by Sharon Rose
Tristan nodded and followed James across the roof. The green shapes he’d seen from above were raised, weedy beds, some with slatted cedar coverings.
“I believe the family lounged up here,” James said, pointing at bare frames as they followed the parapet. “Awnings could have hung from these. I noticed simple chairs and tables in the fourth-floor storage, which I now suspect may be intended for the roof.”
Cotrell paused to look down on the bailey, but Tristan continued around with James.
“You may have noticed, my lord, that the roof slopes gently westward.” James pointed out structures near that wall. “The excess rainwater drains on the ends.” He looked over the parapet. “They may have collected it, too.”
They angled back toward the north tower and stopped by a bed that curved around its base. Some unique plants battled the weeds for space.
Cotrell sauntered over, as James said, “’Tis an herb garden. Here is thyme, which grows anywhere, but look, my lord—rosemary.”
What was so special about that?
Cotrell quirked an eyebrow. “So…our meat will be tastier tonight?”
James closed his eyes, before turning back to Tristan. “Rosemary cannot survive the winters in Moorelin. The local climate must be more temperate, the winters mild.”
“Ah,” Tristan murmured, “and here I thought you were commending the self-sufficiency this castle provides.”
“Aye, that too. More so than any of Moorelin.”
Tristan looked to the woods. “It had to. I’ve seen no sign that dwellings stood beyond the walls. Strange to see a castle without a village.”
“Perhaps there was not time for a village to form,” James said. “Though this castle has stood empty for decades, I do not think it is very old.”
“Nay, the stone has not deteriorated.” Tristan strolled toward a marble statue of a woman and child, surrounded by benches. He sat on one of them. “What would it take to occupy this castle?”
“I wondered when you’d get around to that question,” Cotrell said.
“’Twas inevitable.” James sat on a bench angled toward Tristan. “Before occupying, you should consider whether you can hold the castle. Perhaps it has no village because of the beasts. All of them.”
Cotrell braced a foot against a bench and crossed his arms on his knee. “With enough men, we can deal with wolves and bears, even big ones. Vixicats are another matter.” He looked to Tristan. “Have you read more of that journal?”
“Some. If the cycle documented by the last master is real, we will need our own observations to see where we lie within it.” Tristan considered for a moment. “He never studied them over winter. I’m not even sure how late in autumn they stayed or how early in spring they returned.”
“I may be able to determine that from the ledgers,” James said.
Tristan nodded. “Please do so. To truly determine whether I can hold the castle and surrounding land, I must make the attempt. But the hazards are not to be taken lightly. I cannot ask men to bring their families here. They must be able to come ahead and prepare for families to join them later. Not too many men, but enough to clear the near woods, repair the damage of neglect, and meet the needs of daily life.” He tilted his head. “And to defend the castle, should the need arise.”
“The archers who followed you into battle,” Cotrell said. “Most are young. Many had already begun learning professions of one sort or another, which could prove useful. Best of all, we know their determination against a ruthless enemy. We could gather them and return in spring.”
“I would rather bring families in spring or summer, thus I’d prefer to gather men at once and winter here.”
Cotrell’s brows shot up. “Have we time?”
“That, we will determine today,” Tristan said. “And more, as well. How many men do we need? What skills are critical? What provisions must be brought? We must also assess what the castle holds, and what more we require for this venture to work. Tomorrow morn we leave.”
The men were silent until James said, “I will perform a general inventory, but realize, it will be imprecise.”
Tristan nodded. “That will be adequate.”
Cotrell frowned in thought. “What you need most would lie outside the castle, not within it.” He lowered his foot from the bench. “A road and a bridge, my lord.”
“Ah! You are right.” He met Cotrell’s gaze for a moment. “How could we accomplish that on the way here?”
“Before we reach the castle?” James asked.
“Aye. If we must camp, I would rather do it on the north side of the ridge. From the journal, ’tis clear that the vixicats have a set range. If they ever crossed the ridge, we would have heard stories from the travelers to Fountain Isle. That side is safer until we can get the bridge rebuilt. Then, we could bring provisions to the castle within a day. Wagons, maybe livestock, with mounted archers to guard them.”
Cotrell rubbed his chestnut beard and answered slowly. “Could be done.”
Tristan stood. “Then, we must consider how long it will take, and whether we should fell local timber or bring it all the way from Moorelin. Captain D’Jorge can decide that and obtain the tools and supplies. You and Captain Wellinstine can help me choose and assemble the men.”
Before twilight, Tristan went up to his bedroom and felt within the inner pouch of his saddle pack. His finger touched cool metal, and he pulled out his signet ring. He’d not worn it since he left the elegant cities of Verenlia. But now, he had a decision to make. Though nothing need be written, still it seemed that the ring should witness their discussion over dinner and his final choice.
He slipped it on and headed back toward the central stairs. The carved wooden doors of the chapel caught his eye. He’d had no time to see it at sunset. ’Twould only take a moment. He crossed the corridor and opened the double doors.
The effect was all he’d hoped and more. The prisms scattered brilliant colors, but the stained-glass radiated a light of its own, bathing the white marble table with a second rainbow. Yet the thing he noticed most was…a feeling beyond words. As though the light had taken on a living presence.
He approached the table, the carpet hushing his footsteps, and rested his hand within the rainbow. The symbol of hope and protection. Hope. The castle already sparked it within him. Protection. He—all of them—would need that if they were to hold this land. He dropped to one knee and wordlessly asked for the light of wisdom. The advice of James and Cotrell, he must yet attend, too. But one thing was certain. Forever would he yearn for this place if he did not return.
After dinner, they rested in the library amid dusty books and a fine collection of marble carvings. James had gone off somewhere, but his inventories lay on the desk with the map under Tristan’s hand. Their discussion at dinner of whether to return had soon shifted into plans for how best to return.
The fullness in his chest…He hadn’t felt this since…ah, since his father had given him his signet ring. The soft glow of candlelight flickered over the carved gold as it had that night in his father’s library.
Cotrell must have noticed where his gaze rested, for he said, “’Tis fitting that you wear your ring again, my lord.”
Tristan let out a long breath. “Aye.”
The door opened, and James entered, a tray in hand.
Tristan’s smile slowly formed. “What have you there?”
James placed it on a sideboard. “’Tis unnamed like all the rest, my lord, but I think you will find it palatable.” He lifted the cloth draped over the bottle and began pouring into three wine glasses.
“What is this?” Cotrell said. “Have you tasted it without us?”
“Be glad that I did.” James angled a look toward him. “The first one I opened was vile beyond description. This came from another rack.” He offered the first goblet to Tristan, who had come to stand before the empty fireplace. James and Cotrell took the other two.
Tristan inhaled the aroma, then took a sip. Mellow with the hint o
f a foreign fruit. “Mm. This is remarkably good!”
“Aye,” Cotrell murmured.
“I thought it would be suitable for a first toast, my lord.”
“Ah, James, you are right, as always.” Tristan raised his glass. “To the Castle in the Wilde.”
Glass chinked as they responded, and Cotrell said, “The Castle in the Wilde—with an e.”
Tristan chuckled and gestured to the heavy leather chairs around the hearth. “Sit, my friends.” He settled, resting one hand on the armrest as he enjoyed another sip.
Again, the signet ring drew his eye. Candlelight danced over the outline of his family’s crest, which circled the prominent P. Symbols shared by all five Petram brothers. Memory stirred—the first time he’d seen his initial T entwined through the Petram crest. This ring…somehow his father felt near, as in the days when they searched for Tristan’s future estate.
James broke his abstraction. “Have you thought much of what your brother might say?”
His eldest brother, of course. Tristan answered only to him. “Not greatly, but I do not think he will forbid. I’ll send a letter to him by express courier after we cross the River Thane into Moorelin.”
They enjoyed their wine in silence for a few minutes. Tristan glanced from one to the other and drew a deep breath. “I have led you now into something you never agreed to when we set out from Moorelin. An endeavor that could cost lives. Know that you are free to choose whether you return with me.”
Cotrell tilted his head back to laugh. “Do not think that I’ll let you take this venture without me.”
James smiled, sedate as always. “I would rather steward your estate than your travels.”
Warmth spread through Tristan’s chest. He’d expected such answers, but they were nonetheless pleasing, for that.
Chapter 10
Castle in the Wilde
Tristan locked the hidden gate. Deep shadow cloaked it, for the rising sun still filtered through trees on the eastern hills. He followed the ledge to the valley, where Cotrell and James met him with the horses, and there he mounted Dauntless. “Cotrell, you lead. James, follow him. I’ll take the rear.”
They found the northeast road. Parts of it were still clear, and they made good time to the ridge, cresting it at noon. Tristan paused astride Dauntless, gazing down on the wooded hills. Familiar enough now that he could even find the tower peaks among the leafless branches. Like a new acquaintance. Known—but slightly.
What of Lavaycia? So near, yet intentionally absent. Where did their actual border lie? The mystery of the castle’s original owners still troubled him. Might Lavaycians know more? If so, how might that affect his plans? Certain he was, that the former owners had not been killed by vixicats. But why did they never return?
What if their descendants still remembered? What if they returned at some future time? By Moorelin’s law, property abandoned for fifty years was free to anyone who could hold it. But this was not Moorelin. ’Twas not any country, for not a soul lived in The Wilde.
Why did he ponder anything so unlikely? He would find no answer by staring at hills! He guided Dauntless over to join Cotrell and James atop the north descent.
Cotrell shaded his eyes with a hand, gazing northwest. “Fountain Isle still looks quiet.”
“Hm.” Tristan frowned.
“We could ride there first, if you are concerned,” James suggested.
Ah, those hot spring pools would feel good! His lingering aches begged for that relief. Tempting. “Nay,” he said. “I’ve no true cause for worry. We must hasten. We’ve much to do, and the time is short. Let us descend.”
Why did that sensible decision feel so wrong?
Share the Adventure
I hope you enjoyed reading A Castle Sealed as much as I enjoyed writing it. Please consider leaving a review wherever you buy books. This will help other readers find books that interest them, and will also help this very appreciative author.
Thanks for reading and sharing,
Sharon Rose
The Next Adventure
A Castle Awakened
Castle in the Wilde: Novel 1
A foreign usurper. A lady who longs for freedom. Vicious beasts who want to rip them all to shreds. Who Wins?
Never one to shy from a challenge, Lord Petram took possession of a forsaken castle. His search uncovered no hint of who built it or why they abandoned such a gem. What treachery would strike the founding family from history? Still, it seems a small matter, since the generations have passed. If he and his followers can forge a life here—and hold out against ravenous vixicats—the castle and this land will be theirs. As for the nearest kingdom, they never venture beyond their border or the mysterious forest of tower trees. Except...
Beth dons a disguise and takes a forbidden ride in Tower Woods—a last fling before she bows to the dictates of her noble birth. Her fun adventure turns into a nightmare of kidnap and rescue—of sorts. Now she’s trapped in a nameless castle held by a foreign usurper who calls himself Lord Petram. Who could he be, and what will he do with her if he finds out who she really is?
Thus, Lord Petram finds himself the unwilling guardian of an injured lady who won’t give her full name. A crime he didn’t commit may bring retribution from an unknown kingdom. Do they have a claim to this castle that he now calls home? If he survives the vixicats, will an army slaughter him and his followers?
A Castle Awakened is the first novel in the Castle in the Wilde trilogy. If you like fantasy with mystery, intrigue, and romance, come and explore this secondary world with medieval undertones and the turmoil of clashing cultures.
Interested? You may order it here: A Castle Awakened
Books By Sharon Rose
FANTASY
Castle in the Wilde Trilogy:
A Castle Sealed – Prequel Novella
A Castle Awakened – Novel 1
A Castle Contended – Novel 2 (Available Summer of 2021)
SCIENCE FICTION
Diverse Similarity
Diverse Demands
Agents of Rivelt – A Novel in Short Stories
Flying Blind — a stand-alone short story)
More titles are coming. Get the latest news at SharonRoseAuthor.com.
Acknowledgments
Thankfulness is one of those intangible acts that costs nothing but gives joy. Think about it. Not only does it bring a smile to the people who receive our thanks. It also increases our own appreciation of everything we receive. A sunset, a flower, a song, an encouraging word, a kind deed, a gift, even a payment we are due. Receiving them thankfully adds a polishing touch to the treasure.
This world we live in dishes out plenty to drag us down, so letting joy flourish is all the more crucial. Join me in thinking of treasures to be thankful for.
I’ll start because, yeah, this is the acknowledgements, after all!
Family support is foundational to my writing. Husband, children, siblings, in-laws, even grandkids now. My thanks to all of you for everything from encouragement to taking care of the practical things of life.
Bridgett Powers, my faithful editor and friend. Thanks for always being there for me. You know my books wouldn’t be published without you.
Kirk DouPonce, thank you for your always-fabulous cover design and for art that reflects what I have written.
Matthew Ferguson, thank you for the medieval style maps to give substance to my fantasy world, and especially, for the vixicat in the corner.
Realm Makers—the conference, the online community, the people: This tribe, who understands both faith and speculative fiction, has made a huge difference in my author journey. Many thanks to all of you.
Write Now writer’s group at Living Word Christian Center: You are delightful friends and encouragers. Thank you for listening to me read and giving me feedback.
Advance Readers: Though I will never see most of you face-to-face, the time you take to read, review, and spread the word, means more than you realize. Those of y
ou who have sent me personal notes, your kind words are priceless.
To all of my readers: Even though these words are printed before you read this book, I feel as much gratitude for you as for everyone mentioned above. You’ve taken the time to walk a story-journey with me, and I don’t take that for granted. I hope you’ve found something in it to bring light and joy to your days.
Now it’s your turn. What are you thankful for, right in this moment?
About the Author
I started writing when I was seven years old. Okay, My Life as a Flying Squirrel may have had a couple spelling errors, but my classmates loved it.
Plenty of life has happened since that first story, and I’ve come to realize the things that fascinate me. People. Communication. Culture. Personality. Viewpoints. Beliefs. Anything that makes each of us beautifully unique. Small wonder that my art spills out in story form.
It was only a matter of time, before I just had to share my stories. I’ve published science fiction and now fantasy, two genres that allow us to explore reality while having fun.
When I’m not writing or reading, I may be traveling, enjoying gardens, or searching for unique coffee shops with my husband. We live in Minnesota, USA, famed for its mosquitoes—uh, I mean 10,000 lakes and vibrant seasons.
What’s in a name?
Way more than I expected. As in, more people. Of course, I knew I was not the only Sharon Rose in the world, but it turns out that some of them are authors, too. I’m the Sharon Rose who writes science fiction and fantasy for those who prefer a cleaner read.
