“Goodness—this
is—”
Lord Seigfried was
stuttering like he’d never eaten palace food before—which didn’t make sense of
course, since he was a lord. After
laving in the bathtub among the shiny mirrored blebs and coming out squeaky
clean, Wednesday had seen just how…beautiful he was. His dark hair, looking almost as soft as the
silk of Wednesday’s dress, was incredibly glossy, with an ice shine. His modest but cheerful facial features were
fine, smooth. And his clear blue eyes,
light and room-brightening…
At Wednesday’s insistence,
Lord Seigfried had decided to stay until morning.
Supper was…well, a regular
supper—ah, more like a breakfast, actually; the Goddesses had all left, and it
was six in the morning—and yet he was bewildered by the food every time a new
dish came. Wednesday didn’t get it. Maybe he was delirious from the bath fumes or
something. To Wednesday’s surprise, he
was quite a bit of a talker. Over their roast
turkey and specialty potatoes, soup and vegetables, he and Wednesday made idle
chitchat about all sorts of things, from the weather to the war to how many
encyclopedias the palace had. Father sat
at the head of the table, looking somewhat bemused as this situation unfolded
in front of him. Willow and Winter were
both not here.
“This is delightful food, I
have to say. And…it’s a bit of a shock
to me that the war is starting up,” Lord Seigfried added thoughtfully, his fork
halfway to his mouth. Wednesday tried
not to focus on the fact that he was left-handed. That was cool. At least his left arm wasn’t
the one that had broken. Wednesday tried
to envision a Lord Seigfried awkwardly attempting to do all his actions with
his non-dominant hand, and she blushed. “I didn’t think that such a thing would
happen here. Irresponsible monarch, if I
might say.”
Wednesday remembered how
she had imagined a fat old man in a bathtub and privately agreed.
“Well, I don’t know what the High King is doing,” Father
said tiredly, poking at his soup, “But I hope he intervenes soon.”
“Agreed,” Lord Seigfried
said, nodding in approval.
Just then, the door to the
dining room burst open and in flew Willow, golden-red hair coming
unpinned. She wasn’t in her ballgown,
and her hair looked damp. Very damp. A drop of water dripped off one of her wavy
tresses and onto the carpet. Her pale cheeks were rosy red.
“Willow,” Father said
calmly, standing. “What is the meaning of this?”
Willow twisted a finger in
her dress. Her emerald-green eyes roved
over Father, stiff and looking a bit disapproving; Wednesday, who unconsciously
stiffened; the dining table, already set out; and landed on Lord
Seigfried. Her eyebrows rose a fraction
of an inch.
“Nothing,” she said, a
little haughtily. She took the chair at
the other end of the table, opposite of where Father sat. “Why are we eating supper at six in the
morning?”
“Why are you here at six in
the morning?” Father smoothly returned, lowering himself back into his
chair. “It seems most unusual, Willow. Where have you been?”
“Out,” she said
evasively. “I—ah—took a shower.”
“But your hair isn’t dry,”
Wednesday blurted, who couldn’t take it any longer.
Willow turned on her. “And since when does my hair always have to
be dry? I am a princess; I can go about
as I please, right? And judging from our injured gentleman tonight, I would
think that you fell again. You have
nothing to say about the likes of me, Wednesday. At any rate, where is Winter?”
Wednesday shrugged, eyes on
her plate. Willow coolly pulled a plate
forward and piled it with potatoes and vegetables, brushing a hand through her
hair to let it dry out faster. “So,”
Willow began, smiling at Lord Seigfried, “May I have the pleasure of
recognizing your name?”
Lord Seigfried eyed her
cautiously. “Castil Seigfried.” He pronounced it with a long ‘i’, so it
sounded like ‘Castile’. “And I suppose
you are the famed Willow Fontana? My
lady is most fair.”
Willow smiled, flattered,
and batted her eyelashes. “Thank you,
Lord Seigfried. You are handsome as
well. You have the most beautiful eyes.” She tilted her head, looking at him sideways,
partially closing her eyes so she could see him differently. “I’m guessing you recognize my sister here,
but—”
“Yes, he’s my new friend,”
Wednesday half-interrupted, trying to emphasize the ‘my’ to Willow without
being too obvious. She didn’t like how
Willow was flirting with every gentleman in sight. Minus Father, of course. That would be strange. She turned to Lord Seigfried. “I’m sorry Winter’s not here. She would love to meet you. She’s very…courteous.” This was aimed at Willow again. Willow
scowled at her, tossing her hair over her shoulder as to not get into her
food.
“Oh, it’s fine,” Lord
Seigfried said with a laugh. Right on
cue, Winter came in, rubbing her eyes with the back of her hand. She stopped
and stared at them all when she saw them gathered around the table. Like Willow, her eyes moved over them all,
landing on Lord Seigfried. Her normally
white face colored rose pink.
“Am I intruding upon
something?” she said, blinking.
“Ah, Winter! Come join us for an early-morning supper,”
Father greeted jovially, rising from his chair.
He motioned towards the chair next to Lord Seigfried. “Sit, sit.
We were just talking about you, you know.”
“What did you say about
me?” Winter seated herself delicately in
the chair and spooned some brightly colored jellies, fresh butter, and a soft
roll onto her plate. She took her knife
and spread the stuff over the bread and took a bite. Swallowing, she added, “It wasn’t anything
bad, was it?”
Wednesday absently stirred
her soup, carefully watching Winter’s face.
It was almost red. Was she
embarrassed?
“We were saying we missed
you,” Lord Seigfried explained, dipping his vegetable in his soup and eating
it. Again with the left-handed eating. It was driving her insane, in a good
way. Wednesday wondered again if he was
from out of state. That would account
for his name and the way he dined. “But
we see you now! You are beautiful, my
lady.”
Winter’s cheeks were
glowing. “Thank you, er…?”
“Lord Seigfried.” He dipped his head.
“Oh. A pleasure to meet you.” Winter smiled.
Friendly talk started up
again between Father and Lord Seigfried, with Willow clamoring for Father’s
attention and Winter having the decency to stay quiet. Lord Seigfried and Winter discussed some
economics and politics then, and Willow sank back into her chair, sighing and
looking up at the ceiling.
A good two hours later,
servants had cleared up the table, Lord Seigfried had found a place to sleep
near the ballroom, and Father had shooed the three girls up to their room for
bed. Willow decided for all of them to
take the servants’ staircase shortcut, so they now crammed into the narrow
stairwell, Winter clawing at the cobwebs getting stuck in her hair and Willow
muttering curses under her breath. As
soon as they got to their room, Willow unlaced her corset and fell face-first
into her bed without even taking off her dress, Winter ran for the bathroom to
comb the wispy spider webs out of her hair, and Wednesday unbuttoned her dress,
loosened her corset—which was too big for her anyway—and started pulling the
pins out of her hair, letting strands of her auburn hair flutter to the small
of her back.
“Hey, Wednesday,” Willow
said from her pillow, her voice muffled.
“Yes?”
“Do you want to go out into
the gardens with me? It’s stopped raining.”
“Not really. I’m dizzy. Ask
Winter.”
“She’s in the
bathroom. Please?” Willow sat up, hugging her pillow to her
chest, and looked at Wednesday pleadingly.
“I don’t want to go by myself.
I’d ask Winter because you’re not really a good person to tromp around
with, but she’s busy and I would get very bored if I went by myself, so.”
Wednesday paused. “Maybe if
you tell me where you really went before you came to supper. Maybe then I’ll go
with you. And let me take my medicine
first.”
“All right. Deal?” Willow
held out her hand. Wednesday took it,
and she helped Willow up. “Let’s go now,
before anyone knows we’re missing.”
“Wait, you still have to
tell me,” Wednesday reminded her.
“Okay, okay.” Willow tossed her pillow onto her bed and
paced, almost feverishly. “I went into
the gardens earlier, when it was raining, so that’s why I was late. Because, you know, I was in the rain and I
had to dry my hair and change.”
“That’s all?”
“Yes. Can you hurry up and go now?”
Wednesday downed a swallow
of her medicine, biting her tongue to keep from making a bleh face. It really was
terribly bitter, more than before. “Fine.”
Willow
took off, hiking up her skirts so she wouldn’t trip over them. Wednesday did
her best to follow, keeping her sister in sight as Willow weaved down the hall,
past the servants’ staircase and down the royal staircase, and ending by
sliding down the banister in a billow of crimson skirts. Wednesday actually took the stairs, though
two at a time, and almost sprawled in a heap at the base of the steps. Willow was already zigzagging down the
entrance hall, sometimes pausing behind a wall in case people were nearby. Wednesday copied her moves, though she wasn’t
nearly as stealthy—her breath was coming in pants now. Willow, fed up, gestured at her to stay
quiet. Wednesday bit her lip.
Tiptoeing now, Willow
slowly pussyfooted in her linen-backed shoes past the library, which was
located next to the ballroom. After
reaching the doorway, Wednesday realized why she was so cautious. Lord Seigfried was lying on a bench-like
piece of furniture by the ballroom doors.
He certainly was not asleep, but his back was turned to them. Willow flattened herself against the wall past
the ballroom and gesticulated for Wednesday to come. Not daring to breathe, Wednesday crept past,
glad she was still wearing her quiet ballroom slippers. She joined Willow at the wall opposite the
ballroom out of Lord Seigfried’s view, and the two of them snuck off.
Once well past the ballroom
and at the entrance hall doors, Willow slowly pushed the handle forward. It did not squeak. Luckily, both of them were rather slim, and
they slipped out the small exit in the door.
Willow closed the crack soundlessly, and they were out.
Wednesday’s breath made
small white puffs as it hit the air, like clouds condensing into fluffy white
cotton balls. Winter skipped down the
steps, her skirts flying. Wednesday
followed her into the gardens on the left.
Everything was dripping
with water, sparkling with a magical glitter.
The sun was just barely visible above the horizon, tiny streaks of gold
fighting their way through the blanket of low silver clouds. Pieces of sky were visible here and there,
flashes of grey and dark purple, stained with bits of blonde strands. In the
faint rays of sunlight, the round, pebble-sized drops of water would catch that
light and glimmer in a rainbow sheen, as if in scented oil. The flowers hadn’t opened yet, but every
glossy dark leaf of the holly bushes, each limb of waving tree branches, and
every curl of the vines curling up the sides of the castle had been dipped in
luminous crystal, lending an unearthly feel to the gardens.
The sinking moon was hardly
able to be seen through the cloud cover, but slight fragments of the
orange-pink of the harvest moon shone above everything. Wednesday twirled through the garden path, following
Willow, staring in awe at the unrecognizable beauty of the gardens now.
Somehow, all things were
different at night, at the break of dawn.
There was something not the same.
Sort of as if the flowers and trees and plants had began to sing a song,
one that opened your eyes to the world. Wednesday
reached out and touched a spade-shaped leaf hanging from one of the vines. A cap of water slid off and onto her finger,
clean and fresh. She set the drop on her
tongue.
“Wednesday! Hurry up!” Willow was already charging for the nearest
landing. “You’re so slow and
dainty. Come on!”
She climbed up the narrow
stairs to the temple figure, ascending the rope bridge on top. Wednesday stopped at the base of the
landing. “I don’t think so,” she said
with a shiver.
“Come on, you’re scared of
everything. Give it a try.”
“No way. I already fainted today.”
“Come on, you silly. Or I’ll leave without you,” Willow
threatened, crossing her arms. The rope
bridge was swaying in the wind, and she shifted from foot to foot to keep her
balance steady. “It’s not bad. You can see the world from up here.”
Against her will, Wednesday
took the stairs. Why not? She could always rush back down if necessary,
or fall. And Willow would know what to do. Carefully, carefully, she grabbed ahold of
the bridge’s flimsy wire railing and hoisted herself up onto the wooden planks,
slowly standing up.
Heights. She was so afraid of heights Wednesday
couldn’t even understand why she was doing this. But Willow was right in a way; she could see
the world. From high up, the gardens
were laid out in a map of dark greenery and little bits of white frost the
accented the other colors. From high up,
she could see the peeking sun better, rays gleaming golden yellow. From high up, with the sharp winter wind
whistling through her hair and piercing her dress, it was exhilarating.
“So, not as bad as you
thought it’d be, right?” From the middle
of the swooping bridge, Willow smirked at her.
Wednesday gave a half-smile half-scowl to show that she appreciated it,
but didn’t like the smirk. Willow just
laughed. The wind tore through her curls
in a sudden gust; the corkscrew ends defying gravity in the wind. Wednesday shielded her face from the blustery
airstream with her forearms, her bare skin stinging from the sudden cold. The bridge was swaying in the strong current,
pitching her back and forth. She bent
down closer to the planks for better balance.
Willow spread her arms
wide, the wind blowing her hair and dress straight back. She gave a faint, breathy laugh, eyes closed,
and made a high-pitched sound that sounded like a delighted scream. Right one cue, the clouds parted as though
pushed shortly by invisible hands, and the gleaming, rising sun let its full
light shine on the earth. Wednesday
gasped. It was…beautiful. Rosy and pink-cheeked, a bit shy but still
not afraid to show its brilliance and spontaneity, the sun reached one arm of a
ray out, hooking it over the land, and hoisted itself up; slowly, slowly it
came, smiling brightly and giggling but trying to hide its joy. The sun pulled a cloud over to cover what
could be seen of it, trying to be demure, and as the whitish cloud drifted over
its face, the light faded considerably.
“Did you see that?” Willow
called at Wednesday, as the wind subsided contentedly. “Did you see that? That was light. The light of the morning is so breathtaking,
something beyond what you could fathom, in that glorious daybreak where the
crack of dawn glitters upon the dew and bathes it in the faintest, most
beautiful colors in the universe.”
Wednesday slowly stood up,
blinking away the splotches of the now-hiding sun. Her knees were still shaky from the sudden
wind, but Willow’s poetic description had calmed her down. And Willow was right; that gleaming ray had
been no ordinary sunrise. It had to be
magic. She wasn’t sure what was
happening; surely the Goddesses weren’t behind this. But it was magic. Something about it lingered in the air for a
moment, and Wednesday inhaled it, drinking in with it the last rainstruck
breath of the night. Delicious. A pang of something strange ran through her,
as though light itself was pouring into her veins, but then it died away,
leaving Wednesday sure that it was just a dream.
“I don’t want you to disappear in the night like that ever, ever again. Do you hear me? What? You say you hardly gave
me a fright? Don’t you dare tone it down, Willow, you scared me half to death
when I saw you two had vanished—”
When she and Willow had
returned a quarter to eight, Winter had sat them down, trembling, and given
them a stern talking-to, mostly blabber about not to run around the castle at
dawn, and Wednesday couldn’t help feeling badly. They had scared Winter out of her wits when she’d
come out of the bathroom and they had simply disappeared. Willow protested that it wasn’t against the
rules to go out in the morning, given that it was past seven, and Winter
retaliated by saying it was hardly a millisecond past seven when they had gone
charging out. Wednesday just let the
tempest pass, leaving Winter and Willow to duke it out.
“Please, don’t do that
again,” Winter begged. Her hair was
down, a delicate, silky waterfall of satin, and it made her seem even more
anxious. “Especially you, Wednesday,
what were you thinking going out, what if you got sick? It’s scarcely past the
dead of winter and you just barged out of the castle with Willow—at least
Willow has a strong system! What if you
collapsed, you’d be in a fine predicament, and Willow would have to explain to
Father what was going on because she can’t carry you all the way back to our
room without being noticed. And for
heaven’s sake, we have a guest—” Here her cheeks colored slightly— “Don’t cause
trouble for your sister when we have others over, you want to seem
proper.”
Though Wednesday
interpreted and understood Winter’s little spruik, she didn’t get why Winter
blamed her. It wasn’t as though they had
been making trouble, after all, and Willow didn’t mind a bit. Of course, it always ended up being her fault
anyway, so there wasn’t any difference.
“Well, Winter, then.” Willow sounded cross. “We were just having a little jolly time, and
here you are, ruining it right after we saw the most amazing thing…” Her eyes widened. “Oh, Winter, did you see it? When the sun
came out and it was just brilliant, I’d never seen anything like it. Magic, I’m telling you, and not that stuff
that you have now that you’re of age, I mean magic created by a higher
power.”
Winter shook her head, long
blonde-auburn hair whispering over her shoulders and down her back. “Get that out of your mind, Willow. There’s not higher power than the monarch
except…” Her pink face drained of color,
leaving behind a paper-white pallor.
“Except for…him.”
Willow went slightly
pale. “Surely not the…” She lowered her voice unconsciously, and
Wednesday leaned forward, fairly sure of who they meant. “Surely,” Willow whispered through her teeth,
“You don’t mean that fool Shadow King?”
Wednesday froze.
“Don’t say that, Willow,
that’s a terrible criticism, and you’ve never met him before,” said a smooth,
sweet voice like a chorus of angels. All
three of the whipped around to see none other than Lady Daelynn, dressed in her
typical orange dress, lounging on Wednesday’s bed.
Willow let out a sort of
gasp-scream, and Winter collapsed into a pool of cloth, overcome with
fright. Wednesday took a step back, but
for some reason she wasn’t that surprised.
You didn’t talk about the Shadow King…mostly because there was always a
feeling that one in his realm could hear you.
And certainly there was.
“Pardon my sudden
entrance,” Daelynn said dryly. She rose
from Wednesday’s bed and walked straight up to Willow. Compared to Willow’s youth, Daelynn looked
much older, but also equally young.
Timelessly, classically beautiful and magical. Wednesday craved for it. “Of course, my dear Willow, you’d do well to
not anger my lord. He’s agitated as it
is, with some political…affairs…going
on right now.”
Winter, on the floor,
pushed herself up using a table leg.
“Affairs…do they have anything to do with love? Does your king love someone?”
Daelynn studied Winter
curiously. “Winter…you really do have a
keen sense for these things, don’t you?”
Her voice was smooth, but Wednesday caught the barely perceptible tremor
at the end of the rhetorical question.
“That’s not the main thing my king is preoccupied with…but how did you
come up with that?”
“You’re my birthmonth
Goddess,” Winter said unsteadily. “I
have your blessing, Daelynn…”
Wednesday thought about
that.
Of the Thirteen Goddesses,
the first twelve each represented a month, as well as a color, a letter, and a
virtue. Mirabel, of course, was a
special case, seeing as she was Goddess of vanity and came to a girl’s
coming-of to bless her. But for the
first twelve, Aurelia was January, Bliss was February, Chalize was March, and
so on. For each Goddess’s month, the
child born was blessed with that Goddess’s virtue. Lady Daelynn’s month was April, and her
virtue was faith; Winter had been blessed when she was born by Daelynn to have
the gift of faith. Wednesday was born in
February, meaning she was in Bliss’s month of patience. She had wished she’d been in Chalize’s month
(health—if only!) or perhaps Jewel’s (beauty), but of course she didn’t have
any of those. Not that patience was a
bad thing to have—all the Goddesses’ virtues were vital. Having that Goddess as your birthmonth
Goddess just meant that virtue was stronger in you than most others.
It
was a strange thing, birthmonths. Most
people considered February the month of love, for example, while Aurelia was
the one in January who gifted love. And
October was ‘supposed’ to be scary, but Jewel was the one with October, and she
was sweet.
“Are you really?” Daelynn
murmured. “I didn’t really study you
when we met earlier…” She smiled at
Winter. “A faithful one, no doubt, loyal
to your heart. Born April 16…” She
turned to Wednesday. “Let me see…oh,
Bliss’s month, your birthday February 9, very patient. Well, that’s certain.” She finally looked at Willow. “What about you…ah. Borderline between Jewel’s beauty and
Keilani’s courage, but it looks like you leaned too far on Keilani’s side after
all…November 1, hardly past midnight.”
She smiled a little frostily at Willow.
“I would be careful when discussing matters such as serious as my king,
Willow…”
Willow looked like a deer
caught in the light of a bright torch.
“I’m sorry, Lady
Daelynn. It’s just…well…” Willow grinned
challengingly. “I don’t approve of your
king, and neither do most everyone here.”
“Brutally honest.” Daelynn swept this aside. “Thank you for letting me stay for a moment,
but I really must hurry back to my king.
He’s very busy, you know. Take care,
you all, and have faith in your actions…”
A curtain of glimmering
tangerine orange slipped over Daelynn, and she was gone.
As soon as the Goddess had
vanished, Willow slammed her fist down on the nearest table. She was seething. “Did you hear that lady?” she fumed. “So wispy and disapproving, oh, I can’t stand
her. Did you hear? First she was invading our room, and then she
was all offended just because I insulted her precious king…” Willow tipped her head to one side,
thoughtful. “Do you think she loves
him?”
“Oh, Willow, shut up.” Winter crossed her arms. “It’s already eight. Do you think Father would get angry at us if
we slept in now?”
“Probably,” Wednesday said,
voicing her opinion. Father was strict about those sorts of things; most of the
time he was fairly easygoing, though.
Being on time was one of the few things he didn’t like.
“I was asking Willow, but all right,” Winter said pointedly. She looked worn out. “Let’s go, if we stay here any longer I’m
going to fall asleep.”
They trundled
downstairs.
The whole castle seemed to
be in some kind of sleep, Wednesday decided.
There was hardly a sound out and about.
Only the occasional servant, maid, or lamp flicker broke the stillness. The morning after the New Year’s Festival was
always eerily silent.
Precisely at that moment,
there was a loud clang from the kitchen.
Wednesday glanced at
Willow, who in turn looked at Winter skeptically. Winter shrugged, put a finger to her lips,
and tiptoed her way down the carpeted hall to the kitchen. Willow motioned to Wednesday to move, so
Wednesday grudgingly followed, trying to stay quiet. As Winter’s slippers barely touched the stone
floor of the galley, she froze. Willow
stopped behind her, trying to see what the holdup was, and Wednesday, overcome
with interest, strained to peek. What
she could see of Winter face had become pink.
Whipping around, flustered,
Winter put a finger to her lips and shooed them frantically back, Willow
resisting but finally backing down when Winter gave her a murderous look. Wednesday stepped back down the hall, turned
a corner, and the three girls crowded together a good ten yards from the
kitchen’s open doorway, on the other side of a wall.
“What was that about?”
Willow hissed at Winter. Winter’s face
was red. “Why didn’t you go in? Who was there? Father? You’re afraid of him?”
“Of course I’m not afraid
of him, you wench,” Winter growled.
Wednesday had never seen her so disturbed before.
“Did you just call me a
wench?”
“I sure did.”
Wednesday flapped her arms
to keep their voices down. “Winter, who
was there?”
Winter bit her lip and
ignored Willow’s hisses. “I’m not
telling,” she whispered tremulously.
“You don’t want to know, it’s embarrassing, I won’t tell. And don’t you
go down there,” she added, catching Willow’s sleeve as she tried to sneak out
to get a good look.
“I already saw,” Willow
said, keeping her voice soft. “At least,
I think it’s Castil.”
“When were you on
first-name terms with Lord Seigfried?” Wednesday whispered angrily. “You have no right to call him Castil.”
“Oh yes I do.”
“Was it really him?” Wednesday looked at Winter for
confirmation. Her cheeks were flushed
bright red as a cherry and she clutched her hands to her chest. Why was Winter so agitated? “We don’t have to worry about him, Winter,”
she whispered consolingly, “He’s really friendly.”
“I’m not scared of him,”
Winter sniped unconvincingly. “If you
want to go into the kitchen, fine, but you have to go fir—”
There was a loud bubbling
noise, like something thick and gloopy was simmering over a flame.
“What is he doing?” Wednesday tried to edge around the corner to
see into the kitchen, but Winter pulled her back.
Willow straightened her
posture. “I’m going,” she said
bravely.
Winter’s pupils had dilated
in fear. “All right, but I’m not joining
you,” she warned. “Go, shoo, I can’t
stand you hissing at me like a feral cat…”
Willow put her shoulders
back and walked down the hall. Wednesday
and Winter both strained to hear every detail, not wanting to miss a second of
this.
“Good morning, Castil,”
Willow’s voice said, sounding pleasantly surprised. “You’re up early. What are you doing at this ungodly hour?”
Castil—Lord
Seigfried—laughed. “It’s only ungodly if
you go to bed at seven in the morning,” he replied, referring good-naturedly to
the ‘supper’ just a few hours ago. “Had
nothing else to do, so I thought I’d make something to eat.”
“Oh, but you’re a cook?”
Willow asked. There was the sound of cloth
sweeping over the uneven, smooth rock of the kitchen, presumably because she’d
moved. “Surely not, you’re a lord.”
“Er—not really, actually,”
Castil said, sounding a little flattered.
“I, ah, don’t come from around here; I come from an ecclesiastical form
of government, so I suppose I’d be the same level as a lord when it comes to
changing government systems.”
So he is foreign, Wednesday though, satisfied at last with her
discovery of where this mysterious young gentleman came from.
“Ah, so it’s ruled by a
church?” Willow sounded politely interested, with the slightest hint of what
seemed to be scorn tugging at the corners of her voice. “I haven’t seen one of those for a very long
time. I daresay that you’re all right
with the church as a ruler?”
There was the shifting of
feet, probably Castil. “Um, well, the
church is a bit hard to describe, I guess I’d just say that it’s a bit like a
council with its own type of religion—it’s magic, you know.”
“But of course,” Willow
said wearily.
“As most things are,”
Castil agreed, though Wednesday could hear the smile in his voice. There was the dull clank of something wooden
against a metal pot’s rim. “Porridge? I
added all sorts of things—I’m not too bad, if I do say so myself.”
“May I see the spoon?”
“Sure.”
There was a funny sound
that Wednesday couldn’t quite describe.
“Oh,” Castil said, sounding
a little shocked.
“It’s great, you’re right,”
Willow laughed a little, sounding pleased, though maybe more with herself than
Castil. “You need to have higher
self-esteem. It’s really quite good. I’m
guessing you added honey, and maybe some spices?”
“Yes,” Castil said. Wednesday could tell that whatever that funny
sound had been, it wasn’t anything good, causing him to close off from
Willow. “If you don’t mind, I need to
excuse myself…”
Light footsteps started
heading towards them. Winter, still
looking terrified and a little fascinated, pulled Wednesday down another hall
and waited for Castil to pass. Wednesday
just barely peeked out; the shadows were sufficient to hide her face. Castil slipped past the other hall, looking
agitated, and as though he’d witnessed something not quite right.
