by Sever Bronny
“But they’re not warlocks, how could they—”
Leera shrugged. “Not our problem.”
The crowd steadily thinned as the rooms continued to be assigned. Those sleeping on this floor also included Lieutenant Briggs, Sergeant Cobb, and their small families; Chaska and his father (though the elder Henawa made it plain they would move outside as soon as possible); Mr. Goss and his son, Leland; Constable Clouds and his son, Devon; Panjita Singh and her mother, Priya; Mr. Okeke; and—
“But surely there are better accommodations closer to, uh, my friends,” Bowlander said upon spying his plain room. He leaned closer to Mr. Haroun. “Perhaps a bit of coin would—”
“—this is all that is available, Lord Bowlander,” Mr. Haroun said briskly before striding on.
Bowlander gave Bridget a melancholy look as they left him behind.
“Beyond this grand door,” Mr. Haroun explained to the remaining group of stragglers, “lies the Great Throne Room, otherwise known as the Hall of Ceremonies and King’s Court.”
The trio exchanged excited looks. This was one of the rooms they hadn’t explored! If only they’d known what it was …
Mr. Haroun looked for a handle on the tall door, but found none. “It seems to be arcanely closed, is that not so, Mrs. Stone?”
“Mmm,” she grunted, without offering to open it.
“Yes, good, let us move on then.”
Mr. Haroun next took them to the north side of the castle, behind the throne room, which the trio knew all too well—it was the grand dining room with an enormously long finely carved trestle table, gilded lion-armed king and queen’s chairs, two gigantic marble hearths, and a long row of stained-glass windows depicting a dark warlock leading an army of upright-standing lions, facing off against a warlock champion leading armed peasants.
“Hey, think that’s Atrius Arinthian battling Occulus?” Bridget whispered.
“You know, it just might be,” Augum replied. Sure enough, the dark warlock had skulls on his armor, and even a skull helm, while the light warlock had a shield with a large, ornate letter “A”. But what did the lions represent? Yet another one of the castle’s ancient mysteries.
“This is where the king and queen had their meals,” Mr. Haroun said. “As I understand history, Atrius Arinthian himself sat in that great chair there.”
Augum recalled Prince Sydo claiming that chair as his own.
“Now let us go upstairs and assign the final set of rooms.”
Augum glanced about. Besides the gawkers who were curious about the remaining accommodations, the only people that hadn’t been assigned rooms yet were Mrs. Stone, the trio, Haylee and Jengo.
Mr. Haroun stopped at the door to wait upon Mrs. Stone, who was staring out the arched windows. “Everything all right, Archmage—?”
Mrs. Stone turned, eyes settling on the trio. After watching them a moment, she wordlessly shuffled on, once more allowing Mr. Haroun to take her perpetually trembling arm.
The trio exchanged looks, wondering what that was all about.
Jengo glanced outside, whispering, “Are we doomed? What did she see?”
“I’m sure it’s fine, Jengo,” Haylee said, though she too glanced outside.
They made their way to the stairs, gathering a few more people along the way, including Mrs. Haroun, Malaika, Charissa, and Lord Bowlander, who preened and said to Bridget, “Missed me?” Her cheeks flushed as she chuckled.
“Bet you their rooms are nicer than ours,” Malaika said, hands resting in the crook of Charissa’s arm.
Charissa scoffed. “Of course they are.”
Mrs. Haroun glared at the trio. Augum knew that look—it was the kind certain nobles flashed gutterborns. But what made a noble? Was it wealth? Title? Or birth? Surely Bridget and Leera weren’t gutterborns like him, were they, having been born in Blackhaven? Was he even a gutterborn? He dared not ask, for Bridget would kill him for using that word. He concluded it shouldn’t matter one way or another.
“This is the Scholar’s Floor,” Mr. Haroun explained. “Mrs. Stone has informed me that Atrius Arinthian believed in learning above all, with particular focus on arithmetic. He used to invent all sorts of intellectual scholarly puzzles to challenge his children.” He gestured idly. “Here the rooms are quite plain, consequently no one will be living in them. From my understanding there are some service rooms, bedrooms for visiting scholars and arcaneologists, a laboratorium of exotics, and a great library, which will need to be replenished one day.”
“I’d love to take that job on,” Bridget whispered.
“And I’d love to help you with it,” Bowlander whispered into Bridget’s ear with a grin.
Augum overheard and had to suppress a revolted look.
Bridget only smiled, curtsying slightly.
“What’s a laboratorium of exotics?” Haylee asked.
“It’s basically a room full of weird plants and stuff,” Leera replied. “Used to be a fountain in there too. But that’s not all that’s on this floor—”
“—we need not worry about the rest,” Mr. Haroun quickly said with a nervous chuckle, glancing at Mrs. Stone before continuing upstairs.
“It’s a torture room right now,” Leera whispered to Haylee.
Haylee gasped, hand over her mouth. “No!”
“Narsus left it there. Won’t be visiting that one much.”
“Wait, you mean Narsus the Necromancer?” Haylee whispered. “The one Mrs. Stone defeated below the Academy of Arcane Arts—?”
“The very same.”
“He was looking for the family scion,” Augum added.
“Fascinating,” Bowlander said, inserting himself into the conversation. “And how do you feel about that, Lady Burns?”
Bridget raised her eyebrows in surprise. “Uh, well, it’s interesting, I guess.”
“We also found Fentwick on this floor,” Augum said.
Bridget’s brows creased with pity. “If he remained where he fell, we’re about to see him again. Poor thing.”
“Who’s Fentwick?” Haylee asked.
“A suit of talking armor,” Leera replied.
“No, I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
“To be precise,” Bridget said, “he’s an ancient arcanely animated suit of talking armor from the days of Atrius Arinthian.”
“How interesting,” Bowlander said in forced tones of sincerity.
They soon reached the fifth floor where Prince Sydo once occupied a room. This floor was smaller than the others due to a wide terrace that bordered the exterior of the castle. But it was also grander, with gilded hawks, lions and wolves supporting where the ceiling met the walls, guarding faded and torn tapestries. A hallway with double doors at the end opened onto the terrace. There were four rooms, two on each side of the stairs. Each room had an intricately carved black oaken door.
The trio immediately searched for Fentwick, who should have been lying near the entrance to Prince Sydo’s old room, but all they found was scrap pieces of twisted metal and a scuffed floor. The door itself had been repaired, which could only have been done by Mrs. Stone earlier in the day.
“This is the Prince and Princess Floor,” Mr. Haroun explained. “Behind me here are two of the grandest windows I am sure many of us have ever seen. They seem to let in most of the light that filters downstairs.”
Many people looked over the banister, able to see all the way down to the foyer, five floors below.
“The windows appear to depict a hairless man meditating in a desert.”
“It’s a Leyan,” Leera said, and all turned to examine the grand windows.
“Ah, indeed. Very good. And that makes sense, does it not? For Atrius Arinthian himself later become a Leyan, and died as one.”
Except Arinthian’s body had apparently been destroyed by the Lord of the Legion, Augum thought morosely. He wondered what shape the ancient sarcophagus was in, and made a mental note to visit the mausoleum in tribute to his ancestor.
/>
“But where’s Fentwick?” Bridget whispered.
Augum shook his head, wishing he knew. Had Mrs. Stone moved him, got rid of what remained of him, or had he simply gotten up and limped somewhere on his own? He was about to ask Mrs. Stone that very question, only to notice her having a hushed conversation with nobody. He elbowed Bridget and Leera, and the girls’ mouths opened in alarm.
“Mrs. Stone—?” Bridget pressed delicately. “Are you all right?”
Mrs. Stone startled, suddenly conscious of their eyes upon her. “Mmm.”
The trio exchanged a worried look.
Mr. Haroun, unaware of what had just transpired, referenced his parchment map, muttering, “These four equal quadrant rooms will be divided as follows. This room here—” he indicated Prince Sydo’s old room, “will be occupied by Augum Stone—”
Augum stirred, unsure how he felt about this. Not so much because it had been Sydo’s old room, but because some good people fought and died there, most notably Lord Boron and Ms. Grinds. In fact, even the creepy Nightsword, Sir Jayson Quick, died at the top of the stairs just there where Mrs. Stone was standing now.
“—the room over and across the hall will be occupied by Miss Bridget Burns and Miss Leera Jones.”
Bridget and Leera traded smiles.
“The last two rooms on the other side of the stairs have been assigned to Miss Haylee Tennyson and a Mr. Jengo Okeke.
“But why do they get the good rooms?” Malaika protested.
“The matter has been discussed with senior members of council, Daughter. It is important the young warlocks remain in close proximity for security and training purposes. And I shall not suffer another word on the matter.”
Mrs. Haroun made a harrumph sound as she drew near her husband, hissing at him, “Hanad, how could you pass up your own daughter for advancement? It is your duty, Husband—”
“—enough, Selma!” Mr. Haroun barked before turning to the group with a forced smile. “Above this floor are the grand king and queen suites. And above that, a watchtower.” He strode over to Mrs. Stone, placing her arm onto his once more. “Please allow me to take you upstairs to your chamber, Mrs. Stone. If anyone has earned royal accommodations, it is you, most esteemed archmage.”
“In a moment, please.” Mrs. Stone bid him to help her walk over to the trio. It seemed the day’s spell casting and now the stairs had tired her out significantly, for her eyes darted about randomly, her hunch had worsened, and her wheezing was constant. She let go of Mr. Haroun. Somehow, everyone knew to take a step back to give her and the trio space.
The trio lowered their eyes respectfully as this withered, trembling legendary woman stood before them, the ancient Arinthian scion humming quietly on top of her staff.
“I dare say we can all agree yesterday evening was not your proudest moment.”
It did not escape Augum’s notice that Bowlander, still standing near Bridget, shifted away uneasily.
“Further, this morning and afternoon, you failed in your training. Be that as it may, upon reflection, someone my age, with precious little time remaining to her, perhaps may have … forgotten … how much trouble she herself once got into in her youth.” No one uttered a word or moved, allowing the venerable and legendary warlock to continue on at her own pace.
“Perhaps it can also be argued it is unfair to expect perfection when an entire kingdom’s hopes seem to rest upon your shoulders. I too share those hopes. But as you well know, I also have the highest expectations. Leniency does not come easily to me, yet even at this great age, I am learning a thing or two about what it means to be truly alive.” Her eyes wandered to Augum and Leera’s shoulders, which were touching. Even when they weren’t holding hands, they found little ways to connect.
“After spotting some well-repaired buildings in the bailey, it seems you have sought to atone for your disgrace. Tomorrow, a new day begins. As you can imagine, there is quite a lot to accomplish. Prepare yourselves, for your training will enter a new phase, the most difficult phase of all. In the mean, in Bridget and Leera’s room you shall find a small token of my appreciation of your sacrifices, for despite all outward appearances, I have not forgotten them. Now I dare say I am in desperate need of rest. Good evening.”
“Good evening, Mrs. Stone,” everyone chorused.
Mrs. Stone raised her arm, allowing Mr. Haroun to slip beside her, before quietly and slowly shuffling upstairs. All those that she passed bowed their heads out of respect.
“She’s quite the grouch,” Bowlander whispered to Bridget, eliciting a frown from her.
“Well, go on, let’s see what that token of appreciation is!” Haylee whispered, elbowing Bridget.
The girls glanced at each other, smiled, and rushed to their room. The moment they opened the door, they heard the bittersweet sound of Fentwick’s high-pitched voice.
“Mine ladies, wouldst thou fancy a duel?”
Appointments
The next morning, the red velvet curtains in Augum’s room drew open on their own, bright and early, the sun instantly piercing his eyelids.
Augum groaned and tried to turn away, but then shot up. How did the curtains know when to open? And just how did they open?
He blearily looked around his new lodgings, but Nana wasn’t there.
“DID YOUR CURTAINS JUST MOVE?” an excited Bridget shouted into his mind via the Exot ring, startling Augum so badly he fell off the bed. He could hear Leera giggling in the background, saying to Bridget to “Tell lazybones to get up and come over!”
He brought the Exot ring to his lips. “Yep, mine moved,” he replied groggily, rubbing his perpetually sore elbow. “Be over after I dress.”
He used the support of his black ironwood bedstead to help him stand, batting the wispy drapery aside. After showing off Fentwick, they had spent the evening bringing in everyone’s belongings, eating a quick meal on-the-go. Then they helped everyone settle in before finally cleaning their own rooms.
Augum’s room was considered the prince’s chamber. It consisted of the canopy bed adorned with fresh white linen sheets, a massive iron-banded storage trunk at its foot; a small but ornate desk and chair; and a tall three-door ironwood wardrobe beside a secret escape hatch they had once used to evacuate the castle. Other pieces of furniture would have to be acquired over time, but that didn’t bother Augum at all. He was just amazed to be in such a grand room … and it was his own! The room was larger than Sir Westwood’s entire hut had been. The ceilings were high and paneled with exquisitely carved scenes of knights, castles, warlocks, and the northern wooded countryside. The walls were covered in ancient sun-faded tapestries that needed repairing or replacing. There were four arched stained glass windows letting in the glorious morning sun. And although his room faced south, it offered a sprawling and majestic view of the Ravenwood.
But the best part about the room was the intricately carved oaken doors between the windows, for they led to the terrace. Augum hurriedly got dressed in his blue robe and went straight for those doors, opening them both to the outside and welcoming the sun on his face, feeling like a true prince of the castle.
He chortled at the idea. Prince Augum Stone. The story wrote itself … gutterborn ascends the ranks to smite his evil father while being trained by a legendary mentor, his sweetheart by his side every step of the way.
He strode to the creneled wall, placed his hands on the cool stone, and looked out upon the vast Ravenwood, hearing the morning birdsong. A light westerly wind brought his overgrown umber hair across his eyes, which he idly brushed aside. His gaze trawled east and found the hulking misty forms of the Muranians, their eternally snow-capped peaks gleaming bright in the morning sun. He could hardly fathom that he and the girls had climbed those very mountains at the beginning of that year. It seemed an impossible feat.
And five floors below, people were already working on the grounds. A gardener was yanking up weeds, for the entire front courtyard was to become a garden once more; laborers were
fixing the cobbled walkways, the iron slat benches, and the interior waist-high dividing walls; another laborer tended to the fountain; and so on. The castle was slowly but surely being brought back to life. And that didn’t even include the interior, for that was where the majority of the work would be taking place. Knowing the organizational prowess of the council, he had no doubt everyone would have something to do.
The girls spilled out of their room’s terrace doors. “Oooo!” they cooed, gripping each other and gushing, “We’re princesses!”
They ran to the edge from where Leera put on her snootiest accent as she glanced below. “Pray tell, it doth seem the peasants have begun work. Not soon enough, say I!”
Bridget immediately turned on her in a mostly serious manner. “Leera Jones, I don’t ever want to hear that kind of talk from you again, we are not those kinds of people.”
“I jest, I jest! But doth look there! Hark, for mine eyes beset themselves on my darling prince!” Leera made an exaggerated swooping gesture. “I swoon for thee, my prince! Come to me, fair Augum Stone—err, Prince Augum Stone … or Prince Augum, yes! Whatever, just get your butt over!”
Augum, who had been chortling at the dramatic scene, strode over, lifted Leera, and twirled her about.
“Toss her off!” Bridget taunted in a cheer.
Leera smacked her on the shoulder during a twirl. “You rogue, you!”
“Go say hi to Fentwick later, Aug,” Bridget said before abruptly withdrawing the Exot orb from her pocket and bringing it to her lips. “Yes, Mrs. Stone. Uh huh. Right away, Mrs. Stone.” She put the orb away, smiling. “We have to go to our first morning castle meeting!”
They raced inside, this time using the terrace hallway doors between Augum’s room and the girls’ room, bumping into Haylee and Jengo, both of whom were already dressed in their burgundy apprentice robes.
“Morning!” everyone shouted to each other. A glorious morning indeed, Augum thought to himself. He couldn’t wait to see what was in store for them today.
“Wouldst thou fancy a duel?” Fentwick asked as they careened around him to reach the stairs.
