The sun was beginning to rise when the group left the Summer Cottage. Sorrel was grateful to get out in the cold again, away from the witches, even if she would miss the peace of that little summer in the mountains. After all, she decided that something wasn’t right about the place. Maybe it was the lack of roses. Or maybe it was that the witches were clearly so powerful and seemed to have their own agenda.
Sorrel supposed she couldn’t entirely dismiss the witches, however. They had helped Layla and Pirlipat, and had given them all a place to sleep to wait out the rest of the night. And now with Katherine leading the way, they were showing them the short path up the mountain to Castle Fantasma.
She’d seen them, when Gwynn had lingered outside. Layla was stable, but asleep, in a dark room with only a candle or two for Pirlipat and their benefit. He sat at her bedside, his fingers fiercely intertwined with hers. He looked so much smaller and frailer by his sister’s unconscious side than he had in the hallways of the Royal Institute.
He’d agreed to remain behind with Layla while the rest of the party ventured on ahead to Castle Fantasma. With Lady Isolde on their trail, there wasn’t much time that they could afford to lose.
“I’m sure that you’re glad you came with us,” Katherine joked with a light jab of her elbows in Sorrel’s ribs. “The path up Mount Fantasma is much more treacherous the long way. There’s a reason no one’s breached the Castle in all this time.”
“Right.” Sorrel smiled, but faltered. “Why is that anyway? Is that the witches’ doing?”
“No.” Katherine grew solemn.
“We have our stories about the mountain.” Nikolai jumped in, drawing closer to Sorrel. “I grew up in the village at the base of the mountain. The Verfolk—the green ones, you might notice—may have forgotten these stories, but the Isfolk like us always remember. There’s power in a story.”
“You might want to tell it before she gets bored,” Katherine teased.
“Right, sorry.” Nikolai turned a bit pink and shoved his hands into his pockets. “Well, the story goes that the reason that Mount Fantasma is always covered in ice and snow and howling winds is because there’s a castle up there, one inhabited by a very sad, very lonely princess. My Oma always told me that the princess was the one who cursed the mountain. That her loneliness ended up keeping her lonely.”
“That’s so sad,” Gwynn murmured.
“But why would she do that to herself?” Sorrel wondered aloud.
“It might be just a story.” Nikolai shrugged. “There’s power in it, sure, but things get distorted. Not all of it is relevant or true.”
Sorrel wasn’t sure what to think of that.
----------------------------------------
The path proved easy, as Katherine had promised, and the sun wasn’t all that high over the horizon by the time that they reached Castle Fantasma.
The outside was imposing spires of glass-like ice, frosted over to prevent those outside from viewing within. The wide doors of the front palace swung open for them.
The inside was exquisite, every edge delicate and six-pointed in the echo of a snowflake. Every part unique, every part beautiful. An elaborate chandelier dangled over the main floor with the six-pointed flake design in the floor, each point leading to the columns at the edge of the room.
Luckily, the floor wasn’t so smooth as the ice might have suggested—Sorrel and the rest weren’t slipping or sliding around. So it was easy to ascend the staircase that led up and into the heart of the castle, where a labyrinth of icy corridors awaited them.
While that layer of frost in intricate fractal designs covered the walls, Sorrel could see her own reflection in the ice. As she reached her fingertips to the ice, however, she saw something else.
Shadows.
Dark silhouettes that whispered in a language long forgotten, something malevolent.
“What’s that?” She recoiled in horror.
“What’s what?” As Coppelius turned, she knew that something was wrong.
His eyes were too blank, his movements too fluid, his posture too at ease. A quick glance told her that Delphine and Akira were like that too.
“Keep moving, it’s the illusions of the castle,” Nikolai said. “I’ve heard this part too, there are stories about the powerful glamours here. The same ones that protect the castle will also lure you in.”
“No, I hear—I hear my family—“ Coppelius reached for the ice. “Father?”
Sorrel reached for his hands and wrenched them away. She placed herself between Coppelius and the icy wall of the corridor. His eyes were still unfocused, as if concussed.
“Coppelius? Coppelius!” Sorrel pleased. “Listen to me, something’s not right about this place.”
He struggled against her—albeit very limply. That too, frightened her. “You don’t understand, I hear them, they’re calling my name—“
Stolen novel; please report.
“You should listen to her.”
Everyone in the party turned their heads to see a lady standing at the corridor’s end. She was pale, with freckles like Coppelius’s scattered over her face, her eyes that same indigo blue. Her white-blonde hair was set in a series of braids over her shoulders. She wore a flowing form-fitting deep blue dress, like the sky on a cold winter’s night, with a cloak over the top with silver embroidery around the hems like the branches of a winter forest. She carried a slender golden scepter with a jewel inside it, the same jade-green crystal on its end as the material in Sorrel’s blade.
The witches had mentioned a scepter—was this the relic then, of Castle Fantasma?
“Who are you?” Coppelius blinked.
“They called me Guinevere.” The lady smiled, a sad thing as she approached. “I hadn’t realized I would have visitors, or I would have asked the castle to behave.”
“The castle—to behave?” Sorrel found herself asking as she let go of Coppelius.
“A quirk of our castle.” Guinevere bowed her head. “Back when it was one, Castle Ondrina. It’s all fragmented now—to cut off the relics and the access to the rest of Ondrina from her.”
The whispering of the shadows in the walls grew more malevolent, louder. Sorrel thought she could even pick up snatches of a few words.
Revenge. . . spider. . . blood. . .
Guinevere smacked the scepter with the palm of her hand, and the ghosts retreated.
“That’s much better.” Guinevere surveyed the group. “You must be my cousins. How all of you have grown.”
“Cousins?” Delphine frowned. “Were you here the whole time? That hag never told me!”
“The Astral Coven and I don’t always get along.” Guinevere sighed. “I suppose witches don’t have much patience for ghosts.”
“Ghosts?” Gwynn’s voice rose about the others.
Guinevere nodded. “Of a sort. I’ve been waiting for a long time for the Prince of Light to come.”
“He’s not here,” Coppelius said quickly, bitterly. “But we thought we’d collect the relics for him, and try to find him.”
“I see.” Guinevere’s expression darkened. “I. . . I hope a terrible fate hasn’t befallen him.”
“As do we.” Sorrel planted her hands on her hips. “I’m guessing you’re a ghost and that’s why you haven’t tried to stop the Spider-Queen yourself?”
“I wouldn’t, I refused, even when I had the chance.” Guinevere laughed, another sad thing. “That was why I was chosen as the one to linger, to remain. I hold nothing against Muirgen Ondrina.”
Sorrel frowned. “But she’s hurting people! She burned down my home!
“It isn’t so simple.” Guinevere pressed her lips together thinly. “She was wronged, and I was a coward who didn’t—“
Guinevere broke off, her expression suddenly somber. She went very still. “She’s here.”
“Who?” Sorrel frowned.
“One of the court mages of my cousin—you have to go.” She turned to Coppelius, and tilted the scepter toward him. “There is a central chamber in the castle, within it a pedestal. Take this scepter, turn it in the pedestal’s keyhole, and this castle will belong to you.”
Coppelius frowned—he did not reach for the scepter. “What about you?”
“Go, I’ll hold her off with what’s last of my power, if it comes to it.” Guinevere pressed the scepter into Coppelius’s hands. “Claim the castle and the scepter and its powers will be yours to command.”
Coppelius hesitated.
“Go, now!”
That was what spurred him into action. Sorrel, Gwynn, Delphine, Akira, Nikolai, and Katherine followed him through the ice corridors. The shadows returned, their hissing louder than before. But they did not breach the glass, nor did they reach for them like the shades of Castle Fantasma.
Sorrel could only hope that things remained that way.
----------------------------------------
Perhaps the castle wanted them to find the room, for soon enough they found themselves in the central chamber, just as Guinevere instructed. In the chamber’s center was the pedestal, with an imprint of the scepter’s end.
“We just have to put it in its end, and the castle is yours,” she reminded Coppelius, and she placed a hand on his shoulder.
“Oh, is that it?”
They whirled around to see Lady Isolde enter. She wore a new diamond-looking necklace now, stark against her dark blue gown and black lace wrap around her shoulders. Sorrel thought that someone wearing that might be cold, but Lady Isolde did not shiver at all.
“If that woman was the daughter of gods, I’m not so concerned about the rest of you,” Lady Isolde declared.
“That may be so, but you forgot that we beat you once,” Katherine declared.
“You had the element of surprise on your side, witchling.” Lady Isolde narrowed her eyes. She raised a gloved hand and her necklace began to glow. “In case you’ve forgotten, you’re in a castle made of my dominion. Ice magic has always come quite easily to me. This shouldn’t be much of a challenge.”
There was the sound of cracking ice above. Sorrel looked up to see ice spikes drop from the ceiling. A shield of light emerged, powered by Katherine, Delphine, and Nikolai working together. The icicles dissolved as Akira sent out a wave of sickly-green energy. This put Lady Isolde on the defense—just in time for Sorrel to attack.
Lady Isolde ducked and shot out another beam of white energy—only for it to dissolve.
Lady Isolde frowned as Gwynn strode forward, bearing her crystals. It was like she was a mirror.
“I believe this is my dominion, too,” Gwynn declared.
Coppelius sprinted away from the group—it was time to make his bid.
Lady Isolde snarled, and with a wave of her arm, an icy blast of wind and snow had them all knocked onto the ground. Including Coppelius, Sorrel realized as she heard him cry out.
Lady Isolde began her slow, wolf-like advance.
Sorrel had to do something—anything!
She felt that spark within her calling her, tugging through the crystalline blade.
The witches had told her that she had the same potential that Gwynn did, the potential to be a great witch.
She could only hope that they were right as she screwed her eyes shut, lifted her blade, rose to the ground, and cast outward.
Vines and brambles enshrouded Lady Isolde—only to freeze over and dissipate into snow.
It wasn’t a great deterrent. But it bought time. That was all the time needed.
Coppelius plunged his scepter into the pedestal. As he did, an archway of ice appeared, right behind Lady Isolde. Sorrel knew what she had to do. She slashed with her sword.
Lady Isolde darted back—into the archway of ice. There was a howling wind and the portal turned white before vanishing entirely, taking Lady Isolde with it.
All was quiet in Castle Fantasma, for she was gone.
Sorrel looked back to Coppelius as he squared his shoulders and raised his chin. In that moment, she could see him as the prince he was born to be, the demigod who would rule among the stars.
“I don’t know where she’s gone,” he admitted, and some of that divine mystique disappeared. “But she can’t get in here, not anymore. I’m the one who controls the castle now.”
He removed the scepter from the pedestal. “I can feel them now, the other castles. They aren’t fully connected, not anymore. But they will be again.”
“Not now, though,” Delphine cautioned. “You heard what Guinevere said.”
“After the Spider-Queen is defeated, I will return.” Coppelius’s vow rang out against the ice. “I will restore all of our castles, once my father fulfills the prophecy.”