Wulfyddia (The Tattersall Trilogy Book 1)

by Steele Alexandra

“Inavera.” Spencer named his small southern province.

  “I’m from Arkestra,” Melisande said. “Originally.” Her voice dropped a little and she spoke very quietly. “I haven’t been back there in a very long time.” Inavera and Arkestra were neighboring provinces in the south.

  “I didn’t know that,” Daphne looked very surprised. “You’re both from the country.”

  “How did you come to the Castle?’ Spencer asked, excited to have met someone else from southern Wulfyddia. He should have noticed immediately that she had a Southern accent, but there had been so much else to look at and listen to that he hadn’t picked up on it.

  “I came here after my parents died,” Melisande said.

  “Oh. I’m sorry.” Spencer was surprised by how much he and Melisande had in common. He and his mother had come to the castle after trying unsuccessfully to scrape out a living in the provinces following his father’s death.

  He was about to ask another question, but Melisande suddenly held up a hand.

  “She’s returning,” Melisande whispered. “You should go.” She still wasn’t smiling, but Spencer had the distinct impression that she was pleased to see them go.

  When Daphne jerked the main door open Felunhala smoothly appeared from the direction in which she had departed. They bid each other farewell while Melisande sat on the couch, silent and stony-faced.

  “Did you like Melisande?” Daphne asked later. Spencer nodded, because he had liked Melisande once she’d warmed up a little, but as he followed the sisters through a maze of corridors, he could not forget the image of Melisande’s wan face and pained smile. He wondered how she had found her way to the castle, and what had put that shadow in her eyes.

  ***

  They were just a few corridors from the witch’s chambers when Spencer smelled flowers. It took a minute for the scent to register, and during that time he simply inhaled deeply and happily and kept walking, somehow a little cheered by the scent of something fresh in those dark, dank halls. But then the scent grew stronger and more cloying, and began to remind him of something. Then Lorna stopped dead in front of him and said in a voice that was higher than usual. “She’s here.”

  Lorna’s gaze jumped from one corner of the ceiling to the other, eyelids fluttering. Her eyes nearly rolled back in her head, but she closed them instead, bottom lip trembling slightly. When she opened her eyes again they were fixed at a point just behind Spencer. “She’s here.”

  Agitated, Daphne fidgeted, and Spencer suspected that she was doing her best to sense the woman the way that Lorna could. He closed his eyes and tried to concentrate, but it was at the moment he gave up and opened his eyes, that the spirit seeped into his brain and made him aware of her presence. She was there, waiting and watching. She was unsettled, perhaps even more so than she had been on the night when she first revealed herself to Spencer. The memory made him tense, and he almost lost track of her, but she drifted closer to them, still unseen. There was a moment of very cold air and an overpowering scent of the sea, and then Spencer could feel her vanishing down the hall behind them, leading them away.

  “What? Where is she? Where’s she going?” Daphne looked frantic at being left out. Spencer could not explain because Lorna was already walking, following the spirit, her face wiped of all expression and her eyes open very wide. “I want to follow her,” Daphne whispered. Her face was deathly serious. Spencer realized that the sisters not only knew about the spirit, but were as inexplicably drawn to her as he was.

  The room the spirit led them to was quite small; it looked like a meeting room of some sort, with many tables and chairs, but the wall she led them to was quite different, because it was lined with reflective glass.

  “Mirrors,” Spencer said, remembering that night in the great hall. “She likes mirrors.”

  He squinted into the glass, waiting to see her image, waiting to catch a glimpse of even part of her, a swirl of her dress or the shadow of her hand, but Daphne gripped his shoulder and he lost his concentration. “What?”

  “Look,” Daphne said, and there was a sound in her voice, such excitement, almost rapture, that he didn’t say another word, but followed her gaze to the mirror. It was coated with a fine layer of dust, and as they watched, letters were traced on the dully gleaming surface.

  “S,” Spencer said aloud as the ghost finished the curve of the letter. “A.”

  “N,” Daphne finished, and then she frowned, because the ghost was behaving quite oddly. The spirit traced all three of the letters again, followed by an “O.”

  Sansano

  “Sansano,” Daphne’s forehead wrinkled. “What does that mean?”

  “I’ve never heard it before,” Spencer said.

  The ghost wasn’t finished. Spencer could still feel her in the air as she traced a second word just below the first.

  Book

  “Book.” This time, Spencer felt a strange certainty overtake him. “You know which book she’s talking about, right?”

  “Our book.” Daphne breathed, fascinated. “What is she trying to tell us?”

  “Maybe it belonged to her.” He couldn’t explain why the ghost was so compelling to him. He only knew that he could sense her in the air and feel her emotions like a ripple in his own heart.

  What he could sense now was her impatience. She had given them a valuable message and they had failed to grasp the significance of it.

  “She’s writing something else,” Lorna whispered, and they stood in silence as the ghost went back and began to fill in more words in between the two that she had already written.

  “Will… come… for… the,” Lorna read each word as it was written.

  Sansano will come for the Book

  “Who’s Sansano?” Spencer asked.

  “I don’t know.” Daphne looked disturbed, as if for the first time she was encountering a secret that she and her little sister hadn’t already uncovered for themselves.

  “Well you must. You must know him. She wouldn’t give you a clue like that if she thought it wouldn’t mean anything to you.”

  “I’ve never heard of anyone called Sansano.”

  But the woman wasn’t finished yet.

  He will

  Spencer began to shake, and with a strange sort of dread he realized that the fear he felt was the spirit’s and not his own. That terrified him, because what could be so horrible that it would terrify a ghost? Then he heard Daphne’s sharp intake of breath, and the fear in the room grew.

  He will kill

  He could sense the ghost’s hesitation; he could feel her trepidation as it flared suddenly into panic. And then he could sense nothing at all. He reached out involuntarily as he tried to feel her with his mind, but she had vanished so suddenly that he couldn’t sense even a shadow of her in the air.

  “Why did she go?” Lorna asked softly. Her wide eyes scanned the room rapidly.

  “Is she gone?” Daphne asked. “Is she?” Lorna and Spencer stared at each other, and Spencer realized with a feeling that was part dread and perhaps part glee that Daphne could not sense the woman as well as her sister and Spencer. Daphne looked distressed. “Why would she go?” Daphne asked, and Spencer found that he already knew the answer.

  “She’s afraid.” He said. “Something scared her.”

  “Who is it?” Lorna asked.

  “Who frightened her?” Spencer clarified.

  “No,” Lorna said, her voice very low, “who is he going to kill?” They turned back to the mirror, with its grim and unfinished message.

  Sansano will come for the Book

  He will kill

  “…Us.” Daphne whispered.

  “Not necessarily,” Spencer said. The castle was a seething cauldron of plots and secrets. There was no knowing who Sansano planned to kill.

  “Easy for you to say,” Daphne told him. “You’re just a peasant. Princesses and other royalty are always killed first.”

  It had been Spencer’s experience that this was not true. P
rincesses and their relatives may be the first to be targeted in the stories, but what the stories frequently glossed over was just how many of the castle guards the villain took out on his way to the royal chambers. It was something that he had grown accustomed to, as a commoner, but it still irritated him to hear Daphne say that she would be the first to be killed when there were literally thousands of members of the Royal Guard who had vowed to die for any single member of the Royal Family. “For all you know it could be me,” he said, “just for getting into so much trouble with the two of you.”

  “What does it matter who?” Lorna asked indignantly. “We don’t want anyone to die. She told us because she wants it stopped. We have to find out who Sansano is and why he wants the book.”

  “Well, since you know everything, maybe you should tell us how we’re supposed to figure it out… without getting killed ourselves, preferably.” Daphne sounded miffed, as she usually did any time her younger sister had an independent thought.

  “We need the book,” Lorna said.

  An uneasy glance passed between the three of them, as they remembered the circumstances under which they had last hidden it.

  Daphne wasn’t pleased. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  “Why not? It all comes back to the book, doesn’t it? The ghost, Sansano, whoever he is. We need the book.” Lorna said again.

  “Not exactly.” Spencer put in. “The book won’t tell us who Sansano is, and it won’t tell us who stole it in the first place.”

  “Well, in that case,” Daphne said. “Perhaps what we need is the glove.”

  ***

  The library reminded Spencer vaguely of the dungeons. It was deep underground and accessible only via a network of musty passages that grew increasingly colder with each step he took. When they finally arrived at the enormous, iron-banded door Spencer fully expected it to be locked, but, much to his surprise, Daphne pushed it open without difficulty.

  “No wonder there’s a problem with theft,” he whispered to Lorna.

  “Oh, it’s not getting inside that’s the trouble,” she whispered back. “It’s getting out.”

  “Hello? Is anyone here?” Spencer flinched at the way Daphne’s voice echoed as he followed the sisters into the cavernous library. He would never before have thought of a library as creepy, but this one was. It was lit only by torches that flickered from brackets on the wall, and everything in the library seemed ancient. The shelves were elaborately carved of some dark wood, and many of the shelves were protected with dusty glass. On one side of the room was an enormous ornate desk, a maze of drawers and shelves. A mass of papers and several books that appeared to be in the process of being restored covered the surface of the desk.

  “Royal Librarian?” Daphne called confidently. “It’s Daphne and Lorna Lucretius. We’ve come to speak to you about a matter of grave import— oh!” Daphne gave a little yelp and stepped back quickly, crushing two of Spencer’s toes, as a shadow from the corner of the library detached itself from the rest of the shadows and strode forward, quickly revealing itself as an old man as it approached them. Spencer blinked, not quite trusting his eyes after the man’s bizarre materialization.

  As the Librarian approached them, there was no missing the faintly hostile glance he flicked at Lorna and Daphne, the grooves in his brows deep with resentment and disapproval. Surprisingly enough, the old man’s gaze then settled on Spencer, and he seemed to be appraising him with great thoughtfulness. Daphne followed the Librarian’s gaze to her companion, and Spencer could practically see her shoulders quivering with indignation as she lost the Librarian’s attention to someone she considered her inferior. “Royal Librarian,” she began stiffly, calling his attention swiftly back to her. “We are here on a matter of great importance.”

  The Librarian’s silver brows shifted upwards. “I’m sure. How may I be of assistance? A book of fairytales for your sister, perhaps? Another romance for you?”

  Daphne’s cheeks turned ruddy with embarrassment and she shook her head quickly. “No. I don’t read anything like that.”

  “Ah, I must have you confused with someone else then,” the Librarian said with a shake of his head. “You must forgive me— old age, you understand.” He shifted his weight, leaning on a cane that appeared suddenly in his hand.

  “And who is this young man?”

  “Spencer Tattersall, sir,” Spencer put in before either of the sisters could introduce him.

  “Tattersall, hm? And where do you hail from, Spencer?”

  “My mother works at the Haligorn, sir.”

  “Ah.” If the Librarian had any opinions about the Haligorn or what went on there with Justine, he kept them to himself. “And how have you found yourself in such esteemed company?”

  “We like him.” Lorna said matter-of-factly. Daphne scowled at her sister’s revelation, but the Librarian chuckled. Spencer was somewhat taken aback. He had been under the impression that they only enjoyed torturing him.

  “Actually,” Daphne explained, “we’re here about a very important matter. It’s about the book.”

  The Librarian’s expression shifted from amusement to wariness in an instant. “Which book?” He asked quickly.

  “The one that was stolen.”

  As usual, Daphne was going for maximum effect, keeping her expression cryptic and her tone severe. Not in the mood for more of her games, Spencer decided to speak up. “Actually, we’re here about the thief.”

  “The thief?” The Librarian repeated.

  “Melisande said that he… left something behind? Something that might identify him.”

  “Ah, you mean this.” The Librarian pivoted, and withdrew from the labyrinth of his desk a single black glove, pinched between his thumb and forefinger as if he held a dead rodent by the tail. Suddenly Spencer remembered the glove and cloak that Rolf had fished out of the moat, and wondered if there was some connection. It wasn’t inconceivable that the thief might have disposed of the rest of his clothes in the moat, expecting them never to be found.

  The Librarian dropped the offending garment into Daphne’s hands. “As I’m sure Melisande told you, a witch could, were she so inclined,” he rasped irritably, “use this to determine the identity of the owner, and therefore the thief.”

  “But Felunhala won’t do that?”

  “She requires a direct order from the Crown, and apparently there are matters of greater importance to her Majesty.”

  “What’s so important about the book?” Daphne interrupted curiously.

  “It’s old.” The Librarian answered shortly.

  “Everything in this library is old.” Daphne persisted. “What’s special about the one that was stolen?”

  “It’s very old.” The Librarian said dismissively.

  “You’re not telling anyone what book it is, are you? You didn’t say in court either.” Lorna said.

  “If the Queen asks me to reveal the significance of the Book in a private audience, then I will. Otherwise, the title of the book is irrelevant. All that matters is its return.”

  There was a pause as Spencer and Lorna shared a guilty glance. Daphne was apparently beyond shame. “But it’s important?” She pressed the Librarian. “Maybe even… dangerous?”

  Spencer cleared his throat, working up the courage to make a proposal.

  “Yes?” The Librarian asked. “Speak up if you have something to say.”

  “I know a witch.” Spencer blurted out. “Well, I don’t know her, but I know of her.”

  “No witch that serves Felunhala and the crown will perform the spell without a direct order from the Queen.”

  “She doesn’t serve the crown,” Spencer said. When all three pairs of eyes widened, he hastened to amend, “well, she’s loyal to the crown, I mean, but she doesn’t work in the castle. She lives down in the Bottoms.” He felt his conviction growing weaker. “I… I know someone. She’ll give us two-thirds price…” His voice trailed off until it was almost a whisper.

 
; “I like it,” Lorna announced, unexpectedly coming to his aid. “It’s a good plan.”

  “What if she knows the ruffian that stole it?” The Librarian grumbled.

  “But you don’t think it was stolen by someone from outside of the castle, do you?” Daphne guessed, with her usual almost sadistic acuity. “You think the thief is someone at court.”

  “I… I never said that.” The librarian did look uneasy now. It had taken her a few tries, but Daphne had managed to unsettle him.

  “But you do. You won’t tell a soul anything about the book. It must be because you’re afraid that the information will get back to the thief. What are you afraid of?”

  “Daphne Lucretius, you may be royalty, but I have a sacred duty in my maintenance of these archives, and in that duty I answer only to your grandmother. I will allow you to borrow the glove and visit your… contact, in the Bottoms. Under better circumstances I would never part with the garment, but it has been made abundantly clear to me that the usual channels are not available, so I will avail myself of your assistance in this matter. Return it to me within a fortnight.”

  “Excellent!” Daphne almost pried the glove from the Librarian’s grasp, but he withheld it at the last moment.

  “If the witch is able to identify the one responsible for the theft of my archives, you will inform me before taking any other action. I must be the first to know. Do you understand?”

  “Of course,” Daphne said, and this time she was successful in her capture of the glove. “We understand.” She smiled sweetly and turned to go.

  “Thank you.” Spencer added as the sisters paused near the door, staring back at the Librarian with expectant eyes.

  “You are welcome,” the Librarian answered, and then he waved his hand, as if as an afterthought, and Spencer heard a click as the enormous door unlocked. Daphne opened it swiftly.

  “Be careful,” the Librarian added. When Spencer turned back to nod farewell to him the Librarian’s gaze was almost stricken, as though letting them leave with the glove was wearing on his conscience. At that moment Spencer’s own conscience gave a twinge, as he remembered that they knew where the book was at that very moment, and could easily return it to the Librarian who so fretted over its safety; but the problem had grown so complex so quickly that he couldn’t be sure returning the book was the right— or the safest— thing to do.