The Castle on the Hill, Ch. 1

The Beacon Across the Way

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Among the villagers of the Misty Valley, everyone wondered at the Castle in the Clouds. Majestic and grand with her high flying buttresses, walls of marble white, and towers that reached so high even the tallest of these folk had to crane far back to see their red pointed roofs, it looked as though it was pulled from a children’s fable. Indeed, none who lived in the valley were more captivated by it than its children.

Nearly every day, legions of young people would stop to stare at the mythic structure as they played or did their chores. They’d play and they’d wonder, who lives there? Surely the Royal Family, but what are they like? And who built this castle which sits so solidly upon softly billowing clouds? Perhaps the legendary giants, who were long gone from this world. Or perhaps it was put there by the power of old magics which they could scarcely hope to comprehend even in their wildest imaginings. Yes, that grandiose castle stood in the minds of each and every valley denizen that laid eyes upon it, no matter their age.

All except for one.

Katrine Bertoli-Dunajoux lived in a stately house nestled in the slopes of the valley’s southwest bank. A pretty young woman of fair complexion, with emerald eyes and hair the color of golden wheat, she spent much of her time dressed in a plain frock of brown and white with a heavy leather apron hanging about her neck, sitting by a tall vaulted window down in the cellar. Much of this time was spent macerating grapes for juice destined to become robust red wines or preparing herbs and spices either to be dried and stored, or ground into fine powders or pastes for use in the kitchen two rooms over.

Seeing her, one would be forgiven for mistaking her as just another servant girl in the house of a wealthy merchant or lesser aristocrat. In reality, she was the third daughter to Count Giancarlo Bertoli-Dunajoux, a wealthy nobleman who oversaw the production of the wheat farms and wineries along the southwest bank. He’d married her mother, Annalise Dunajoux, some seven years before she was born, and in that time they’d produced seven children in all - her older siblings Giancarlo III, Janette, Myla, and Eduard; and her younger siblings Delilah and the baby Josef. All of them, as would be expected, were brought up under the auspices of a noble upbringing. Her brothers were to be taught the various aspects of the family trade as well as being trained in combat and taught the importance of the chivalric code, that they might honorably take up arms to serve the Royal Family should the need ever arise. She and her sisters, on the other hand, were educated in the ways of the court and courtship, as well as numerous lessons in statecraft. Among those who lived under the shadow of the Castle in the Clouds, noble men and women alike were expected to engage in matters of state.

And it was in this way that Katrine stood out as odd amongst the other members of her family. Naturally, each of the Bertoli-Dunajoux children had their own preferences and interests within the lessons they were taught, but only Katrine eschewed almost all engagement with the studies of statecraft or courtship. (Though, she was willing to admit she quite enjoyed the good food and lovely dresses she got to wear when Mother dragged her out to court.) Instead, she found her interest lay more in Father’s side of the business, particularly the winemaking. But even more than that, she took after her grandfather, Giancarlo Bertoli Sr. and his long running interest in alchemy.

That was how she managed to secure this long unused room in the cellar. Despite vehement protest from Mother, Father couldn’t help but be moved when Katrine expressed interest in learning more about Grandpapa’s work. So he resisted Mother’s lashing tongue and relented, on the condition that she also allow him to teach her the family’s fine art of winemaking.

Yet, even as Katrine absentmindedly scraped the skins off of a recent delivery of fresh ginger root - the winter season was coming, and she wanted to have her spices ready so family and house staff alike could stave off the cold months with plenty of warm mulled wine - the arts of her predecessors were the furthest things from her mind. Rather, she stared out her vaulted window, watching the clouds beneath the castle drift down the long slopes of the Misty Valley’s mountainous border. What would it be like, she wondered as she stared, to live on one of those wheat farms, or to work the fields of grapes each year? She’d never have to get her hands dirty with any of that, not as a Bertoli-Dunajoux. That was work for the serfs and the field staff, far outside her purview as a young aristocrat, no matter how odd she may be.

Yet it presented a life very different from her own, and as such, she couldn’t help but be a little curious about it all. What did peasant children get up to during their days? What about their parents? Was work all they ever did outside of mealtimes during the day, or did they have at least a little bit of freedom for leisure? The Misty Valley was a prosperous place for many. How did that reflect in the lives of the common man?

She stared and thought about this some more, not realizing her hands had stopped until a little bit of ginger juice seeped into a small cut in her finger she didn’t know she had. Hissing at the unexpected sting, she set her knife and the length of ginger down and sucked at the finger. It smelled and tasted just a bit spicy. Then she wiped her finger against her apron and was about to set upon her task again when her knife clattered to the floor and slid under her table.

“Of course I’d set it too close to the edge,” Katrine sighed. She rose, and the legs of her chair groaned as they slid against the stone floor. Then she knelt down, snatched her knife from under the table, and set it back next to the ginger so it wouldn’t fall again as she rose up.

However, as she rose, a familiar sight caught her eye. It sat amongst the mountain slopes across the way, nestled atop a squat cliff face on the northwest bank. A second castle, one that nobody but her ever seemed to notice or talk about, constantly distracted as they were by the colossal glory of the Castle in the Clouds. To Katrine, that made this place far more fascinating.

The castle across the way was considerably smaller than the gargantuan edifice that stole the imaginations of the valley folk. Featuring just a few towers and a similarly red roof, this castle was twice, maybe thrice the size of her family’s home? Impressive, to be sure, given the spaciousness and scope of their own estate, but utterly dwarfed by the Castle in the Clouds. Like her home its walls were constructed of granite blocks, mostly sandy brown in color, but unlike her home the castle sat atop the entirety of that squat cliff on the northwest bank. That cliff marked the start of the Misty River, which both flowed through and gave the valley its name. Its water flowed out from under the castle’s foundation then fell over the cliffside, bisected into twin falls by a long stone which jutted out from beneath the castle’s foundation.

The more Katrine stared, the more she wondered why nobody seemed to show even the most scant interest in that place. To her, that comparably quaint castle was far more beautiful and mysterious than the opulent Castle in the Clouds. Being situated where it was, the smaller castle not only gave off the appearance of being the source of the Misty River falls, but was frequently shrouded in the rolling vapors of its much larger cousin. Where the Castle in the Clouds was always visible no matter where in the valley you were, the one across the way could only be seen on warm days where the shroud of clouds burned away or when the breeze moved it just right. In some areas, she wagered, you’d probably never see it. A hidden mystery, masked by the colossus which so wholly commanded everyone’s attention. The Castle in the Clouds couldn’t hope to produce a more enticing sense of wonder than that.

The creak of her door knocked her from her reverie. Katrine spun ‘round in her chair with a start with a hand clutched against her breast, only for it to fall away with a sigh when she saw Father.

“Forgive me, sweeting. I didn’t mean to startle you,” he said. “Are you still working on the spices for the winter wine?”

Father was a handsome man, even with the creases of age lining his cheeks and brow. Tall and sharp-featured, he had a strong jawline and dressed and groomed himself impeccably. He kept his long black hair combed back and lightly greased to give it a lustrous shine and ensure that no single strand was out of place. At the nape of his neck, he tied what he couldn’t reasonably grease with a ribbon of red, forming it into a stallion tail that hung down to just below his shoulder blades. A pencil thin moustache and neatly trimmed beard accentuated his sharp and swarthy features, from which glimmered a pair of brilliant emerald green eyes, the only physical trait of his that Katrine inherited.

She sat back in her chair and let out a soft sigh. “Yes, Papa,” she said, finally resuming her cleaning of the ginger root.

“May I join you?” he asked, extending a white gloved hand out to motion to a second chair pushed into a nearby corner. His long red cloak, the same dark rouge as the ribbon in his hair, made a surprisingly noisome flutter in the quiet cellar room as it fell back from his shoulder and revealed his ruffled white silk shirt and a pair of maroon breeches which were baggy at the thighs and tight about his calves. A pair of finely polished black shoes with gold buckles completed his ensemble.

Katrine eyed him up and down. “Join me in grinding spices?” she asked, nonplussed and giggling. “You’ll mess your silks, Papa! Mother will lose her mind!”

“Ah, she already is,” he groaned. Katrine marveled at how similar he sounded to the groan his chair made as he pulled it out of the corner “Still harps on me for how much time you spend down here. I try to explain to her that your passion for this will be good for our family, that my mother adored helping my father with his work and that the first wine we ever produced was her doing. Alas…”

Katrine shrugged and wiped the damp shreds of ginger skin off the table and into a bucket on the floor. “Mama’s a traditionalist,” she said. “And she’s Riverran. You know how stubborn we can be.”

Father laughed heartily. “That is true, and praise be to that very stubbornness!” he said. “Were it not for your own streak in that, you and I wouldn’t get to share in all of this, eh?”

He opened his hands wide, motioning to the small room around them, before he started removing his gloves.

“Maybe,” Katrine said with another shrug as she sliced up the aromatic golden root. “I still don’t think Mama would’ve listened if you hadn’t talked with her, though.”

“It was both of us,” he replied. Now he tucked the gloves into the waist of his pants and reached for the second apron that hung nearby. “Trust me, Katrine. If you hadn’t stood your ground after I talked with her, she’d never have agreed to it.”

She’d have to take his word on that. Mother never seemed to respond well to any sort of stubbornness from her daughters. Myla was the worst of them, the most rebellious by far, but Mother still seemed to be far more bothered by Katrine’s disinterest in statecraft and courting than any of the nonsense Myla got up to.

A sudden breeze pushed through the open window and Katrine’s long, golden hair blew across her face. She rasped and frantically brushed it away, sticking out her tongue with a “yuck!” as some of it slipped between her lips into her mouth. Father guffawed all the while, pulling a mortar and pestle out from a nearby rack as she narrowed her eyes at him.

“Yes, yes, it’s all very funny,” she grumbled, resting her cheek on her closed fist as she pouted and stared out the window.

Father apologized between his bells of laughter, but Katrine didn’t pay mind to them. That breeze had moved the veil of clouds further off the castle across the way, and as she looked out she could’ve sworn she saw a flicker of light in one of the arrowslits beneath the east tower parapets. She frowned and leaned forward, trying to spot it again, but she couldn’t see it. Maybe it was a trick of the midafternoon light? The sun did tend to lower early this late in autumn and it already started to paint the valley in hues of gold.

No, it wasn’t a trick! She saw it again, in the same tower, one level further down. Then, shortly after, a third time and another level down! The glimpses were brief, nor more than a second each, but in the near complete darkness of those narrow slits she was certain of what she’d seen. Something, or maybe someone, was moving around inside that castle, a sight which she’d never beheld before. She leaned against the wide granite sill of her window, ignoring the bluster that whipped her hair as she poked her head out in a vain attempt at a closer look. Would she see it again? If so, where? The eastern tower stood at the fore of the castle looking out over the cliff and the valley but there were few windows along its path. What few were there were small, and their glass could easily reflect the slowly descending sun. Plus it was entirely possible they had their draperies drawn, so there was no guarantee that she’d-

For a second time today she clutched at her breast as a start caught breath in her throat. Falling back in her chair, she let out a long breath as she realized that the thing which grabbed at her wrist was Father.

“Are you alright, Katrine?” he asked.

There was concern in his voice, and worry on his face. Why? She looked up at him quizzically. “I’m fine, Papa,” she said, and she pointed out the window. “I was just looking at-”

“Are you sure?” he interrupted, kneeling down so they could look each other level in the face. “I called your name thrice. It was as if you didn’t even know I was there.”

Three times? She hadn’t even heard him once. Shaking her head, she took Father’s hand in both of hers. “I’m sorry, Papa,” she said. “I was distracted by the castle.”

“Ah yes, the Castle in the Clouds,” he said knowingly, and relief washed over his features. “It’s understandable that you’d be taken by its magnificence. I sometimes find myself wondering at it throughout my days.”

Katrine shook her head, slower this time than before. “No, not that one,” she said, and she pointed out the window to the cliffs opposite them.

Father followed her gaze and cocked a curious eyebrow. “That old place? Whatever for?”

“Curiosity.” She shrugged as she spoke. “I’ve always wondered about that castle. Who lives there, why it sits so close to the Castle in the Clouds, and what might be happening in there when it’s hidden behind that misty shroud.”

“Perhaps you missed your true calling as a poet,” Father joked, but he relented when Katrine pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes at him. “I understand the allure, my darling, but that old place has been abandoned since before I was born. If there are secret things happening in there, then they’re of the sort kept by rats, bats, spiders, and flies.”

“Maybe you should’ve been the poet,” Katrine grumbled dourly, her cheek squishing up against her fist as she leaned back against the table. So much for her fantasies.

Father placed a reassuring hand on each shoulder and gave both a gentle squeeze. “I understand the desire to fantasize, Katrine. I did it quite a lot myself as a boy. Dreams of adventure, of slaying dragons and saving lovely damsels and my name going into the history books and the songs sung in taverns and inns.”

Katrine turned about to face him, slipping a shoulder free from his grip as she did. “But you actually got to do that,” she said pointedly. “You got to have your adventure and rescue the damsel and all of it.”

He held up a finger to silence her, a simple but firm gesture that never failed to command her obedience and attention. “I saved your mother from highwaymen and brigands, not dragons,” he said softly, kneeling down so that they’d once again be able to look at each other on an even keel. “And it wasn’t in the midst of adventure, but in service to the Queen’s army. Katrine, you’re seventeen years, now. I was two years younger than you are now when I was forced to put those fantastic notions to bed. I saw the bleak reality of what my fantasies were actually like. Yours I’ve let go on because they weren’t nearly so dangerous. In fact, they’ve been good for us, both as father and daughter and for our family.”

He stood upright again and faced the window. His long red cloak billowed lightly in the strengthening late day wind. “Your dreams of becoming an alchemist like your grandfather, or a talented winemaker like myself and your grandmother? Those are attainable, and you get better at them with each day you practice them. But fantasies about those that lived in the castle across the way? They’re just that, flights of fancy. The place has long been derelict. I know how it looks from the outside, but within it’s old and broken, falling apart. Not the kind of place you need concern yourself with.”

“How do you know, though?” she asked. “How can you be sure there’s nothing there?”

“Because I’ve seen it,” Father said. “My father showed me when I was a boy.”

Father went on to describe what he saw. It largely matched with what he’d already said about the place being derelict and disheveled, with its interior laying largely in ruins and its rear walls basically gone. Katrine trusted his words. Father had always been honest with her. He’d always been with all of his children, it was one of his finest virtues. But she couldn’t rid herself of the feeling that there was more to it than this. That her fantasies were more than just mere flights of fancy. After all, if nothing and no one were in there, then what was that light she’d seen? No bat or rat would be carrying a lantern or torch to light their way amongst the darkened ruins, and she was still very sure that what she’d seen wasn’t a trick of the light or a mere illusion.

But this was neither the time nor place to carry on this argument. She relented, then turned in her seat to face the table and started to pack the ginger she’d sliced into a small jar. They still had many more spices to prepare for the mulling mix - cinnamon, clove, mace, nutmeg, and yet more ginger - before they’d have enough ready to store for use across the winter season. So they set to work, each of them taking a knife to peel and slice length after knobbly length of ginger root. And as they worked they talked of winemaking and her grandparents and the promising nature of this year’s winter blend, which Father always made with less expensive varietals or the crops that yielded too little to fill the casks for proper aging.

Alas, their time together proved short. After little more than thirty minutes, Janette peeked through the door with a knock. Of Katrine’s sisters, Janette was the one who most took after her father, sharing his same dark hair and olive complexion, but with their mother’s rich brown eyes, slightly round features, and waves to her hair.

“Mother wants to see you,” Janette said, speaking with a harsh whisper that carried a hefty sense of concern.

Father gave an overly dramatic sigh and rose from his seat. “Ah, well. It was a nice break while it lasted,” he chuckled, playing up the mock desire to be apart from his wife.

But that joking demeanor of his was short lived as Janette looked his way and shook her head.

“Not you, Father, her.” She tilted her chin up at Katrine as she spoke, then continued when she once more faced her younger sister. “Mother has someone she wants you to meet, and you need to look presentable for him.”

Both Katrine and her Father felt the mood in the room sink. Katrine, of course, could feel it for herself. For her Father, the giveaway was in the way he set his jaw and pressed his lips into a tight, thin line. They both knew what Mother had in store for her, a suitor. She was of that age, after all. Beyond it, arguably speaking, especially considering that Janette’s engagement was finalized when she was a year younger than Katrine was now. Even the raucous Myla managed to get engaged by the time she was seventeen, though that marriage never came to fruition with how virulently she and her would-be husband despised each other. Between that and Katrine’s insistence on throwing herself into the work Father permitted her, to say nothing of still working to raise Delilah and the baby, she knew that Mother viewed them both as thorns in her side these days.

Before she’d even risen from her chair, Janette pushed her way in and spirited Katrine out of her cellar room. Within moments they were upstairs, and within fewer moments than that the young woman found herself standing in her bedroom with her oldest sister at her back and Mother looking down at her with a sense of sternness in her eyes that was oddly frantic. As if to confirm exactly that, before Janette had so much as closed the bedroom door, much less before Katrine could get a word out about what was going on, Mother snapped her fingers and no less than five handmaids swarmed her.

 “Get her changed and made up, quickly,” Mother said, the normally musical lilt in her voice completely absent. In fact, she almost sounded scared.

“Mother, what’s going - Ow!” Katrine winced and whined as the two girls frenetically working to style her hair pulled it while the other three stripped that plain dress off of her.

“What is this?!” she finally barked as they shoved her down into a chair in nothing but her loose fitted and lacy smallclothes.

“Your duty,” Mother replied with sharp finality. “You’ve spent enough time playing with your Father’s vials and alembics downstairs. You’ve a sutor to meet, that Tarnesian boy from the southeastern bend.”

The Tarnesians were another of the valley’s noble families, one of lower status than their own. They were originally herders and dairy farmers before one of their ancestors earned title when he served with distinction in Her Majesty’s army many generations past. It was one of those stories that every aristocratic family in the valley knew, chiefly because the Tarnesians never seemed to shut up about it. Katrine was not looking forward to this, as the grimace on her face made evident.

“You wipe that look off your face!” Mother snapped. “You and Myla both have been difficult enough about this as it is! You’re seventeen, Katrin. It’s well past time you started seeing suitors, and Paul is a fine young man.”

That name drew an audible groan from Katrine. “Mother, Paul is an incomparable bore!” she whined.

“Then you two should get along wonderfully,” Mother quipped back.

Katrine’s cheeks flushed red with heat. She wondered if it showed through the powdery white makeup the handmaids were patting across her face. Based on how warm she felt, it probably did.

“That isn’t fair, Mother,” she said, her own voice now matching her Mother’s stern. “I’ve been working hard for this family. Papa has-”

“What isn’t fair is how your Father has allowed you to undermine your duties to this house!”

Mother’s words came so sharply, so loud, that not only did they startle the handmaids into a moment of pause, but they drew a quiet rebuttal from Janette as well. “Please, not so loud, Mother,” she said, nodding toward the door. “And maybe not so harsh, either?”

That proved a mistake on Janette’s part, though it was one that Katrine did appreciate. Mother, however, was far less amenable to that suggestion. Spinning so swiftly on the heels of her fine white shoes that they made her long blonde hair and the bell of her emerald dress flare like green and gold fire, she pointed a disciplining finger right in Janette’s face.

“Do not lecture me, Janette,” she hissed. “You haven’t had to suffer the embarrassment of raising two full grown women who’ve all but ruined their marriage prospects with their refusal to grow out of their adolescent whimsy!”

To her great credit, Janette neither flinched nor let her own frustration build and boil over the way Mother had just done. Instead, she took Mother’s hand within hers and said with a soft, reassuring smile, “I understand, Mother, but composure must be kept. We don’t want Paul to hear all this ruckus.” She paused a moment, then gave Mother’s hand a gentle squeeze. “Let me handle Katrine. I’ll see to it she’s made presentable within the hour. In the meantime, perhaps you and Father can entertain the Tarnesians?”

For a moment, Katrine suspected Mother would refuse, but Janette always was the best of them when it came to understanding and practicing her teachings. With a long and deep breath, Mother relented.

“You’re right, Janette,” she said. “That was highly unbecoming of me. You’ll take care with your sister, though, yes? I want no mishaps.”

“Only the best care, Mother.”

With another deep breath, Mother nodded. Katrine could tell that she was struggling to squish down her uncertainties, but she soon left the room to find Father all the same. That left Katrine alone with her sister and the five handmaids who continued their frenetic preparations right up until Janette gave a single clap of her hands to stop them in their tracks.

“There will be none of this hecticness,” she told them firmly. “We’re here to make my dear sister presentable for a young suitor, not paint her like a jester for the Queen’s amusement. We will work quickly and efficiently, and that includes you, too, Katrine.”

Janette looked pointedly at her as she said that. Katrine set her jaw and huffed quietly through her nose. Her eyes were turned away from her sister’s, but she nodded her assent regardless. With that assent, the work began in earnest. Janette took the lead in preparing Katrine’s makeup, starting with cleaning off the over-applied layers of powder she’d just had caked onto her face. Then she began her much more delicate approach, perfectly in line with the Riverran style. An accentuation of Katrine’s high cheekbones. A touch of blush to the cheeks to make her appear demure. Some shadow around the eyes to give a touch of allure and draw attention to her naturally long lashes and those beautiful green irises she inherited from Father.

As she worked, the handmaids combed and wove braids into her hair, styling it up and winding two of the braids across her hairline to create the effect of a crown. Then they pinned a lovely jeweled chain into her hair. The chain was of fine silver and when pinned it hung in a pair of low arcs across her brow. Three sapphire teardrop gems hung from the pins as well; one just before each of her temples, and one just above the center of her forehead. This was then paired with what was the finest dress she’d ever seen. Silken and pale blue, the dress was trimmed in the finest white lace and threaded with gold, while the bodice was laced and studded with pearls and tied in the back with ribbon to match the thread.

Come the end of the hour Janette dismissed the handmaids and brought Katrine to the standing mirror at the back of her room. Even in spite of her disdain for this ordeal, she had to admit that the dress and herself were both beautiful. Her sister agreed, saying that she’d be a perfect fit at a royal banquet, at least where her looks were concerned. The attitude would still need to be worked on, but that could be tackled later so long as Katrine did her part tonight.

“You truly do look wonderful,” Janette said as she gave Katrine a gentle hug. Katrine didn’t return the gesture. She felt stiff and uneasy, not for the dress because that was fitted perfectly, but for the situation. “Now wait here. I’ll be back to fetch you in a moment, I just need to make sure they’re ready to receive us.”

And Katrine did wait. As Janette left and shut the door behind her, Katrine stared at herself in that mirror. As long as she did her part tonight, Janette had said. Then what? Well, then she’d begin her courtship with that great bore, Paul Tarnesian. A courtship which she had no interest in, for a duty which she had no desire to fulfill. Why couldn’t Mother just listen to Papa? Why couldn’t the stubborn Riverran woman be more open to the Bergosian approach that was his tradition? Their way allowed for Grandmother and Grandfather to work together as one! They taught all their children the family trade, not just their sons, and it was clear that Papa wanted to do the same with her ever since she first showed interest!

But in Riverre, noble women didn’t work the family businesses. Theirs were the duties of courtship, motherhood, and statecraft alongside their husbands. Katrine wasn’t unfond of the first two. In fact, she still dreamed of being a mother one day, but she wanted the freedom to choose who she got to be with the same as her own parents had. She didn’t wish to be forced into some arrangement with a family that was fishing for dowry and shared influence in the valley.

She stepped over to her window and sank into the plush black and gold lounge that was pushed up against it. With both arms draped over the sill, she looked out into the golden light of the Misty Valley’s slowly darkening afternoon. As she looked out, she thought of her other older sister, Myla. Of the rebellious streak she had, and the few times she showcased it by sneaking out to run away from home. Katrine never really got along with Myla, not the way she did with Janette and young Delilah. Myla liked to give her grief all throughout their youth, and in their early adulthood they’d grown somewhat distant from each other, something she was sure Mother considered a blessing in disguise since she saw them both as her problem children. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t learn from Myla. Who knew? Maybe running away actually would solve her problems.

Katrine laughed bemusedly to herself. That was a ridiculous notion. Running away from home wouldn’t save her from the duty being forced on her. Besides, where would she go? Crossing her arms, she leaned down and rested her chin on them as she watched the approaching sunset. The breeze from earlier had grown into an early evening bluster that once again pushed the veil of clouds away from the small castle on the valley bank across from her home.

And then she saw it again, there at the top of the eastern tower. She perked up, leaning closer to the window as she watched the light flicker at the parapets. That’s right, the parapets. It was no longer inside the tower, and while she was too far away to see who or what was holding it, this proved beyond any shadow of doubt that she hadn’t been seeing things. She hadn’t been fooling herself!

She sat upright, watched the flickering glow for a few seconds more, then stood and crossed over to her wardrobe. Throwing it open, she grabbed a heavy linen cloak she’d stashed in the back for when she wanted to go unnoticed whenever she had to travel to the villages. She tossed it about her shoulders, drawing the hood as low as she could. Then she tossed open her window and, with one last look at the still flickering light in the castle, she jumped the two stories down to the ground below.

Maybe Myla’s younger self was still wrong. Maybe running away was still a bad idea. But in that moment, Katrine knew it was worth a shot, even if it was sure to incur Mother’s unyielding wrath. Besides, unlike little Myla, she had a destination, one marked by a flickering beacon of light.

Today, she was going to find out what that beacon wished to show her.