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Hunkering down in a long-abandoned, possibly-haunted castle in the middle of remote mountain wilderness hadn’t been Reine’s idea of how the day would go, but here he was. 

The alternative was to freeze to death in the winter storm looming over the skies in the north. You didn’t need to be an expert outdoorsman to see that the storm would blast through by day’s end, burying every steep slope and bristly pine and jagged peak in snow. And, unfortunately, Reine wasn’t an expert outdoorsman. He was a baker with twenty seven winters beneath his belt, of all things. He didn’t have the means or skill to build shelter that could withstand such conditions, or the eye to spot a cave or some other natural protection. He did know by heart the rising times of fifteen types of bread, or the perfect amount of custard to squeeze into a pastry. He did have with him his favorite paring knife, his old rolling pin, and a little wooden carving of a hawk his father had given to him as a child. Little good that would do against the wrath of the winter gods. 

That left Castle Kirtzel as his only option. 

It perched at the end of a small, lofty mountain valley on a throne of dark rock and evergreens, all dusted with snow. Vanilla white stone formed the castle’s high walls, grand halls, twisting wings, and soaring circular towers. Every roof and spire and elegant archway wore coats of red and silver paint, like the distinctive markings on an arctic creature. Indeed, like a great winter owl or eagle, Castle Kirztel relished in the snow, donned it as both dressing and armor, unfussed by the blizzard about to bury it all in more. 

It was beautiful, which had been the last thing Reine had expected to feel. He’d heard a few tales about the castle at the traveler’s inn, down on the foothills. For as long as anyone could remember, and a good deal before that, nobody had lived in Castle Kirtzel. It had been abandoned a hundred years ago for unknown reasons. Some said a restless, vengeful spirit with murderous habits haunted the ruins. 

Whether or not that was true, the castle had fallen into a deep and desolate isolation on its remote alpine perch. Only one road led to it, one that the mountains had beaten into a ruined, treacherous path all but inaccessible to the most daring and desperate hikers—a fact Reine could personally vouch for. 

But there was simply no way the castle he saw now was empty. Things rotted and crumbled when you abandoned them. Bread, people, even whole castles. It was just a fact of life. So, someone had to be keeping up Castle Kirtzel. Perhaps the last vestiges of its ruling family? Or a crazy hermit? Or a gang of bandits? Those felt more likely than a ghost. In any case, he couldn’t assume a warm welcome. He brushed his fingers, cold and numbing through his gloves, against his belt knife, which was really just the old paring knife he’d used to core apples. It was starting to feel pitifully inadequate. 

The edge of the storm swallowed the weak winter sun, casting the whole valley in shadow. Then a blast of arctic wind slammed into him, spearing frigid fingers through every hole and patch in his coat. Reminded of his impending doom, Reine started along the icy, uneven road that wound through the valley and up to the castle. This took him along the shore of the valley’s central lake, frozen all the way over and so quiet you could hear a pebble drop on the far side. Up through dense forest and across a snow-flecked meadow, he found himself before a stone wall. It guarded the only way into the upper part of the valley and the castle itself—an exceptional defensive position, save for the fact that the gate was wide open. 

“Hello?” Reine shouted. There was no response, not even his own echo. By this point it had started snowing, and the downfall smothered all sounds. Not that there were many to begin with. Half-expecting an arrow to impale his chest at any moment, he continued on through the gate and into more forest. 

With each passing moment, the snowfall intensified, forming into huge flittering flakes, like thousands upon thousands of crystalline butterflies. The novelty wore off when the road curled out of the trees onto an exposed rocky outcrop, where the wind kicked in and transformed the butterflies into swarms of hornets that stung at his face. He grunted, putting his shoulder into the gale and pressing on. He could no longer see the valley and mountains behind the cold curtains of the blizzard, thickening and drawing closer. 

Eventually he could only see five paces ahead of himself. The rest of the world was lost in howling gales and blistering flurries dancing all around him. Reine could feel his pace slowing, the cold sinking beneath his chilled skin and into his very bones. This blizzard, he knew, would kill him in less than an hour. So when the road abruptly ended and he looked up to see Castle Kirtzel’s entrance hall through the swirling snow, he let out a yelp of relief. A kind of joyous “Aaaagh!” akin to what a man lost in the desert might make when stumbling across an oasis. 

But as Reine approached the mighty wooden double doors, he froze—and not because the blizzard had finally gripped him. No, his eyes had caught something above. High up in the castle’s tallest tower, there was a flickering light in one of the windows. With the storm obscuring the rest of the tower, that light seemed to hover in sky, lonely and disjointed like a ghost. 

In all his worrying about hermits and bandits he’d brushed over the possibility that a princess could be locked up here, like something out of a fairy tale. Well, forbidden princesses were sort of like hermits, weren’t they? With all the trappings and behaviors that came with years of uninterrupted solitude. He groped for his belt knife and, after a few numb-fingered attempts at pulling it free, gave up and threw all his weight into the double doors. 

They grumbled open, wood groaning while chips of frost along its edges crunched and cracked and broke. Reine pressed the doors open just wide enough to slip inside, then turned and quickly sealed them before the cold air could force its way in behind him. 

He pressed his forehead against the doors, panting, shivering, wiping snot from his nose. While it wasn’t warm in here, it was certainly warmer than outside. He turned and found himself in an entrance foyer, large enough to hold a few dozen people. Except there were no people around, of course. This struck him as odd when he noticed the tables along the walls, free of dust and supporting a handful of candles. Lit candles. 

Straight ahead, an arched doorway lay casually half-open, as if inviting him into the chamber inside, where he could see the lively flicker of a roaring hearth. Safety and manners be damned, his jewels were about to fall off, and a fire was a fire. He pushed his way in. 

A grand entrance chamber opened before him, bisected by a plush red carpet and dressed with crisp house banners, mounted stags, and blazing sconces that threw warm, cozy light across the hall and up into the arched roof. Halfway down the hall was the hearth Reine craved, stuffed with thick logs that crackled and popped in the flames. The hall looked ready to receive a monarch, which Reine knew was no small feat. He had spent years working in the kitchen of another castle—Hawksbluff Castle—and had observed firsthand how the staff twisted themselves inside out to prepare for a royal arrival. So how had it been done here?

But a fire was a fire. Reine approached the hearth. At this point he noticed two plush chairs had been pulled up. He settled into one of them, pulling off his gloves and boots and warming his hands and feet against the flames. As the warmth washed over him, his senses returned—and his wits, which promptly alarmed him that he had just barged into a castle, uninvited. 

Right.

He kept expecting a pack of guards to barge through the side doors and beat him into batter. But all doors remained sealed. This included the heavy double doors with a carved wooden surface depicting a scene from the mountain valley. By its imposing presence, he presumed these doors led to an important room. An audience chamber, perhaps. As he wandered closer to it, he noticed that, unlike everything else he’d seen so far, a thick layer of dust coated the door, settling over the carved mountain peaks and trees like forgotten snow. 

Two sconces flanked the door as well. Both unlit. Reine hovered in front of the doors, straining his ears. No sounds on the other side, or anywhere else in the castle around him. Nothing except the whips and howls of the storm outside. He found this a bit unnerving. Hawksbluff Castle had always echoed with sounds strange and familiar. He pressed gently against the double doors, then recoiled when he felt how starkly cold the wood was. This was how he’d expected to find Castle Kirtzel—it just seemed to be concentrated on this door and whatever lay through it. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted an open door into the hall off to his left. Sconces flickered in the hallway beyond, seeming almost to beckon him along. With no better ideas in mind, he followed the path of flames through the twisting and turning passage. He passed more doors, closed and barred from the other side, as well as faded oil paintings of mountain landscapes. 

He smelled it before he saw it. Food. Roasted and grilled and baked. Then he went through the only open door at the end of the hallway and beheld it. A grand dining hall, bedecked with chandeliers, paintings, tapestries, another roaring hearth, and of course the long feasting table itself. Roasted turkey and chicken accompanied by a saucer of some chutney; platters of grilled vegetables, warm baskets of wheat rolls, meat-filled pastries and fruit pies, chopped sausages in a rich, creamy sauce—all this and more awaited him on the table. Which, he now noticed, had only been set for one person, at the head of the table. 

Oh, it was tempting. His stomach grumbled its unhappy demands after days of eating dried meat and tragically hard and stale bread. But something was wrong. Perhaps whoever lived here had laced the food with poison, and that was their way of dealing with intruders. Or perhaps the food was cursed, and if he ate it, he’d be stuck here forever. His thoughts won out over his stomach and he resisted the well-dressed dining table. For now.  

Two doors were open to him here. One opened onto a sconce-lit hallway ending in spiral stairs, the other onto a bare and dim utility passage. He chose the latter. His aim was to find the kitchen. If there were any servants about the castle, they’d most likely be there, polishing off leftovers, sneaking glasses of wine, or shagging in a back closet. 

When he found the kitchen, dread settled over his shoulders—and not because the kitchen was devoid of any staff. Because it was clean. Immaculate, even. This was not the appearance of a working kitchen. The long preparation tables weren’t dusty with flour and spices, they stood cold and bare, with ingredient jars arranged in a too-perfect line. The floor wasn’t littered with crumbs and vegetable stems and spill stains, it practically gleamed with a discomforting shine. And by the gods, the dishes! They were all done and cleaned and stacked neatly on shelves, with the wash basin empty of dirty, sudsy water.

Horrifying.  

Disregarding the fact that this kitchen distressed him in its purity, it also begged the question—where were the staff? Where was the mess that had birthed the feast in the dining hall? Reine wandered through the kitchen, keeping a distance as if everything were covered in writhing, venomous snakes. 

In the back corner of the kitchen was a pantry door. Reine half-expected that he’d find a grizzled master cook curled up with a bottle of wine on the floor. An unsung culinary legend who had remained behind when his lord and lady had abandoned the castle, who got a kick out of preparing lavish meals for passing strangers. But when he opened the door, he found only shelves of cooking supplies and sacks of flour stacked in the darkness.  

He sighed and closed the door. But when he returned to the kitchen, he caught a flash of movement in the corner of his eye. He spun to look and found himself staring at a row of pristine wine glasses on a shelf, each reflecting like a little mirror—and in that very moment, he spotted a figure slip across the tiny reflection of the kitchen. He whirled and, seeing nothing, rushed over and peered through the open doorways. Nobody there. 

“Hello?”

No response. But he had seen someone. He knew it. A woman. In the reflection, she’d slipped across the kitchen and disappeared into one of the hallways. 

“Look, whoever you are, I don’t mean any harm,” he said, his voice echoing around the kitchen. “I’m just cold. And hungry.” 

Then why didn’t you eat? That feast was quite a bit of work, you know. 

Reine jumped. The voice came from everywhere and nowhere at once, almost like a second voice inside his own mind. Feminine. Smooth, refined; a voice that indicated a person in tune with genteel senses and social manners. Reine looked around for the speaker and found nobody.

Well? The voice continued. Was the feast not to your taste? 

“Where are you?” Reine asked. 

Now you’re just avoiding the question. The voice sighed. I knew I should have gone with the spiced duck. That one was always popular. 

“Why don’t you come out and show yourself, then we can talk.” 

We’re talking right now, aren’t we? And I’m certainly not hiding.

“Well I certainly can’t see you.”  

But you can. And I you. 

During this exchange Reine had been scanning the entire kitchen and its adjacent passages. Checking under tables and behind boxes, even along the ceiling for a hole or vent. Any trick of the foundation that could explain this disembodied voice. Finding nothing, he leaned against a wall and crossed his arms. “Alright, however you’re doing this, you’ve got me.”

Doing what?

“Speaking to me from wherever you’re hiding.”

Implying I am afraid of you? I think not. 

“I saw you!” he said. “In the reflection!”

I’ve not a clue what you’re jabbering about. 

He scowled. Now this woman was just playing games. “Fine,” he said. “Fine. Why don’t we just start with the basics.” He placed a hand on his chest. “My name is Reine. And yours?” 

The voice did not respond. 

After a few moments, he called out. “Uh, hello?”

I’m thinking!

“Thinking?”

Yes, yes, it’s a question I have not been asked in… well, it seems forever now. Another pause. Then: Kirtzel. 

“Kirtzel.” 

Yes. Is there a problem? 

“As in Castle Kirtzel? Was this place named after you?”

Oh, gods no, I’m not that vain. But Kirtzel will do for now, at least until I recall my true name. It’s in here somewhere. Perhaps just a bit dusty. 

“Alright, Kirtzel—”

That would be Lady Kirtzel, if you please.

Reine let out a dry laugh. “Oh, you’re upper crust?”

Indeed I am! 

“I thought you couldn’t remember your name.” 

Yes. And?

“Seems a bit strange, doesn’t it?” 

Misplacing one’s name does not deprive her of titles and station.

“And what would that be?” 

Queen of this castle! Kirtzel thundered. Queen of this valley and these mountains! I am royalty! Of noble, unbroken blood descended from ancient roots. I am…I am…

And the voice trailed off. 

“How do I know you’re not just making it all up?” Reine said. “I mean, that’s all it is anyway.” 

I would not lie about my heritage.

“Yet you still haven’t told me who you are. Or shown yourself, for that matter.” 

How many times must I explain? Very well. If you will not listen, you will see! 

A moment later, a rumbling welled up from under his feet, like a tremor from far beneath the earth. Pebbles and dust rattled loose from the kitchen ceiling as the foundations of the castle shook with unseen anger. Reine reached for a chair to steady himself—and suddenly it slipped away from him, as if an invisible hand had yanked it away, out of his reach. He stumbled for a table, and it too moved of its own accord. The kitchen filled with the sound of doors and shutters and cabinets banging open and closed. All of their own accord. 

And then it was over, as quickly as it had begun. The deep rumbling subsided, and all things that shouldn’t move on their ceased to do so. At the end of all this Reine found himself pressed his back into a corner, his hands gripping stones on the wall for support. 

Don’t you know it’s rude to put your hands on a woman you’ve just met? 

Reine jumped out of his spot, whirling and facing the corner. Empty. He glanced through the kitchen again. Empty. He rubbed his eyes, looked again. The kitchen was still in a state of shaken disarray. The idea had been forming in his head for a few minutes now, but this ghastly earthquake now solidified it for him. 

This castle was haunted. 

Do you see now? Kirtzel said. I am the castle, and it is me. 

Or mayhaps—just mayhaps—Reine had gone barking mad, and this was all in his head. His temples and feet and legs ached from the toil of the road, his stomach roared with hungry displeasure, and his bones had yet to shed the deep, bitter cold. A recipe for hallucinations, if he ever knew one. Rather than feed the insanity more, perhaps he just needed to get some sleep.  

Now is it your turn to answer questions, Kirtzel said. 

“Tell you what,” Reine said. “I’ll cut you a deal. You let me rest a little, and I’ll as many questions as you want.” 

As many as I want? Genuine curiosity inflected her tone. 

“That’s a promise.”

Then it’s a deal. 

At the mention of finally getting some rest, something seemed to give inside him, and all the accumulated exhaustion of the day walloped him at once, heavier and harsher than any alcohol-fueled crash. He drudged over to the pantry. As he went, he took a few pieces of ice-hard bread out of his knapsack and crunched on them.

Where are you going? 

“To bed,” he said between mouthfuls. 

In the pantry? 

“Yeah. Sneaky, right? An old trick I learned at Hawksbluff.” 

Inside the pantry, he arranged a few sacks of flour into a makeshift mattress. Stuffing a few more crumbs into his mouth and setting the knapsack aside, he settled down onto the sacks. Irregular and lumpy. But familiar. 

You know, there’s plenty of nice beds in the castle. And that feast, too. No need to inflict that stale loaf on yourself. 

“That stale loaf is my own creation and it’s served me well, thank you. And I’m fine. Really. Let me just rest my eyes for a moment.” 

You made that bread? You’re a baker?

“Hey now, we had a deal,” he said. 

Kirtzel said something else, but he was already asleep.

———

Sleeping on sacks of flour was like to give you cricks in your back, a fine coating of white dust, and only a meager amount of shuteye. Still, Reine managed to sleep until morning, which was saying something about how exhausted he’d been. He arose half-confused on where and when he was. For a brief moment he thought he was back in Hawksbluff Castle, napping between shifts, and in any moment Cook Carlo would holler across the kitchen for him to start on dinner rolls. 

Then it all came back to him. Castle Kirtzel. The voice of a woman. Him possibly as delusional as a raving old hermit. Right. He rubbed at his temples, tugged at his stubbly jaw, scratched at tufts of raven-black hair.  He groaned as he rose and pushed his way into the kitchen. He found it as immaculate as he’d first encountered it. No signs of an earthquake borne of ghostly fury. No things moving on their own accord. Had that all been a dream? 

But then his nose caught a whiff of fresh-baked pastries. He followed the scent into the dining room, discovering a small breakfast spread arranged at one end of the long table. An assortment of hand pies, stuffed with fruit or meat or cheese, along with a platter of hot sausages, sliced bread, and a carafe of black coffee. It was as good as any morning meal he’d prepared at Hawksbluff. And the hearth was lit, too. 

Awakened by old favorites, his stomach pressed its demands once more and would not be denied. What was the harm now? He’d spent the night here. If anyone was going to kill him, it would’ve happened already. His stomach rumbled in giddy agreement. He settled into the chair facing all of the food, a bit odd and awkward to be on the receiving end of service for once. Not knowing what else to do, he called out into the silence. 

“Uh, thanks for breakfast.”

You’re very welcome, Kirtzel said. 

Reine blinked and poured himself a cup of coffee. “So this castle is haunted after all.” 

Haunted? The platter of sausages suddenly slid away from his reaching hand. Haunted! I’ll say! How rude of you to besmirch me with that word. Haunted places are old, unkempt, forgotten, and evil. I am none of these things! 

Reine reached for the plate of pastries, and it too slid away from him. He shook his head, leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. “But that’s what people say about this place.” 

The table rattled as if struck. Does a haunted castle keep itself clean? Does it keep the fires going? Does it serve hot food to break your fast?  

“Well, no, I guess not.” 

You see, then, it’s all baseless rumors. You are the first to visit in a very long while. 

“Not exactly easy to get up here, you know.” 

How is that my problem? 

“People make up stories about places they don’t know. Places they’ve forgotten about.”

Kirtzel was quiet for a few moments. It seemed Reine had struck a nerve—as much as you could against a disembodied voice, anyhow. As the silence lingered and grew colder, he imagined that, if Kirtzel had a face, it would be sunk with depression right about now. “Oh, come on, I’m sorry. I didn’t quite mean it like that.”

No response. He took a few sips of the black coffee as he waited, wondering for a moment if his brain had finally wakened, dispelling the last remnants of the hallucination from last night. And that he would be alone. Trapped in the castle, snowed in for gods know how long. Alone. 

Hm.

You spoke your mind, Kirtzel said at last. I would have nothing less. 

“All I mean is that if people knew the castle—you, I mean—looked like this, they’d tell a different story.”

Looked like what, precisely? 

Reine took a bite of the fruit filled pastry, considering. “You’ve taken care of yourself well. You don’t look a day over fifty.”

A pause. I will decide to take that as a compliment, she said. But a fresh coat of snow always does brighten me up. You should see the way the icicles form off the library tower—better than any earrings a woman could ask for. Another pause. Priceless, sparkling, and large enough to impale a man clean through. 

“How alluring,” Reine remarked. 

You haven’t seen the half of it.

At the mention of snow, he glanced out the window. The dining room looked out onto a section of a garden, where a blanket of white had buried everything: flower beds, dormant hedges, stone footpaths, and marble statues of dragons perched on columns. All he could see beyond the hedges was drifting snowfall and, far in the distance, the mountains, which also lay smothered except for the highest, jagged peaks, the black and blue rock clawing up towards the sky. 

Beautiful, isn’t it? Kirtzel said. But it will kill you as certain as cold steel.

“Alright, you don’t need to rub it in. You’ve saved my life, and I’m very grateful. There, I said it.” He raised a finger between bites of sausage. “Tell you what. You keep  me warm and fed through this snowstorm, I’ll provide the company. You can show me around, tell me stories, whatever you want.” 

Another deal? You still haven’t fulfilled your first one, you rogue! I still get to pick your brain as much as my heart desires.

“Oh. That.” He shrugged. “Well, who’s to say I can’t fulfill both at the same time? And here—to sweeten the pot, once the snowstorm has let up, I’ll get out of your hair. Spread the word far and wide about the real Castle Kirtzel.”

Oh no. That won’t be necessary. 

 “What? I thought you were just complaining—” 

If you spread too good a word then the entire realm will come banging on my gates. I just don’t let anyone in, you see.

 Reine scratched his chin, frowning. “But you let me in.”

We can agree on that. 

“Why?”

A long moment of silence. Well, you weren’t coming to conquer or plunder. That puts you ahead of most. Before Reine could probe further on that point, the table rattled under his hands. Very well. You have a deal. Two deals. 

Reine finished his plate and grabbed another pastry as he rose. He stepped out of the dining room and into a passage—where the rug underneath his boots shifted, as if tugged from one end by unseen hands. He glanced in that direction, spotted the door at the far end of the hall swing open. He took the cue and started down the passage. “Where are we going?”

An unlit sconce ahead of him burst to blazing life. The chapel, of course.

“I’m not one for morning devotions.” 

Oh, bother. It’s to see the stained glass. Now is the best time of day.

She was right. Down two more winding halls and up a creaky flight of stairs, Reine entered into a long hall that, unlike the chapel at Hawksbluff, was bare as bone. No gilded ornaments along the high walls or pillars, no lavish frescoes in the vaulted ceilings. But the barren white stonework all around was a canvas for the stained glass, which showered the chapel on three sides with dazzling blues and greens. 

“If all chapels looked like this, maybe I’d have a change of heart,” Reine said, walking down the aisle between the rows of congregation seating.

Gorgeous, isn’t it? One of the wooden chairs nearby wiggled. It’s one of my most valuable treasures. They say it took twenty years to build. 

“Did it hurt?” 

A moment of consideration. I simply do not recall. You don’t remember growing in your mother’s womb, do you? 

“Thankfully not.”

Reine stepped up to the altar, which, in keeping with the theme, was just a barren table of stone with a simple white cloth thrown atop its surface. His eye caught something peculiar, however: the priest’s podium was situated directly in front of the altar, rather than off to the side in its standard position.

Regardless, I love my chapel, Kirtzel said. The cloth on the altar table snapped, sending up a cloud of dust. Twenty years, but worth it. The Brautz family brought in architect from the City of Cathedrals for the job. 

“The Brautz family?” Reine said. “Are they the people that once lived here?” 

I…yes, she said, as if she’d surprised herself with a piece of knowledge previously forgotten. That’s right. The Brautzes. 

“What happened to them?” His voice echoed in the empty chapel and went unanswered for a few moments. “Hello?” 

I’m sorry, she said at last. The name. Brautz. It’s been so long since I’ve spoken that name. I don’t remember what happened to them, but the name… it is familiar. 

Reine frowned. “You mentioned you were a lady. A Lady Brautz?” 

Mayhaps, she said in a low, uncertain voice. Even if it was true, that doesn’t clear up anything, does it? The Brautz family goes back centuries. Countless Lady Brautzes there.

“It means you weren’t always this way,” Reine said. “A castle.”

What does it matter? This is all I remember, all I know.

“You don’t remember how you became like this?”

Not a clue.  

“Maybe you just need someone to jog your memory.” 

No response to this. For a few moments the only noise was the wind, wailing low and wild against the chapel, and the resulting shudders and trembles of the foundation. Reine hovered by the podium, put his hand on the old wood. “Was there a wedding here?” he asked.

Yes, but it was long ago. How did you know?

“The podium,” he said. “It only gets arranged like this when the priest is presiding over a wedding.”

I thought you weren’t religious.

“I’m not. But my former lord was. He prided himself on his piety, but most of the time it was just annoying. I worked weddings that took hours. But this one…” He glanced around the chapel. He hadn’t noticed it before, but the entire hall was set up for a wedding—from the podium, to the arrangement of the chairs, to the placement of candelabra along the walls. “What happened? Did the Brautz family have a wedding and then just abandon the castle?” 

It’s really not that important, Kirtzel said. There was a hint of something he couldn’t decipher in her voice. The podium slid to its standard position, but not without first crunching the crust of sticky dust that had gathered at its base. It happened so long ago, I hardly recall it.

“It just seems strange to me that—”

Yes, well, it seems strange to you because you aren’t a castle, she said. The candelabras snapped together in bunches and scooted into corners of the hall. I think it’s high time you fulfilled your part of the deal. Deals! 

Reine wanted to frown at her, but, remembering there was no face to aim at, settled his expression on the chapel’s ceiling. “Fine,” he said, holding up his hands. “Have it your way. No skin off my back.” 

Walk with me. We might as well do this properly. 

Once again, he followed Kirtzel’s directions through a trail of inanimate objects bending to her will. Doors flapping, sconces alighting, suits of armor pointing with their gauntlets. At an intersection of five passages, a small lounge chair pillow flew across the room and smacked him in the face. “Alright, let’s not get carried away here.” 

Oh, please. It’s just a cushion.

“I can follow flapping doors just fine, thank you.” 

He passed several more rooms: a scullery and another small kitchen, a sewing and laundry room, a cleaning closet, a bright study with a great wooden desk, among others. Though his path had him this way and that, he gathered the general sense that Kirtzel was bringing him back to the front of the castle. To the entrance hall, more precisely. One of the doors previously shut and locked swung open, revealing a sitting room within.

A ladies’ sitting room, he judged from the faded, red and purple upholstery, the fine porcelain plates in the cabinet, the empty vases that once held blooming flowers. On the tea table between the couches, a single cup steamed with hot tea. There was even a kettle, a small sugar jar, a stirring spoon.  

“You made tea?” Reine said. “When?” 

Just now. Can’t you see it’s fresh?

“I do, I just…” He shook his head. Perhaps it was better not to question where all the tea and the food and the firewood—things you typically needed people and resources to prepare—was coming from. As long as it kept him warm and fed, who was he to complain? He sat down on one of the couches and studied the cup.

Well? Are you just going to stare at it? It’s not poisoned, for heaven’s sake. 

“It’s just odd,” Reine said. “I’ve made tea thousand times. Strange to be on the receiving end for once.” 

Yes, well, you are a guest here. It’s only polite.

Reine smiled. “You spoil me.”

The cup slid out of reach. Will you mock the tea, or drink it? 

“I will add sugar,” he said, which he did, then took a sip. Tasted real enough to him. “I thought men weren’t allowed in these rooms.”

They aren’t. Consider it a privilege. 

“Oh, I’m aware. Men have their round tables and war rooms, but this chamber is a confluence of secrets that can topple kingdoms.” 

Indeed, Kirtzel said, sounding pleased. You understand, then, why I chose this room for your interrogation. 

Reine choked on the tea. “My interrogation?” 

That’s what you signed up for, isn’t it? 

“Not sure I’d use the same words…”

I get to ask you as many questions as I want. Isn’t that the same thing? 

“Last I checked people under question aren’t offered tea,” he said. He lifted his cup. “Speaking of, you don’t happen to have any cookies to go with this, do you?” 

We will start with the matter of your personal history, Kirtzel said, ignoring his request. I am not the first castle you have seen, am I?

“No,” Reine said. “I did some time at Hawksbluff Castle. Errand boy at first, but worked my way up to a baker in the kitchen.”

A baker? The only one in the kitchen whose food is demanded for every meal.

“Uh, yeah. They really liked bread at Hawksbluff. My spiced sourdough especially.”

The baker here made a good sourdough, but he was famed for his cinnamon wheels. One of the curtains twirled. Torlin, his name was.

Reine snorted. “So you remember this Torlin guy and his cinnamon wheels, but not your name, or how you became a castle.”

It’s not as if I choose these things, Kirtzel said, annoyance in her voice. Irrelevant. No, what is more interesting is what a baker is doing all the way out here. 

“We’ve been over this. I was cold and hungry.” 

Funny. I meant why you left Hawksbluff. 

“It’s simple. Working at Hawksbluff was shit.” 

Truly?

“Truly. Hawksbluff is a handsome castle, and some of the galas and feasts we held there were unbelievably extravagant. But my gods the people just ruined it. Stamped out any crumb of joy you might take. From Lord Hawksbluff all the way down to the chamberpot cleaner, the thieving little bastard.” 

The chamberpot cleaner? 

“Yeah. We called him Brownie.” 

Kirtzel emitted a chuckle, but then caught herself and cleared her throat. I shouldn’t laugh.

“Nah, he can go to hell. Bugger stole one of my knives.” 

That’s unfortunate. A castle is only as good as its people. 

“Or, in your case, the spirit that’s possessed it.” He glanced to a side table to his left and saw that a small basket of cookies had appeared there. “Alright, that’s starting to get a bit scary.” 

Is it so different than a servant bringing it by?

“No, I guess not.” He bit into one of the cookies. Nutmeg, brown sugar, perhaps a bit of maple. Not bad for magical cookies. “Thank you.” 

I’m sure it doesn’t measure up to properly baked cookies. But you’re welcome. 

“They’re good. I’m not one to complain on free food.” 

Oh, it’s not free. The cost is your story. Which you should continue. 

Reine shrugged. “There’s not much to say. I left as soon as I saved up the money. Hawksbluff Castle was never meant to be my home.” 

Then where is? 

Reine gazed out the sitting room windows, which offered another view out into the snow-covered gardens and the frozen flower beds. Unlike the vista in the dining room, there were no hedges here, which allowed for an unobstructed view out onto the valley and the great lake and the mountains beyond, smooth as whipped cream under last night’s blizzard. Somewhere beyond those peaks lay Merchant’s Bay. That had been his original destination when leaving Hawksbluff. 

“I don’t really know where home is,” he said. “I guess I struck out looking for one.” 

You don’t have family at Hawksbluff City? 

Reine barked a laugh. “Now that’s rich.” 

I don’t see the humor. 

“There isn’t any. Unless you like the darkest of the dark.”

Try me. 

“No.” 

What? Why not?

Reine continued to gaze out onto the lake. “Because I don’t have family at Hawksbluff City.” 

What do you mean? 

“I mean what I said, plain and simple.” 

The curtains shut, blocking his view. We had a deal.

“I didn’t agree to spill out my whole life story for you.” 

You agreed to answer all of my questions. 

“I gave you an answer. It’s not my fault that you don’t like it.” 

Now you’re just being difficult. 

“We all have secrets,” Reine said. “You’re no different. You and your secret wedding.” 

It wasn’t a secret wedding! 

“But you won’t talk about it.” Reine raised a finger. “How about this? I’ll tell you about my family, you tell me about this wedding. A secret for a secret. Fair deal.” 

Another so called deal? You’ve lost your mind. You’re in no position to be cutting more deals.

“What’s the big issue with this wedding anyway?” Reine said. “Was it scandalous? I’ve heard it all. Really. I promise you, truly, I don’t care about the politics or image of it all. Just the juicy bits.” 

You scoundrel. A baker you might be, but you love your dirty gossip just like the rest! 

“Can I guess?” 

No! 

“Was it your wedding?” 

The curtains exploded in furious torrent of motion, as if someone had yanked them and thrown them up in the air. Each door leading out of the sitting room slammed shut, one after the other. Bang bang bang bang. 

And then all was quiet. 

Reine waited for a few minutes, but Kirtzel did not say anything. In fact, he could no longer sense she was here in this room. Her presence had vanished. It was like how the radiant background heat melted away when the kitchen oven was snuffed out for the night. 

And the cookies had vanished, too. 

As time passed without her return, Reine wandered over to the window and opened the curtains, staring for awhile at the steady snowfall. When he returned to the couch and sat down, his hand brushed against something in the corner of the cushion. Digging down, he pulled free a folded and half-crumpled letter. Creasing his brow, he opened it up and read the faded ink:

Lady M:

Hopefully this letter has arrived to you discreetly, and that you read this in a place where no eyes are watching. 

I did not first believe the rumors, but now, having met Princess Jasnia in the flesh and blood, I do. An entitled southern witch if I ever saw one! I can’t fathom why Lord Brautz is allowing her to marry his son. Did you know Jasnia demanded that both sides of the family wear purple and gold for the wedding ceremony? 

Perhaps that could be excused as a bridely demand.  But what truly troubles me is her blatant disrespect for the Brautz house. When the Lord and Prince aren’t in earshot, she slanders about how this castle is an eyesore, or that their respect to the Winter Queen is foolish and superstitious. 

She’s the one that had the new chandelier put up, which should tell you all you need to know. Rumor has it she even asked to stay in the Winter Queen’s old suite, but was flatly denied by Lord Brautz. It seems at least some lines cannot be crossed. 

Still, this wedding does not bode well for House Brautz. I fear it is only the beginning of Jasnia and her kin’s attempts to sink their greedy claws into the family.  

Lady K

———

Reine awoke the next morning, taking a solid five minutes before piecing together that he had fallen asleep on the couch in the ladies’ sitting room. He’d stuffed the letter back where he’d found it, and must have dozed off shortly afterwards. He wiped his groggy eyes, groaned, and rose to his feet, stretching as he did. 

He could not feel Kirtzel’s presence, though did notice that the hearth in one corner of the room was burning, keeping the room comfortably warm. It had been cold and unlit during his interrogation. The tea set was gone, too. 

He found his way back to the dining room where he’d eaten yesterday morning, and sure enough the table had been set for him. This time the spread included thick rashers of bacon, creamed oats, and massive, ripe peaches, the latter of which he found intriguing. Peaches had been out of season for half a year.

“Is this a peace offering?” he asked aloud.

No, came Kirtzel’s voice. It’s breakfast. 

“Thank you,” he said, taking a seat. 

Think nothing of it. 

“And for keeping the hearth lit.” 

Again, it is nothing but proper manners for a guest. 

Her tone was colder than the air outside. So was the food. Even the bacon. 

Reine shook his head. The snow was coming down just as hard as yesterday, if not more so. He reminded himself that he wasn’t here to pry into this castle’s past, to figure out what the hell happened at this wedding. As much as his inner gossip wanted to know—yes, she was spot on about that; it was a guilty pleasure he’d grown a habit of indulging at Hawksbluff—he wasn’t here for that. He was here for shelter, then to continue onwards to Merchant’s Bay. No need to complicate things. No need to risk getting booted out into the snow to die. He’d just have to forget he’d read that letter. 

“Look, perhaps we got off on the wrong footing yesterday,” Reine said. “How about we agree—”

You and your deals! 

“—that we both have things we’d prefer not to share, and keep it at that. The alternative, well, I don’t think either of us wants the alternative. Does that seem fair?” 

Kirtzel was quiet for a few moments. What about our original two deals? 

He could’ve been mistaken, but it almost seemed there was a tinge of desperation in her voice. As if those were two valuable commodities she did not want to risk losing. “We keep those, of course. We just don’t poke at each other’s sensitive bits.” 

If that was some foul joke, I’m choosing to ignore it, she said. But…very well. You have a deal. Yet another one. Soon enough I will need a ledger to keep track of them.

———

Kirtzel toured Reine around the castle, pointing out the function of each room—though he could guess most of them just at first glance. The Lord’s lounge, a hall bedecked with mounted weapons and hunting trophies where men went to retire after dinner. The servant’s quarters, which were noticeably roomier and cleaner than the grimy stockades of Hawksbluff. The library, housed inside a great circular tower with a spiral staircase along the wall leading to upper balconies with cozy reading nooks. 

During all this, he and Kirtzel chatted away, filling the empty halls with their two voices. Sometimes as well he and Kirtzel walked in silence. Other times she picked his brains on what life at Hawksbluff had been like. Or what the city itself was like. Or even the wider world—of which he was no expert, yet she listened with the fervor of a zealous student. She wanted to know of things she would never see. Endless questions—more than Reine had thought he was bargaining for—but any time the conversation approached his family or home, Kirtzel respectfully steered away. 

He did the same for her, cautiously avoiding any mention of the secret wedding, despite how much he burned to know. Thankfully, Kirtzel was bursting with all sorts of interesting facts about the castle. The more she talked, the more she remembered. She couldn’t remember her life before castlehood, or how it had happened in the first place, but her memories as a castle while the Brautz family still lived in it were much clearer. Years and years worth. Generations worth. When she spoke about how she’d witnessed the birth of a certain Prince Harmyn, and at a later point mentioned how she’d seen the same Harmyn tumble off a wall to his death at a ripe age of ninety two, Reine gathered Kirtzel had been this way a long while. 

“Did the Brautzes talk to you as well?” Reine asked when they stopped midday for a lunch in a parlor facing the garden. 

Like we are now? Goodness no. For one, some measure of time passed before I became aware that I had become like this. Just like how a man cannot remember the first years of his life. And, like a toddler, my powers were negligible at first. Merely opening a door expended all my energy.

Reine crunched on a piece of sourdough bread. “So you got stronger over time.”

Yes. But I never let the Brautz family see me control things. I uttered not a single word to them. 

Reine chuckled. “Who? You?” 

Not everyone is as accepting as you are, Reine. The Brautzes were superstitious. Some of them believed the castle was haunted by a vengeful ghost. Which, of course, is true. In a manner of speaking. 

“You’re not haunted, or vengeful, or even a ghost, really, as far as I can tell.” 

A tablecloth nearby folded itself, unfolded itself, folded itself again. He could almost imagine her standing there in person, fussing with the cloth with nervous hands. It would have driven them off all the same. Then she quickly added, So while I kept to myself, I still was with them through the generations, watching over the good days and the hard days, all the feasts and festivals, every wedding and every funeral. 

Reine took a swig of out-of-season apple cider. “And you talked to nobody during all of this?”

There was one, she said hesitantly. Prince Frider. Like you, he seemed unbothered  whether or not the castle was ‘haunted’. I think he would have listened to me, had I spoken.

“Would have?” 

The tablecloth stopped folding itself. He… passed away without warning one day. 

“I’m sorry,” Reine said. “This Frider, he was the only one?” 

The Brautz family soon left after his passing, and have never returned since. 

Reine worked his lips. In his line of work, you grew a keen ear for pieces of a story someone was leaving out. He suppressed the urge to press Kirtzel for it. If they had been servants in the underbelly of Hawksbluff, he would’ve yanked her into a side room and demanded the full accounting, using whatever tools available to extract that sweet, sweet gossip. Besides the inherent pleasure in indulging in others’ drama, it was also form of currency in the servant world of Hawksbluff. 

But he reminded himself of their third deal, gritted his teeth, and dropped the idea from his head. “Well, you can talk to me, at least. I’m on the hook as long as this snowstorm lasts.” 

So you are. 

His words had failed to lift her spirits. 

Dinner, however, was a happier affair. Kirtzel once again prepared a feast for one as she had the first night, and the food was as delicious as his nose had originally led him to believe. They exchanged more stories, which flowed more loosely—at least from Reine’s lips—with the wine she offered him with his meal. Two glasses in, he admitted to stealing one of Lord Hawksbluff’s horses for a midnight ride, all to impress a washer woman. 

“All in all, it was a success,” Reine explained. 

Indeed? 

“Successful in that I was not caught. Not so in wooing the fair lady.”

A few moments later, he pushed back from the dinner table, certain that his stomach was going to burst. “Gods, is this how the noble folk feel after a feast? I feel disgusting. Like a pig.” 

Kirtzel chuckled. Not all of them eat like you just did.

He snorted. “Can you blame me? The closest meal I’ve ever had like that was when I raided the Wintersday Feast leftovers one year.”

Hopefully this was better than that.

“It was. Thank you.”

He yawned, started to make his way towards the kitchen, heading for the flour sacks by force of habit. The door snapped shut in front of him. 

Where are you going? 

“To bed, if you don’t mind.” 

Oh, please don’t inflict the sacks on yourself again. There are plenty of beds to go around. 

He shrugged. “Well, if you insist.” 

She led him out of the dining room, up a winding stairwell, and into the guest wing of the castle. At the end of a dark hallway, two double doors opened, revealing a spacious bedroom, easily bigger than all the rest in the wing, complete with a plush bed, free-standing bath tub, gallery mirror, and its own sitting area with a hearth—already lit, of course. The windows faced out onto the valley, though he could see none of it in cold, blizzardy darkness outside. 

Reine knew from observation that this was the type of room the lord and lady gave the guests they liked the most. “You know I’m just a baker, right?” 

The room was available.

“The gang back at Hawksbluff would lose their minds if they knew about this.” 

Just don’t let it get to your head. The curtains over the windows tugged themselves shut. Now, before you ask, I have always upheld basic principles of privacy, and will turn my gaze away from this room. 

“That’s a luxury at Hawksbluff.” Reine lifted an eyebrow. “But anyway, how do I know you won’t peek?” 

Kirtzel paused a moment. Then: You’ll just have to take my word for it. Good night.

The double doors clattered shut, and Reine felt her presence slip away. 

At first, he wandered over to the bare desk in the room and took off his knapsack. In one drawer he placed all of his traveling supplies. In another he placed his paring knife, his old rolling pin, and the wooden hawk carving. He stared at that little hawk for awhile, then closed the drawer shut.

He settled into a chair by the fire and warmed himself. Then, when he was sure Kirtzel wasn’t watching—as sure as he could be, at least—he began searching the room. He checked underneath the bed, in the cushions of the couch, in the little cracks in the stone walls, in the back corner of a cupboard. Only when he pilfered beneath the mattress did he find what he was looking for. 

Another letter. 

He knew from experience that servants—those educated enough to read and write—exchanged these as surely as any scheming noble, and were always looking for places to hide them. Pleased that his knowledge had paid off, he sat down on a chair and read the note by firelight. It had fared worse than Lady K’s letter. Only the middle section of the note was legible. 

Go jump off the wall if you think I’m covering for you at the wedding tomorrow.  It’s going to be a living nightmare, dealing with Princess Jasnia and her every whim. Just yesterday, when they were putting up the new chandelier, Garen broke one of the crystals on accident. Jasnia had a man beat him within an inch of his life. 

The farther I’m away from that, the better. 

Mother always said this castle is more than just a stack of stones. Regardless of how much you believe, this is a special place to the Brautz family. Jasnia is just trampling over all of it. 

She’s going to get what’s coming to her. Just mark my words. 

Reine stared at the letter for longer than he ought’ve. He sighed, tossed the letter into the fire, and went to bed. 

———

Reine never thought he’d enjoy days full nothing but wandering and idle talk, but he soon found that he looked forward to his excursions with Kirtzel. 

Truly, he did not despise Hawksbluff Castle—just its people. In fact, as he explained to Kirtzel one day, one of his favorite things about his life there had been the early mornings required for baking. Especially if it involved running an errand across the castle. There was something enchanting about slipping through dark, echoey halls while the rest of the castle slept.  

So it was immensely satisfying for him to soak in Kirtzel’s many features at his own pace, and in broad quiet daylight to boot. Even better that she had allowed him to plunder the wardrobe in his room, where he’d found a sharp tunic and fine cloth pants, if a little dusty. Strolling the halls and grounds at his leisure, dressed richly with every need met—why, he felt like a king.  

They went to the castle’s very own theater—a small playhouse where Kirtzel lamented on how nobody had ever got the Huntsman’s line right at the end of Eternal Hunt. The ballroom was vast because enough space was needed for at least a hundred drunk people interlocking arms in dance. The indoor training yard was a place people could stay fit during the long winters, but also a playground for Brautz children. The gardens were actually backwards; the hedges should have been in the far corners, not up by the windows. The horns on the Brautz throne weren’t naturally red; they had been dyed to match the house colors. 

The more Reine saw of the castle, the more it was apparent that this place had been designed as a restful retreat rather than a defensive fortification. There was one guard barrack for all of the castle. Doors and passages opened wide and lazy, encouraging free flow of people; unlike Hawksbluff’s wings that could be sealed off like a prison block. 

Inevitably he learned the history of the castle—the history Kirtzel had presided over unseen. Not in grand, sweeping gestures, but in little stories of individual people. How the castle—how Kirtzel—had become a home to each and every one of them. Here was the exact spot Evella Brautz watched her children play in the gardens every day without fail. There was the dusty closet where a Brautz bastard had been sired, or so rumor told. This little rooftop was where Dallon came to cry whenever his parents yelled at him. 

Kirtzel knew so many of these people as intimately as a spouse, yet they had never known her. No surprise that she was an endless font of questions and trivia. She just wanted to talk. Not that he was complaining. This was far better than his original option of freezing to death.

The name WinterQueen had come from little Grenna, who had made it up when praying for protection from monsters under her bed. The Winter Queen had soon become the name the Brautzes used to refer to the ghost of the castle, who they’d believed could be far scarier than imagined monsters. 

So much so that they had named a suite of the castle after her. The same suite Princess Jasnia had apparently tried to use. They passed its old, rusting doors once on the tour, and Reine noted Kirtzel’s lack of comment. He had a feeling not to ask. 

And yet it gnawed at him. The questions. Gods! Why had the Brautzes abandoned this castle? What had happened at the wedding of Frida and Jasnia? They were linked somehow. He hadn’t been able to find any more letters, and the not knowing was driving him mad. 

These thoughts were in his head as Kirtzel led him across the grand reception hall one day—a lofty, spacious chamber that served as a gathering place for audiences, with passages leading directly to the chapel, throne room, ballroom, and theater. Dead center of this hall, Reine noticed the first real damage he had seen in the castle thus far. The wooden floor lay crushed and crumpled in a space about as big as a horse-drawn carriage. Even the stone beneath had buckled a bit. The air felt noticeably colder around this wound in the earth. 

“Gods, what happened here?” he said. 

Oh, that? It was an accident one day. 

“An accident? This looks like a someone catapulted a boulder right into the middle of the hall!” He glanced up. Directly above in the ceiling was a huge, crumbling hole. As if some fixture had once been there, long ago. 

“Kirtzel,” he dared, “Was there once a chandelier here?”

Perhaps. It doesn’t matter. 

“I’m curious—”

That’s enough, please. This is, as you called it, a ‘sensitive bit’.

Reine vented a long, deep breath, then nodded. “Alright.” 

———

On one day Reine looked out the window and noticed that the snowstorm had abated, the sun had returned, and the way down the mountain was probably clearing up. But why rush?  Prickly secrets aside, he enjoyed his time with Kirtzel in the castle and found he was in no hurry to leave. Better to play it safe and wait a bit longer. He mentioned as much to Kirtzel, who wholeheartedly agreed.

With no pressure to leave, Reine stopped keeping track of the days. Having exhausted the castle tour, they filled most of their time together in one lounge or another, talking and joking and exchanging stories while Reine sipped on coffee and warmed his feet at the hearth. One day Reine had the idea to snatch some books from the library and read to Kirtzel, something she’d never been able to experience. The next he rolled up his sleeves and tried his hand at baking old and new recipes. Another day he discovered a tool closet, which prompted him on a quest to clean, organize, or fix anything he could find—a quest that, the more he worked, the more it seemed never-ending. But the work was good, gave him something to do with his hands. And Kirtzel appreciated the effort, which made it all the more worthwhile.

He awoke one day to find hardly any snow on the ground at all, and he realized it had been weeks since the last heavy snowstorm. Or had it been months? He wasn’t sure anymore. One thing was clear, though. Winter, it seemed, had finally released its grip on the castle. The snow down the mountain road had melted, so there was no real excuse to overstay his welcome any longer. 

As it dawned on him that this was probably his last day, a strange remorse filled him. Not just because his time with Kirtzel was coming to an end, but because he knew he had to try at least one more time to get the truth. It wasn’t about the gossip anymore. He just wanted to know. Know why this woman was trapped by herself in a castle all alone. What was the harm? He was leaving anyway. 

He dressed himself for dinner that night with clothes Kirtzel had laid out for him, something she had started to do recently. Lacking even a single fashionable bone in his body, he was grateful for the pointers. Tonight’s outfit featured a blue and white frock coat and a mantle of wolverine fur. Dressed as such, he arrived in the dining room to see something completely unexpected. 

Kirtzel had set the table for two. 

“Joining for dinner tonight, are we?” he said with a grin. 

It’s a bit silly, I know. But I thought I’d do something, well, different on your last night here.  

Reine slid into his usual spot, feeling a pang of some strange pain as he glanced at the seat at the other end of the table, which was fully set and plated with everything in place except her. “Well, I’m grateful for the company.” 

They talked while he ate, as they had every night. But Kirtzel seemed to take some amount of pleasure in clattering around the cutlery alongside him. Buttering her bread, cutting her meat, stirring her soup—but never eating, of course. She even raised a wine glass at her end in toast with him. 

“I’d like to say something,” he said, towards the end of the dinner, when the hour drew late. 

Kirtzel was twisting a dinner napkin. Yes? 

Reine took a large gulp of wine, cleared his throat. “All this secrecy about the wedding here, it’s really funny.” 

Reine—

“It’s funny because once upon a time, yours truly almost had a wedding.” 

The napkin froze, then splayed out onto the table lifelessly. What? 

“It’s simple, short, and bitter, but that’s how these things usually go, don’t they?” 

Reine, there’s no need.

He soldiered on anyway. “It’s like this. Father passed away, left behind inheritance to me and my brother. Not much, but it was enough to get me started opening my own bakery, starting a family with my childhood sweetheart. But my brother drunkenly, stupidly, gambled it all away one night.” 

Kirtzel twirled part of the table cloth idly without response. Then: His share? Or yours? 

“Both.” Reine shook his head. “And when Mallie found out, she left. High price to pay, but I learned what type of people they were in a span of less than a day.”

I’m sorry, Reine. I don’t know what to say. 

“Don’t trouble yourself. My brother and former lover are still out there somewhere now, but it’s as I said. I have no family in Hawksbluff City. From there I went to Hawksbluff Castle and, well, you know the rest.” 

Kirtzel was still and silent for a few long moments. 

“Anyway,” Reine said, clapping his hands together. “I just thought you should know. Given that I’m leaving tomorrow.” 

Another long, considerate pause. Thank you for telling me. And then a moment later. But my secrets are my own. 

The words fell heavier on him than he’d expected. First, a flash of frustration. Then a lance of pain through his chest that seemed to trace right along the scar Mallie had made when she’d cleaved his heart in two. Truth be told, he didn’t even care about what had happened at this secret wedding anymore, but rather that Kirtzel lacked the trust to tell him. He’d been expecting it, yet still it stung. He’d told himself he would react calmly. 

He did precisely the opposite. 

“Why are you so stubborn?” he said. “I’m just trying to help you.” 

Now that’s a bit presumptive. Who said I needed help? 

“Look,” he said. “The more you talk to me, the more you remember things. For gods’ sake, you didn’t even know you were a Brautz when I first barged in here!” He tapped his temple. “What if talking about this wedding dusts off another memory? Maybe the one that’ll tell you who you truly are? Or how you became a castle?” 

You’re grasping at straws.

“Am I? Maybe if we know these things we could figure out out how to undo what happened to you!” 

What makes you think I want that? I have withstood the coldest winters, weathered the harshest storms, and spurned the greediest invaders. I am Castle Kirtzel, and I do not need saving!

“Nobody can last forever alone.” 

To this she had no reply. 

Reine held up his hands. “You know what? Fine. I’ll just leave it.” 

Is this why you told me your story? To get mine? 

“Not entirely.” 

There’s another reason?

“It’s not important anymore.” 

Tell me. 

Reine glanced down at his plate, washed down his pride with another gulp of wine. “Because it’s just another way of saying that Hawksbluff City isn’t my home anymore. Neither is Hawksbluff Castle. Nowhere is. A home is what I’ve been looking for all this time.” 

Then I wish you the best of luck in your search. 

It was like a slap to the face. He hadn’t even asked, yet she’d killed the idea with several words. Something about the cold premonition rattled his heart in his chest, threatening to split all over again. He nodded slowly, fighting back a cringe and a bit of heat creeping into his neck. “Sure,” he snapped. “Well, I’d better get to bed then.”

Yes, best you do. 

“Thanks for dinner.” 

Of course. It’s only polite. 

———

Kirtzel was nowhere to be found on the morning of his departure. She had prepared breakfast as usual and the hearth blazed in the corner, but otherwise she had vanished. She did not respond when he called out for her, either. So he ate breakfast in silence, glancing out at the painfully clear blue sky over the valley. 

Returning to his room, he gathered his things for the road—travel supplies, the paring knife, the old rolling pin, the wooden hawk carving. He tried calling for Kirtzel again. Nothing. She had left no clothes out for him, so he assumed none were for the taking and dressed himself in his old, ragged traveling clothes. This had a depressingly pointed way of bringing him back down to reality. To the wandering vagabond he was. How foolish he had styled himself a king. 

He considered leaving something behind. That’s what noble families had done—most of them, anyway—after staying at Hawksbluff, as a token of appreciation. He didn’t really have anything to give, though. A letter? What could he say that already hadn’t been said over the time he’d spent here? Best not to complicate things. 

On his way to the front door he passed by the old, stiff doors of the Winter Queen’s suite. He stopped in front of it, noting the filth encrusting its hinges. The patches of decay and discolor in the wood. The flaking rust on the handles. 

A single keyhole gaped at him. It was probably locked. Not that this could stop him. He had picked many a lock in his time at Hawksbluff. If he wanted to, he could force his way inside, and had a few good ideas on what he might find inside. Gods, it was tempting. He reached into his knapsack and pulled out a lock pick. His hands twitched with the desire to just dive in. 

No.  

He was better than this. Kirtzel had been good to him when scant few had in his life. She had sheltered him, fed him, clothed him. Not only that, she had lifted him into something akin to kinghood over his time here. Maybe they were prickly about a few things with each other, but other than that? Well. Whatever he and Kirtzel had, it was the purest thing he’d found in this world, and he wouldn’t tarnish it. Even if he had to leave it all behind.

He tucked the lock pick into his pocket and took a step back. 

Wait, Kirtzel said suddenly. 

Reine jumped. “Agh! There you are. You scared me.” 

Not entirely intentional. Her voice grew serious again. Don’t go. I want you to open this door. 

“What?”

I’ve been thinking on what you said last night at our dinner. 

“So you want me to open the Winter Queen’s suite? Your suite.” 

Yes.

Reine frowned. “But why me?”

 I have never been able to see or control this door or the room within.. But you—you could open it for me. 

Reine had a few guesses why. He brought out the lockpick. “Are you sure?” 

If I do not do this now, then I fear I will never get another chance. 

Reine nodded. “As you wish.”  

He worked at the lock with a knife and pick and, after few well-placed pushes with his tools, the door clicked open. 

Reine took a candle that Kirtzel had lit nearby and walked in. The first thing he noticed was a thick layer of dust covering every surface. This, combined with the particular way things had been arranged—the potted plants in a neat row on the window sill, the books and papers stacked neatly on the writing desk, the jug of wine on the sitting table, the yawning doors of the wardrobe, and the loose scarlet dress flung across the bed—gave the room a feeling that it hadn’t been touched since the day the Winter Queen had died. Indeed, as if the Brautzes had kept this room exactly as it had been, had sealed it off to preserve it this way. 

“Feel like home?” he asked, to no response. 

He wandered over to the writing desk, where a single journal lay in the center, accompanied by a solidified inkwell. Reine flipped open the journal—blank except for a single entry on the first page. He read it aloud so that Kirtzel could hear, too. 

Diary dearest: 

We moved into Castle Kirtzel last week, but today it truly becomes home. The soulstone chandeliers are being installed as I write this. Can you believe it? Not one, but two soulstone chandeliers! Commissioned by my very own lord husband for our anniversary. They say soulstones fall from the heavens, landing in the sands to the south. Some even claim they possess some measure of magic, but that is only hearsay. Their true value comes from their sheer beauty, how they can collect sunlight during the day and glow at night. 

I’m most excited for the great one going up in the reception hall. The architect says it will be ready before the end of the day! Oh, I can hardly wait to see it in all its glory. I shall rush down the moment they send word.

The diary was unsigned. 

Birna, she said.

“What?” 

Birna. Those words. . . I remember! Those words belonged to Birna. To me. 

Reine pushed away from the desk. “Lady Birna Brautz.” 

Yes. Yes! That was my name! The dress on the bed suddenly flung itself to the side, as if yanked and tossed, while the sheets rustled excitedly. This all kicked up a cloud of suffocating dust.

“Easy!” Reine said, coughing and swatting at the air. “Take it slow!”

That was it. My name! Oh, gods, it’s all returning to me. 

Eyes stinging and lung burning, Reine rushed over to the window and flung it open. The air was bitter cold, but he welcomed its clarity, swallowing big chestfuls before returning to the room. 

“What’s returning?” he asked.

The chandelier, Reine. The soulstone chandelier! I remember now. My last memory as Birna. Looking up at the soulstone chandelier from below, at its otherworldly glimmers. And then, a crumbling, breaking sound, and suddenly all those lights were falling towards me… 

Coughing and sniffling, Reine sat down on one of the couches that faced a wide standing mirror that had fogged up with age. “So, what are you saying? The chandelier fell and crushed your spirit into the very foundation of the castle?”

The soulstones, she said, which all must have shattered on the impact.

“You really think that’s what happened?” 

I have no better explanation. 

And that was when it all clicked. 

“Your husband. He didn’t replace the chandelier, did he?”

No, of course not.

“None of the Brautzes ever did.”

No. 

“Not until Princess Jasnia.” 

A pause, and with it came an inflection of fear in her voice. How do you know about Jasnia?

“I, well, found some letters.” 

You didn’t tell me? 

“I didn’t want to pry further.” He scratched his chin. “Look, this Jasnia—she installed a new chandelier in the reception hall before her wedding, didn’t she? Against the will of the Brautzes, even as she slandered them behind their backs.”

She was awful, Reine. But I shouldn’t have done it. 

He froze. Almost too afraid to ask. “Done what?” 

I don’t want to say. 

“You can tell me.” 

A long, cold silence fell between them, before at last Kirtzel spoke up. It was the same thing that happened to me, Reine. Only this time, it wasn’t an accident. 

Reine took a deep breath, blew it out through his teeth. Some part of him had known she’d been involved, somehow, which was probably why he wasn’t reeling with shock. As he sat there, turning this revelation over in his head, his eye caught a flicker of movement. 

He looked up in the mirror and saw the dark and vague outline of a woman walk into view. He glanced to the side, but there was nobody there in the room with him. She remained in the mirror all the same. The glass was too old and foggy for him to make out any details, except that she wore a dress and a horned crown in the Brautz style he had seen in paintings. 

In the mirror, the figure of Kirtzel sat on a chair across from him. Reine shifted his gaze back and forth between the glass and the empty seat. 

I’m sorry.

“Don’t need to apologize to me.” 

I know. But I feel like it ought to be said. Jasnia will never hear it.

“You mean she’s dead dead? If the same thing happened to her, why isn’t she here with you? Castle only has room for one?”

Her chandelier was not of soulstone. So she died, along with Frider when he jumped in, vainly, to try and save her.

“Gods.” 

The figure of Kirtzel lowered her head. The same death in the same spot. Everyone thought the spirit of the Winter Queen was taking her vengeance…and they were right.

“And that’s why they left.” 

I regret it to this very day. 

“Why wait this long to tell me?” 

 It’s not exactly something I’m proud of. And I didn’t… I didn’t want to scare you off. As I’m sure you’re considering now. 

Reine squinted at the figure of Kirtzel. “This Jasnia abused the castle servants, trampled on your family’s memory of you, and seemed set on conquering this home for herself.” 

That’s not an excuse for murder.

“Didn’t say it was. Just that I understand why you did it. Probably would have made the same decision in your place.”

It seemed the Kirtzel’s figure was staring right at him. You’re really not going to run off? 

“It was ages ago, and I didn’t know any of these people. Doesn’t really change how I see things.” No more time to beat around the bush, like last night. “Look, I like being here, and not just because I get to play at king. I’m happy. Happier than I’ve been in a long while. I don’t know how else to put it. I want to stay, damn it.” 

She said nothing at first. The figure rose, walked over to the open window, gazed out onto the bright world beyond. Gods, I don’t think I can do it. 

“What do you mean?” Reine asked. 

The figure turned to face him straight on. By the time I became conscious as a castle, many years had passed. My lord Brautz had already passed away from old age. I never even got to say goodbye. I hardly remember him now, not even his face. 

“I’m sorry,” Reine said. 

And it has been this way ever since. Within my walls I have watched countless people grow, change, and journey through their lives. I’ve watched them snatch blissful victories, shoulder crushing defeats, fall in love, and start their own families. I outlived each and every one, and it never got easier. Don’t you see? If you stay, Reine, I will just be committing myself to more sickness of the heart. Your day will come, too, and I will have to live it all over again. 

Reine stared at his feet. She was right, of course. “So you would have me leave, then. Continue on to Merchant’s Bay, where I have no friends, family, prospects, or even a home. Where in all likelihood it will just be the same problems but in different city. What kind of future is that? That, instead of this?”

Reine, please. 

He leapt to his feet. “You can’t ask me to just forget I ever came here. To leave you behind!” 

I will be fine.

“No you will not. I want to stay, Kirtzel. For me and for you.”

She drifted over to his couch and sat down next to him. When he sat down as well, she leaned against his shoulder. Even though the space next to him was empty. I don’t want you to leave either, Reine. But I can’t bear the pain. Not again. Not with you. 

“So you don’t want me to stay, while I don’t want to leave. What are we supposed to do, then? Is there no other option?” Even as these words left his mouth, his eyes caught the faint glow of something above, up amongst the vaulted ceiling and its rafters.

The second soulstone chandelier. 

It hung by a chain in the ceiling, great iron bands studded with clear blue soulstones, like crystalline crowns stacked on top of each other. Dust clung to it. All made perfect sense, of course. The letter had spoken of two chandeliers. Birna must have installed this smaller one in her own private quarters, which had then been left untouched through the ages. Perfectly preserved, as potent as the day the other one had crashed down. It was about half the size, but Reine thought it could still do the job.

“What if there was a third way?” he asked.

Kirtzel saw where he was looking, immediately latched onto his meaning. Are you a madman, Reine? 

“Only if I leave this place behind.” 

I can’t ask you to do this. I will not.

“You’re not asking me. This was my idea.”

You’re—

“Kirtzel,” he said, patting a hand on his chest. “this is something I want to do. Stands to reason that if we repeat the same event with a soulstone chandelier—”

This isn’t some bloody baking recipe, Reine! We don’t know if it’ll even work!

“I’m willing to find out, if you are. It’s better than all the alternatives.” 

But—

“How many ways do I have to say it?” Reine said. “This place has become a home. You have become a home for me. I found what I was looking for. Can’t you understand? The journey’s over. I don’t need to go on.” 

Kirtzel rose from her spot, drifting around the room, hovering over different spots that clearly were evoking more memories. I don’t know what will happen. 

“That’s fine by me.” Reine went over to the desk, removing from his pack the last of his real belongings: the paring knife, the old rolling pin, the little wooden hawk carving. He arranged them next to Birna’s diary. 

What are you doing? 

“I don’t know, but it feels right,” he said. “Not like I’m going to need these anymore anyway, if we go through with this.” 

We don’t know if this will work!

“As long as we’re together, we’ll figure it out.” 

In the reflection, the figure glanced back and forth between him and the belongings. Are you sure, Reine? 

“Never been more sure of something in my life.” 

Kirtzel came over to him and touched his arm, which in real life felt like the bat of a butterfly wing against his skin. She led him over to the spot beneath the second and last soulstone chandelier. Reine gazed up at it, then decided it was probably best not to watch. 

You would join me, then. 

“I would.”

You sure you like me this much? 

Reine faced the mirror, where he could see Kirtzel standing there, slightly away from him. “Could ask the same of you.” 

He could’ve sworn he saw the ghost of Kirtzel smile back at him. 

Then there was a tremor, followed by the sound of crumbling stone and debris, and finally the jingling of crystals rattling in free fall. 

Reine smiled back and closed his eyes.