Castle of Sighs Read online

  “I have a terrible feeling,” he chimes into the strange quiet.

  “I’ve had one for days,” I admit. My eyes rake over the other oddities the box has produced, all tied together for a reason we have yet to unfold. “Why such a gruesome collection?” I whisper.

  “And why a connection to Eltz?” he adds.

  I carefully watch his reaction to what we’ve uncovered. It is oddly similar to my own—the horror of the grisly artifacts the box has kept secret, and the uncomfortable longing to examine and understand them. As if the objects themselves have Cast a spell over both of us.

  “Could these have belonged to my mother?” I want to believe that while she, the Witch of Bavaria, conjured and cast various enchantments, she would not have been inclined to collect such morbid things.

  As always, Laurentz seems to read my thoughts and touches my arm gently, his warmth soothing away my fears. “Perhaps the box belonged to someone else. Someone who lived at Pyrmont long before your mother wed your father.” I hold his gaze and am certain he reads the appreciation I feel, and I nod. It doesn’t explain, however, why this collection exists when, to my knowledge, the only one to one have practiced the Craft was my mother, the only witch of Pyrmont anyone has ever spoken of.

  “Could it belong to Burg Eltz?” I wonder. For surely it is stranger still that the book would contain the crest. “Could someone have placed it here, in hiding?”

  A chill spreads along my spine as a faint shuffling sound breaks the monotony of our thoughts. In unison Laurentz and I look up toward the door, his arm protectively crossing in front of me. But to my surprise, within the frame is a rumpled little boy rather than something dark and unwanted, his eyes full of sleep, his hair a tousled mess.

  “Niclaus!” I skirt around the corner of the table, ambling toward him. When I reach the doorframe I bend to his level seeing his bedclothes are smeared with dirt, as if he followed close along the stone walls to find us here. “I must have left the door ajar!” Tremendous guilt fills me that he woke to find me gone, that he searched alone through the frightening passageway on his own in the dark.

  I pull his small body closer and crush him against me, searching him over for signs that he may have stumbled or fallen along the way. “However did you manage the staircase?” I am nearly beside myself with worry and the fact that he is utterly and completely silent only causes my panic to reach a fevered pitch.

  When Niclaus doesn’t answer, Laurentz senses my alarm. He takes the boy in his arms and rushes out of the chamber, leaving me to stare after them, for it appears as if they have been swallowed by the dark. I snatch the grimoire from the table and clutch it to my chest, pausing only to extinguish the candles. I yank the heavy door closed and the three of us begin our trek back through the maze of dark and toward the floors above.

  “Is he all right? Why won’t he speak?” I scramble to catch up to them, relying on the sound of Laurentz’s shoes to find them, as the feeble flame of the candle sputters and goes out. “Has something happened to Margret?” The horrors that play in my head are almost too much to bear—that something has gone horribly wrong while Laurentz and I were far below, unable to hear, unable to come to help them.

  Laurentz projects his voice over his shoulder so that I might follow better in the darkness and I am in awe at how he manages to carry Niclaus and feel his way through an unfamiliar hall.

  The grimoire is heavy against my ribs and I suddenly feel foolish to have chosen it over a candle or lantern that might come in better use. “Could he be walking in his sleep? Or in shock for some reason, perhaps the notion of finding us down here?”

  I have never witnessed Niclaus to be a Schlafwandler since my coming to stay at Pyrmont. That is what Matilde used to call those who roamed while they should be safe and sound in their beds. My heart tightens. Matilde would have known what ails Niclaus. Now, I must rely on the little experience I have, and thoughts begin to race through my mind until I fear I may become dizzy and then poor Laurentz will have to carry the both of us.

  The silence is pressing and with it, a foreboding dread fills the damp air around me. My mind works away that perhaps Niclaus does suffer from some sort of fright that has caused him to forget how to speak. Children do scare easily, and I have done a horrible thing, leaving him and Margret alone upstairs.

  “Are you following, Rune?” Laurentz asks. The air shifts. He must be trying to turn around to look for me.

  I answer a meager, “Yes.” My own voice is small and childlike. I cannot see a single thing and must feel my way along the walls for where the staircase begins. It makes my heart race that poor Niclaus found his way through this maze of uncertain pitch. It is no wonder he is in such a state!

  At last the first step greets us. The soles of Laurentz’s shoes scrape upon it, presenting a different sort of echo in the dark, and we make our way up the tight staircase, circling higher, inch by inch. I am so grateful that Laurentz carries Niclaus, for if I had been alone, I would not have been able to carry him myself.

  Then, for some reason, I slow my pace. A sensation rises along my back and extends across my shoulders, as if a gentle hand rests there, and my skin responds to the presence of another. It is enough to cause me to stop altogether and turn around, but I see nothing. The air is a thick stew of endless alarm. My thoughts scramble to piece together what I hear but nothing seems reasonable.

  “Laurentz,” I whisper, but he is paces ahead in the other direction and surely has not heard me call for him, let alone realize I am not immediately behind him. How has he managed to navigate the dark so easily, while I have done nothing more than become lost and flustered? I close my eyes, willing my heart to cease its fearful flutter behind my ribs. I project my senses out to feel what is upon me, but all that greets me is a confusing whirlwind, one that haphazardly courses in all directions.

  And then, slowly, I feel a form take shape beside me.

  I scramble back, losing my footing, and fragments of stone and grit are sent flying. My back presses against the wide arc of the stairwell wall. It is more of a comfort than the bewildering darkness, but the stones jut in and threaten to cut through the fabric of my dress. The air moves, closer, until it is upon me and like a sweet kiss, the warmth tastes my lips. Shivering uncontrollably, I break past the vapor and ascend the steps, careful not to fall backwards, until, at last, I am in the passageway that leads toward the kitchen.

  The corridor feels empty but I know it is trickery, for the black that is so embracing also causes my fear to play tricks on me. I listen and step slowly forward. Laurentz must be still. There are no footsteps upon the ground other than my own.

  My free hand reaches forward for the door so I do not bump myself into it, or perhaps Laurentz has already carried Niclaus though it and has left it wide open for me.

  I continue along with care, knowing the door must be around the next bend but I stop in my tracks. The further I walk, the more I feel confused. Why do I not hear movement ahead of me?

  “Laurentz!” I call out, but there is no response, just the echo of my own voice. And then, I feel it again—a sweeping breath of warmth and chill mixed together. It cascades down my arms in a dizzying spiral and swirls around me, holding me in its vaporous embrace. It is at my ear and whispers, as if human, in words I do not recognize but seem to understand. My feet are heavy, rooted to the floor, my legs become weak. There is a promise, a plea…and then, the world, already black in this hushed place, pulls me under.

  Chapter 20

  The witch holds me spellbound. I reach to touch her skin—feel her warmth. Her blood holds secrets, centuries old, secrets her kind has used to call upon me. I am cursed but she is the key to break the spell.

  I have waited so long…so long…

  If only I were made of blood and bone that I would sway her to see I am nothing to fear, but her panic is tangible and the closer I come to her, the more she pulls away. Rune…her name is a foretelling of things to come, of an alignment, of my f
reedom.

  For I shall be free of the binds the old hag cursed me with. I shall rise above the charms and words used to contain me. I shall be whole. And together, the witch and I will have our vengeance, and darkness will claim the land.

  Chapter 21

  Rune… Rune…

  The voice is a warm wind. My body, weightless, floats in the passage, unsure of the direction it must take to reach the world to which I belong. “Rune.” It whispers again and I open my eyes to a warm, brown pair peering with concern into my own. My mouth moves to say his name. Laurentz. But my tongue is thick and will not shape itself to produce the sound.

  “Careful,” he tells me and places a steady hand behind my back, lifting me so I am sitting upright. The pain in my head throbs and my hand rushes to soothe it. “You’ve bumped your head.”

  Yes, I feel the lump, a slight mound rising beneath my skin at my hairline.

  “You lost your way in the dark.” Find me… I peer around the room, at the edges of this reality, at the shadows lurking in the corners.

  Laurentz wraps the quilt around my shoulders but I cannot find the words to tell him it is not the air that brings the cold, but something I cannot see with my own eyes. Something I felt just moments before the world went black.

  It seems in my absence the early morning light has blossomed into bright sunshine. The slate clouds of winter do not make their appearance today—perhaps Laurentz has chased them away, bringing relief from the dark I feel I am constantly in.

  I lie on a velvet settee in the middle of a peacock blue room. Paintings adorn the walls. My ancestors—strangers—watch me from within gilt frames with speculation. Tables of fine, dark wood are positioned just so. It is the salon, a room I have not allowed myself to be comfortable in since arriving at Pyrmont. It is much too large, too pristine—unlike the kitchen, which holds a familiar warmth for me. But I realize now how beautiful the room is. I should allow the children, and myself, more time here during the long, dark days.

  Niclaus and Margret play quietly on the floor nearby, their eyes shifting from the game they play to my face. I smile, hoping to reassure them that all is well, and little Margret toddles over, placing her tiny hand upon my arm. Laurentz scoops her up and sets her upon my lap, and I am content in allowing her to lean her curly head against my shoulder.

  “They were surprised to see you, no doubt.” I brush away the curls from Margret’s forehead, happy to feel her skin has remained cool.

  “Niclaus has been filling me in on all your adventures.” Laurentz nods toward the boy, who is preoccupied for now with small wooden figures he carefully lines up along the edge of the window.

  “All of them?”

  Laurentz eyes me thoughtfully, then situates himself at the foot of the lounge and fusses with the tasseled ends of the coverlet. “Tell me what happened, Rune. I’ve never seen you in such a state.”

  His face bears a concern I’ve only ever seen once before. If I look deep enough I might be able to see the Drudenhaus courtyard in his eyes. The memory stirs, and before I draw the next breath, the settee I rest upon is as stiff as the pine stake I’d been tied to that day and my wrists burn from the invisible ropes I can still feel. I shake my head and set free the scent of fresh-cut wood and straw bales. I close my eyes and remind myself that day is gone. I’m here, at Pyrmont, alive and well.

  “I got turned around,” I tell Laurentz, at last. “Lost my sense of direction.”

  But I know he does not believe me. He knows better than anyone that I have an uncanny ability to feel what others cannot. I could have found my way back blindfolded. He searches my face for the answer he knows I won’t say out loud. It is the one I will whisper later when the children cannot hear. The one that will cause my voice to tremble, the one I will loathe because it will make me sound weak—not the Lady of Pyrmont I hope to become, or the daughter of the great witch I already am.

  “But you seemed to find your way back to the kitchen easily enough.”

  “I was determined to get Niclaus back to the warmth of the fire.”

  I don’t doubt why he rushed ahead of me, leaving me in the dark, nor am I placing blame, but there is something odd in Laurentz’s eyes that pulls at me, and I do not know what it means, and so I dismiss it, for now, knowing he has become quite protective of me and the children.

  Margret fusses and slips from my lap to the floor. She toddles away and joins Niclaus in his game. It is an excuse to give in to Laurentz and tell him the truth. “Do you suppose there are ghosts here?” I ask, worrying the ends of a silk pillow at my side.

  “Of course. Pyrmont is over four hundred years old.”

  “Then the corridor is haunted, for sure.” I exhale a tight breath but it does little to offer relief. I know he wants more. I cannot simply offer my suspicions then drop them, and the way Laurentz leans upon his knee, his eyes imploring that I continue, is impossible to resist.

  “Perhaps it was the confined space that played a trick on me, but I swear I heard another breath keeping time with my own. I felt a hand upon my arm, as if it were another human being hiding in the dark. It sounds absurd, I know.” Saying it out loud changes the notion entirely, and I feel a sudden foolish flush invade my cheeks. I have never been afraid of the dark, not in the forest, not in the Drudenhaus…then why all of a sudden here?

  I watch for Laurentz’s expression to change, for him to look upon me with such strangeness, as if adapting to finery and silken clothing and proper dishes has caused me to lose my nerve. Has it? Has coming here been a terrible mistake?

  Witch or not, I am not going to allow a stone fortress to cause me to turn soft.

  But he doesn’t look at me the way I expect him to. In fact, his face changes to something I’m not familiar with at all. “You felt a touch?” The air between us becomes a strange brew I’ve never felt before. I shoot a look at the children and know our soft whispering cannot go completely unnoticed. They may be young but they, too, know of the unsettling feeling that plagues Pyrmont—and us. I look him in the eye and nod.

  “Old castles have their ghosts.” I know he only means to reassure me.

  “It was darker than any human I’ve ever known, and I’ve met many of those.”

  The only sound in the room comes from the floor where the children scrape the small figures along the planks, marching them in a line, then allowing them to fall.

  I lean forward so only he can hear me. “I know you felt it when you stepped foot inside the room below. Tell me the hairs on the back of your neck rose a bit.”

  “Of course I felt it. It was uncomfortable and full of old magick. And I know you won’t listen to me, but I don’t think you should spend any time in that room alone. Mark my words, nothing good can come of it.” He leans closer. “You’ve claimed your castle, Rune, but you must let the past be. Let it rot and die. Start anew.”

  He shifts his body so that only I can see his face and his eyes admit that I am not the only one who senses that something lingers here.

  “I want you to come and stay at Burg Eltz. You’ll feel safer there.”

  “Then what was the purpose of claiming my mother’s home?”

  He runs slender fingers through a shock of thick curls. “Pyrmont is still yours, Rune. No one will take it away. But consider this, please. At least consider the children. In all our efforts to find someone to help you care for them, we’ve had only one inquiry, but she refuses to step foot inside these walls, so my father has employed her to stay on at Burg Eltz.”

  “She?”

  Laurentz waits as several beats of the mantle clock tick away. “Her name is Adelaide and she has much experience with children. These children, to be precise.”

  The moment he says it, the image of the nursemaid who told Niclaus he was a lost soul floats its way into my mind, along with another settling image—that I know the woman he speaks of. I’ve seen her before—in Matilde’s cottage, with an open purse full of thalers ready to pay for a fortune.

&
nbsp; “Can she be trusted?”

  “My father will not employ anyone who does not have suitable references from another household.”

  I wonder how Niclaus would react to seeing the nursemaid again for when he told me of her chilling assumption, my heart ached for him. “She was loyal to the bishop.”

  “Rune,” Laurentz leans closer until we are almost touching and my heart, despite the context of our conversation, skips a few beats. “My father is thorough. I have no reason to doubt his word.”

  The room falls silent, and I steal a glance toward the space where Niclaus and Margret have occupied themselves while I’ve quietly shaken off the trauma I’ve just been through. Margret sits alone with the figurines. Only one stands amongst the rest, who have fallen. My breath hitches in my throat and I crane my neck for where Niclaus has wandered but it appears only the three of us are visible from where I sit.

  I swing my legs over the settee and set my feet upon the floor.

  “Are you feeling better?” Laurentz asks, his arm reaching for my elbow. I nod, ignoring the rush of weightless cold that fills my still-groggy head. With delicate steps I make my way across the room to the wing-backed chair nearest the window. Beyond the glass panes the forest stands watch. Its edge is a black-green fence that threatens to keep me in and a feeling of foreboding washes over me. And then, a movement greets my eye. Between evergreen boughs a swath of black sweeps past, then disappears, just like the other night, only now I’ve seen it during daylight. There is no evening trickery or shadows to play with my imagination.

  I turn to see if anyone else has noticed it and spy Niclaus, across the room staring at me—staring past me—with the most knowing look in his young eyes. They flit to my own and the edges of his little mouth curl in a grimace that is almost…sinister. And then, my gaze drops to what keeps him so preoccupied. In his lap rests an enormous red book, open halfway revealing a dusty page of parchment and black ink.