by Sam Farren
It wasn’t about a birthright, an heirloom. It was about keeping a spirit trapped, and always had been.
“She wants to know who she was. In the same way the memory was new to us, so was it to Brackish. She has lost so much of herself, trapped in this blade. She wants to go to Caelfal,” Eos said. “That is where so much of this started.”
Even free of the temple and the forest engulfing it, the thought of setting foot on Caelfal hadn’t crept into Castelle’s mind. To her, it was gone, along with her family, her home. So much of the capital had been in flames when she fled. Father Damir always shook his head, saying what a shame it was there was nothing left but rubble, but he’d said so many things.
Caelfal would’ve risen again. Like all of Fenroe outside of Laister, it would be greater than it’d ever been under Greyser rule.
But it would know her. She’d set foot on its soil and the land would scream. All eyes would turn towards her. The people would know in their hearts who she was, what she had done, and condemn her to the ocean.
Or worse, she’d see all that had changed. She’d see the castle that wasn’t a castle, the districts reshaped and renamed, for they’d all borne the memory of her ancestors; and she would understand, finally, that she was only one person, that she meant less than nothing to Fenroe.
“We have to get to Yarrin. Layla’s waiting for me. After everything, I…” Castelle said, faltering. Eos’ eyes were upon her. Brackish could not stare into her, but Eos could. “There’s a direct route from Yarrin to Caelfal, isn’t there? We—once I’ve seen Layla, we could… We’ll go. We’ll go to Caelfal.”
Eos nodded, getting to her feet.
Brackish had been trapped in a sword for decades. Centuries. A few more weeks should be as nothing, to her.
“If you do not mind, I would like to wear Brackish at my hip. She does not deserve to be bound, and I believe she will keep her influence clear of you, for now.”
Better to have her out in the open where Castelle could see her than to spend the journey with her eyes burrowing into Eos’ bags, transfixed on what was within.
Besides, it wasn’t her place to object.
Castelle’s hair flew around her, whipping her face as the three of them made their way along the coastline. She may not have been chased along the island as Brackish convinced her she was, but the people at port could stare at her, could approach with mouthfuls of uncomfortable questions. They headed to the north of the island, where a second, smaller port joined Fél to the islands of Wayston and Aria, both of which led to Yarrin.
“May I ask you something?” Castelle said as they walked along the rocky shore, struggling to keep her hood up and her hair within it.
“Of course,” Eos said.
Brackish, sheathed at her hip, hung as any sword would, swaying with every step she took.
“You worked at the temple for a time. You must’ve spoken with the other servants and guards. What did they think of me? They must’ve known about life beyond Laister. They must’ve known that the temple was all a farce, that there would never be an uprising, that I would never take the throne. Did they laugh at me behind my back? Take pity on me?”
“There is a third option,” Eos said.
“Oh?”
“Most did not care. Work is work, to many. Laister was cut off from the rest of the archipelago by Lords Damir and Ira’s design, and so people took what wages they could get, not caring for the politics of it all,” Eos explained. “Some were intrigued. Plenty did not believe you were the Greyser heir, simply another eccentric rich person, and others wanted to see what you would do. Lords Damir and Ira were not popular amongst the locals, but you were almost…”
Eos glanced at Castelle from the corner of her eye, pace slowing.
“Overlooked?” Castelle suggested, needing to say something.
“Perhaps,” Eos said. “There was always a sense that nothing happened due to your machinations. That you had been placed there, incidentally, and had nothing to do with the demands the Lords placed upon the local settlements.”
“Wonderful. I was invisible, even in my own farce of a castle.”
She pulled ahead. Eos made no effort to catch up. It was only when the rocks rose like crumbled pillars and Castelle’s leg reminded her how recently it had been broken that Eos was at her side again.
“There is something to be said for being invisible,” Eos said, pointing to her own face.
“And there is something to be said for being seen,” Castelle huffed, wincing as the day bit at her heels and scraped her shins.
The town at the north of the island was smaller than the port they’d arrived at, but only marginally so. Inns spread along the main street, taverns heaved with patrons, and dozens of tourists gathered in inconvenient places, eager to make the trek to the statue and the caves.
Castelle fell upon the first bench she saw. Eos headed to the docks to see what time the boats were scheduled to sail, leaving behind the Princess she’d once kidnapped without so much as a threat.
Out of breath, shin and arm stinging, Castelle clutched her knee, hoping it’d do something for the pain. Perhaps there was an apothecary’s there, too. Painkillers with less bite than the ones Reed gave her had to exist. She’d settle for a few strong drinks, if it was all she could get her hands on.
A passer-by slowed to look at her. Castelle straightened, eyes immediately darting about for Eos. The person gave her a lopsided smile before hurrying on. Gods. They’d only given her a second glance because her face was scrunched up in pain, not because she was Princess Castelle Marcella Adriana Greyser, sitting out in the open, hair all askew.
But that didn’t mean no one would recognise her. Especially not when Eos returned from the docks. Castelle threaded her fingers through her hair, watching the crowd, doing her utmost to keep paranoia under control.
So long as she was on edge, she could power through the pain and get a running start.
“Is something wrong?” Eos asked.
“No, no. Just my leg,” Castelle said, pressing her thumbs above her knee. “When can we leave?”
“Three hours. I have paid for our tickets. We should get something to eat, and something to help with your leg. If Brackish is behaving, you can too.”
Castelle raised her brow. Eos clasped her hands behind her back, eyes fixed on the sky.
Castelle gripped the back of the bench and stood, sending out a silent prayer not to the gods, but to Brackish. The blue light had coursed through her, allowing her to sprint; surely it wasn’t beyond the spirit’s influence to wash a little of her pain away.
Eos waited patiently, but Castelle didn’t move. Her hair billowed around her face, a bright red beacon in the midst of town. Behind the bench, an inn called The Gods’ Seat cast a shadow upon them.
Forget food. Forget painkillers.
There was something more urgent, pressed to the forefront of Castelle’s thoughts.
“Eos,” Castelle said, staring at the peeling paint of the sign. “I need you to do something for me.”
Chapter Seventeen
The Gods’ Seat had three unoccupied rooms. For a few extra coins, the innkeeper had a tub of hot water placed behind a screen. Castelle put a hand on the wall as she took the creaking stairs, deaf to the bustle of the place. People made themselves at home in rooms, dragged their bags down the corridors, pounded overhead with their boots, all fixated on the rumours of a spirit filling the street.
There weren’t meant to be any vacancies. Castelle was meant to head straight for the dock, idea struck down before it gained any momentum that couldn’t be reversed; she’d be disappointed, until she inevitably realised what a ridiculous idea it was.
Eos sat on the edge of the bed, back to the screen.
Castelle stared at the steam rising from the hot water and made ships of her fingertips. They wouldn’t have to spend long on the next island. All they needed from it was yet another boat, headed directly to Yarrin.
She did
n’t know how far inland Layla’s temple was. Hadn’t asked. It could be in the port itself. Worse still, Layla could come to the docks to greet her. Layla could look upon her and see all the ways she hadn’t changed in eight years.
Castelle shook her head. Layla had always loved her. Layla had sent for her. She hadn’t put all of this into motion to chastise her.
Undressing, Castelle folded her rain-soaked clothes in the corner and climbed into the tub. The heat of the water demanded she take notice, demanded she return to Fél. Yarrin’s rocky shores faded as the water rose to the rim of the tub. Castelle stared at the clothes in the corner, grey and shapeless.
She’d had such beautiful clothes, in the castle. In the temple. People had travelled from all over the archipelago and from Kingdoms far beyond for the honour of dressing her, of offering the royal family a new fabric, embossed with patterns none had imagined.
She’d had such beautiful things. Fine clothes, hand-written books, furniture passed down the generations, diamond necklaces for heirlooms, siblings who never tired of her.
She’d had her whole life mapped out, Kingdom spread out before her.
She’d had so much, and now she sat in a cramped tub dozens had used, knees pressed to her chest, water sloshing around her. Nothing was hers, not even the clothes on her back. Eos had bought those. Her arm and leg stung as water soaked into the bandages Eos had carefully wrapped around them, and through the water, she could make out the six wounds left behind by the bear trap’s jaw.
Her hair spread across the water’s surface, sticking to her skin.
The water wouldn’t be warm forever. Scrubbing her skin with the off-white soap, Castelle squeezed herself into the corner of the tub and ducked her head beneath the water. She washed her hair in deliberate strands, watching the water run towards her fingertips.
That was hers. That was all she had left to cling to.
Her family’s bloodline, dark with water.
Gripping the sides of the tub, Castelle pulled herself out, watching the water drip onto the floor. She wrung her hair out, using the towels the innkeeper had lent her to dry off.
She dressed, wrapped a towel around her shoulders, and emerged from behind the screen.
Eos was still staring at the door, back to her, shoulders stiff.
Without a word, Castelle sat on the floor in front of her, trying to see what she saw in the door.
“Are you certain about this?” Eos asked.
“It was your idea,” Castelle said.
“Still.”
Castelle tilted her head back. Brackish was in the corner of the room, glowing faintly.
“Marigold had brown hair, like our father. She always pretended it didn’t bother her, but the one time we truly argued, she grabbed a fistful of my hair. She was so happy when her children were born and the Greyser blood was there for the world to see,” Castelle said. “Marcella had red hair, too. She would’ve grown to look just like our mother. Tobias’ hair was red in some lights, brown in most. Edward, though. Edward’s hair was so bright it made ours look dull. Orange, like firelight. We used to say he glowed in the dark. It…
“It’s just hair, Eos. What does it matter?”
Eos drew Castelle’s hair over her ears, pulling it towards herself.
“It matters to you,” she said. “But you are right. It is only hair, and it will grow back.”
Castelle nodded.
“Right. Besides, it makes me look too much like Ava Greyser. Too much like my mother. Even if they’ve burnt all her portraits, the people remember what she looked like. I don’t want to draw more attention to us than I already have. And in truth, I…”
Eos took the scissors the innkeeper had lent them for yet another few coins. She cut the air, testing. Castelle froze. How cowardly it would be to take it all back, to shrug off the ritual of washing, of coming to such a secluded place with such a singular focus, only to cling to her family’s legacy.
Brackish glowed brighter.
She was right. She was right.
Don’t be a coward.
“In truth?”
“Oh. In truth, it gets in the way,” Castelle said.
Eos hummed. Not giving Castelle another chance to change her mind, she pulled her hair away from the back of her neck and made the first cut. She did them both the favour of pretending not to hear Castelle whimper. Castelle gripped the towel around her shoulders. It wasn’t just hair. It never was.
Something was being severed. It ached, no matter how desperately Castelle wanted to be rid of it.
“You do not speak of your father often,” Eos said.
“Neither do you,” Castelle said, eyes closed as the scissors snipped rhythmically, moving back and forth, back and forth.
“I do not have a father,” Eos said. “I have nothing to speak of.”
Castelle bit the inside of her cheek, considering her options. Take what she’d learnt of Eos and put it away with what little else she knew, or take a risk and delve deeper.
Eos might not slip up again so easily.
“Mothers?”
“Two,” Eos said. “But my point stands. You do not speak of your father often.”
Castelle’s shoulders rose. Eos used two fingers to push them down.
“I suppose I don’t, do I?” Castelle said, relenting. “He was a nice man. Nice to me, that is. I can’t begin to fathom what he was truly like, I know, I know. But he was kind to me and spent more time with my siblings and me than our mother did. His name was Edward, as well. His sister was one of Layla’s mothers. He…
“I don’t know. I don’t know what to say. I believe I—once I had father Ira and father Damir, I stopped thinking of him as much. Isn’t that awful? I replaced my father with two other men, and now I don’t know what to say about him.”
Clumps of red hair, a foot or more long, splayed across the floor. Castelle’s stomach turned.
“I do not think so. You were a child. You lost everyone. Those men offered to take you in as their own, and you were allowed to forget some of what was taken from you. It was one way to cope.”
Castelle nodded. Eos pushed her head forward. The scissors darted back and forth, hair falling as the rains had for the last few months.
“Do you… Do you think they ever loved me?” Castelle’s words filled the air before she thought them. “Do you think any of it was genuine? Anything but a show?”
“That is not for me to say,” Eos said, but said it gently. “They were using you. They spent more than a decade manipulating you. Do not forget that. But if you think there was something beneath that all, that doesn’t mean it wasn’t there.”
Castelle folded her arms over her knees. Father Ira said he’d always longed for a child, but life had always got in the way. His mother had grown sick, work had kept them busy, the threat of rebels rose; it was always something. And then the worst happened, they’d lost their homes, their lands and titles, yet none of that mattered. They had Castelle, and any hardship could be overcome.
They’d escaped the capital, escaped Caelfal. They’d made it to Laister, to the ancient, crumbling temple and made a home worthy of her from it.
Things always got in the way for a reason, father Ira said. They were always supposed to end up with Castelle. They just hadn’t known it.
“I hope they didn’t,” Castelle said. “Then I should feel much worse about all of this.”
Eos hummed. She finished cutting Castelle’s hair in silence, and pried herself from behind her. Eos brushed the back of Castelle’s neck with her hand, took the towel, and cleared the floor around them. Castelle slumped against the bed, eyes still on the ceiling.
They’d be on a boat, within the hour. It wouldn’t take long to find passage to Yarrin. Four, five hours, and she’d be face to face with her cousin for the first time in eight years.
Would Layla want to embrace her, to be embraced? She’d always held her so tightly before, but almost a decade stood between them. So much was bound t
o have happened, beyond the temple. Layla could be married. Layla could have children.
Gods.
Layla could’ve lived so much of the life Castelle had dreamt of in the heart of Laister Forest, convinced she was the lucky one. Layla had turned her back on the temple, on Castelle’s fathers, and she’d lost her life because of it. Bandits had paraded her head around on a pike. If only she’d stayed in the forest, where it was safe!
Castelle wouldn’t make the same mistakes. Castelle would stay where she was, would read the books she was told to, would think the things her fathers thought.
Gods!
Eos placed her bags at the door, picked up Brackish, but hesitated on the way to sheathing her. She twisted the sword in her hand, frowned, and sat next to Castelle.
There were strands of red hair all over her clothes. Castelle huffed a laugh through her nose, feeling nothing of it in her chest. She ran her fingers across her bare neck and the short, uneven hair Eos had left behind.
Her heart sunk into her guts. It was gone. All of it. It didn’t matter if it’d grow back, didn’t matter that it was out of her way and she was safer without it. It was gone, and Eos had cut away more than hair.
“May I ask something of you?” Eos said.
“You may.”
Despite everything, despite the life Eos had wrenched her from and the truths she’d revealed to her, she was grateful Eos was there. Grateful she was by her side, hair scattered around them.
In that moment, and only for a moment, she’d do anything Eos asked of her.
“It is Brackish. She wishes to speak to you, or show you something,” Eos said, words coming slowly. She only understood the sword a little better than Castelle did. “I will filter it. She will not harm you. I will not let her.”
Clarity only came with saying yes. Like so many things of late, Castelle could only comprehend it by experiencing it.
“If you think it important,” Castelle said.
Nodding, Eos held out a hand. Castelle stared at it, blind to the gesture until Eos cleared her throat.
Oh.
She’d filter Brackish’s words, her blue-tinged power. Literally, at that.