they had good designs to work from, and Tahki’s designs were perfect.
He’d invented an in-home aqueduct system for the temple. The design was simple: a series of conduits ran through the walls. The conduits were fueled by a natural underground well that siphoned water upward into a series of bamboo pipes. Then he’d attached a line of gutters inside the roof. When activated by a pump lever, the siphon would draw water upward into the conduits that flowed to the gutters. The gutters would waterfall around the room, delivering cool water and mist for the monks.
Tahki smiled at the brilliance of his work. It would keep the monks cool when they meditated and keep the flies away. His father would love it.
He dragged a statue of one of the gods into a corner and went to work. He’d already installed the gutters. Now all he needed to do was connect them and the task would be done. He reached up and hammered a bamboo pipe into place carefully so it wouldn’t splinter, and attached it to another he’d installed yesterday.
As he worked, his mind started to wander to grander places, places where people appreciated his talent. He pictured himself holding a large gold medal at the fair. People cheered and clapped, marveling at how someone so young could be so clever.
Tahki didn’t hear the creak of the door until it banged shut and rattled the walls. His heart thumped against his chest. He dropped his hammer and pivoted on his heels. When he saw his twin brother, Sornjia, standing a few feet away, he relaxed.
“You did that on purpose,” Tahki said.
“I couldn’t sleep. I could h
ear the temple crying. I don’t think it likes having its bones broken,” Sornjia said. He gestured toward a pile of rubble.
In order to fit the pipes, Tahki had needed to cut away some of the support structure inside the walls. There were a dozen columns holding up the roof, so sacrificing a few wall beams wouldn’t hurt.
Tahki picked up his hammer. “The temple should be so lucky to get an upgrade.”
“Old things don’t like change,” Sornjia said.
Tahki ignored him. On the outside they might look identical—same white-blond hair, sun-bronzed skin, bamboo-green eyes—but on the inside, they were like fire and water. Tahki had been told once that twin boys shared a unique bond, that sometimes they knew what the other was thinking, but he’d never had the slightest idea of what went on inside his brother’s head. He couldn’t image anyone trying to make sense of Sornjia.
“Are you here to help or distract me?” Tahki said.
“I’m worried about the temple,” Sornjia said. He reached his hand toward one of the walls but didn’t touch it, just let it hover an inch away as though the contact might burn him. “It’s unsettled. Like a crow dancing on a pinecone.”
“You don’t even know what a crow is.” Tahki struggled to connect the pipes.
“A crow is shadows and mischief,” Sornjia said.
“You’ve been reading too much Vatolokít folklore.”
Sornjia shook his head. “I saw one in a dream once. I was in a dark cave, and the darkness turned into a bird. The bird told me it was a crow from the north, and then it plucked off my head like a grape and ate it.”
Tahki’s hand slipped and the hammer slammed into his thumb. He cursed and sucked on it. “Just go clean something, would you?”
Sornjia fluttered away into the temple.
For the next few hours they worked in silence. The temple didn’t look as nice as Tahki had intended. He’d spent most nights working on the gutters and didn’t have time to paint the walls. But he could fix the small things later. For now, he simply pushed bits of rubble loosely into the wall so it looked presentable, the way he used to shove all his toys under his bed when his father told him to clean his room.
The red sun peaked over the horizon at half past six. Tahki wiped sweat from his brow. His white and gold silk shirt was drenched. His fingers were blistered and sore, the skin on his palms callused. He gave his system one last check. It looked exactly like his drawings. All he needed to do now was turn on the water.
“Well?” Tahki said. “What do you think?”
Sornjia smiled. “It looks like a very fancy bath.”
“Just go get Father. He should be having his morning tea.”
Sornjia pranced away. He skipped lightly, like the ground was made of clouds instead of sandstone.
Tahki took a deep breath of hot air and glanced at the city. Outside the walls, sand dunes glowed bloodred. In the markets below, merchants set up shop. Silk carts spread colorful fabrics over wood tables, curry stands fired up stoves, fire camels and sandbulls tromped down the dirt streets, herded by skinny children and emaciated dogs.
Dhaulen’aii was a country of spirituality and tradition. People who lived inside the city walls were isolated from everything. Nothing terrified Tahki more than being stuck in this city, unable to experience new technologies, unable to be a part of something bigger, something grander. No one would ever know what Tahki was capable of if he stayed here.
He drummed his fingers against his side. Despite lack of sleep, his legs itched to move. He looked back toward the palace and rubbed his left wrist. It always ached, even when he wasn’t drawing. On the slope leading up to the palace, he saw Sornjia trotting alongside their father, Lord Aumin. He released a breath and straightened his back. He should have changed into dry clothes, but there was no time. Besides, sweat showed hard work and dedication. That was what his father always preached.
His father approached with a look that read, Please Gods, don’t let him embarrass me again. He hadn’t changed out of his morning dhoti. Even in casual silks, his father could not be mistaken for a commoner. Broad shouldered, tall, chin always raised slightly high, he encompassed grace and dignity and pride. A true representative of their country. Everything Tahki was not and never could be and never wanted to be.
Tahki took a breath. He’d never felt nervous speaking before, but when his father stopped a few feet in front of him and folded his arms, Tahki’s tongue felt too large for his mouth.
“I’m surprised to see you up before noon,” his father said. His voice sounded calm and friendly. He’d always been good at hiding his nervousness. It was why he made such a good ambassador.
“I wanted to show you something,” Tahki said. “A surprise.”
His father hesitated and then smiled. “A surprise for me? I wonder what I’ve done to deserve such attention.”
Tahki had an entire speech prepared about great advancements in the north, but he was too excited to remember half of it.
“The temple,” Tahki said. “Don’t take your eyes off it.”
His father glanced at Sornjia, a what is your brother up to glance. He did that a lot, looked to Sornjia for help, because understanding Tahki was apparently too difficult to do on his own. Sornjia only smiled back.
“My eyes are yours,” his father said to Tahki. Though his voice was warm, he watched the temple with cold suspicion, like it might suddenly grow feet and walk away.
Tahki cleared dead shrubs away from a wooden lever he’d installed the night before and put all his weight on the handle. The lever shook and groaned. He could feel the water pressure building and checked to see if his father was watching. He was.
At first, only a few drops fell. And then a few more. And then, in a sudden rush, water poured from the gutters. It streamed down, falling into a shallow ditch that circled around the temple. Tahki released his breath. The waterfalls looked magnificent, surreal. The temple was no longer an eyesore but a beautiful product of innovation.
He faced his father and grinned. His father stood still, an expression of surprise, but not distaste on his face.
“Well?” Tahki said. “Isn’t it amazing? You have to think it’s amazing. And the monks will love it. I know they will.”
His father regarded him the same way he regarded a potential treaty deal, with honest and open respect. For the first time, Tahki felt his father finally understood that he had a skill to offer the world, and to deny him a chance to display his work at the fair would be irresponsible. This was the moment Tahki had worked for. The moment his father would say, “Yes, Tahki. You belong at the fair. I will no longer hold you back.”
His father opened his mouth. “Tahki, this is—”
A loud crack broke the still air. Tahki faced the temple. The pipes on the pillars rattled up and down until a few of them broke loose. They swiveled out to the side like an unhinged door, one part still attached, the other spouting water in every direction. The waterfalls ceased, and a few final drops trickled from the splintered bamboo. The pipes swayed a little, tapping against one another, and then the temple was silent.
Tahki frowned and stepped forward.
“Tahki, no!” Sornjia yelled.
Tahki’s brother grabbed him by the arm and yanked him back. They tumbled onto the sand. Tahki scrambled to his feet just in time to see the temple walls give in. The building didn’t collapse quickly but eased itself into the sand, the way an old person with bad knees wobbles down into a chair. The columns broke apart like brittle bones. The walls crumbled. The tiled roof caved in and buried everything in a heap of red slate.
A cloud of dust blew over them, and after the final rumbles, the air turned silent. Even the animals and children in the markets below went quiet. Tahki’s eyes widened despite the dust. The cloud stung and blurred his vision, but he hardly noticed. He ran up to the fallen temple and stared in disbelief.
This wasn’t happening. His designs had been perfect. He’d done the math. Calculated everything. Ch
ecked and rechecked his work. It shouldn’t have collapsed.
“Get away from there,” his father yelled.
Tahki felt himself jerked away again.
His father spun him around, eyes wide. “Are you hurt?”
Tahki glanced back at the rubble.
“Tahki, are you hurt?”
Tahki shook his head.
“What in the name of the gods were you thinking?” His father held him by his shoulders.
“I didn’t mean…,” Tahki said. “I just wanted….” He felt a lump in his throat. He would not be allowed to attend the fair. All his efforts had been for nothing.
His father released a shaky breath. “Up to the palace. Both of you. Now. Tahki, meet me in the dining hall.”
“But the monks—”
“Go. I will talk with them.”
Tahki was tugged along by Sornjia. His mind felt hazy, like someone else inhabited his body while he floated above and watched. Dreams of the fair, of fame and applause, faded from his thoughts. All he could see now was scorched sands and endless walls.
He stumbled up the hill, leaving behind the fallen temple, his father, and his only chance of freedom.
AN HOUR and a half later, his father walked into the dining hall. Tahki knelt on a large red cushion in front of a low table. He didn’t meet his father’s eye. He knew they both dreaded the conversation to come. Neither liked confrontation when it came to family, a rare shared trait.
His father carried two cups of jasmine tea with perfect balance. He set one cup down in front of Tahki and then closed the doors. The windows bounced sunlight across the gold walls and red curtains. Statues of two rearing jade elephants sat on twin pedestals beside the doors. Tahki remembered he and Sornjia would steal the elephants to play with when they were children. He’d broken the trunk off one once and blamed Sornjia. To this day he still hadn’t admitted it had been him, even though he knew his father knew the truth.
“I know I made a mistake,” Tahki said. His father knelt across from him. “I know you won’t allow me to attend the fair this year. I understand.” He might as well be diplomatic about it. He already knew the outcome of this conversation, so it would be better to just take responsibility. Next year he would try again, and he didn’t want to hurt his chances by arguing now.