The Queen's Rising (Untitled Trilogy #1)(71)
Allenach whistled, and the wolf dog at once stepped away from me, blinking up at her master with liquid brown eyes. He frowned down at her. “That is odd. Nessie hates strangers. And no, she is a wolfhound, bred to hunt the wolves.”
“Oh.” I still felt a bit shaky, although Nessie looked back at me, tongue lolling, as if I was her greatest friend. “She seems . . . friendly.”
“Not usually. But she does seem quite taken with you.”
I watched as Nessie trotted off, joining her pack of three other wolfhounds, who were trailing a servant carrying a shank of meat.
Only then did I turn to gaze at the castle.
I recognized it.
Tristan had likened it to a storm cloud that had married the earth. And I found that I agreed with him, for the castle was built of dark stones, reaching upward as a thunderhead. It felt primitive and old—most of the windows were narrow slits, built during a fierce time of constant war, the time before Queen Liadan. And yet it was still welcoming, like a gentle giant opening his arms.
“I might be able to give you a tour tomorrow,” Allenach said, speaking in Middle Chantal even though his brogue caught roughly on the words. And then, as if he wanted to appear more Valenian than Maevan, he offered his hand again and walked me into his home.
He was saying something about dinner in the hall when I noticed that the sconces on the walls began to flicker with heated sparks, as if the flames were being pulled through hundreds of years. My heart quieted when I realized it was old light battling present light, that Tristan was about to summon me to his time. I must have seen something, smelled something in this castle to trigger it, and for half a moment I almost submitted to him, let his memory swarm me. It would be about the stone—a vision I undoubtedly needed to see—yet when I imagined fainting or going into a trance in Allenach’s presence . . . I could not allow that.
I inadvertently tightened my hold on Allenach’s hand, cast my eyes to the stone floors, to the way the light tumbled off my dress. Anything to evade the shift, anything to keep my ancestor at bay. It was like trying to smother a sneeze or a yawn. I watched the walls ripple, eager to melt back in time, watched the shadows try to catch me. And yet I would not submit to them. I felt as if I were tumbling from a tree and I caught myself on a branch—a weak yet stubborn one—just before hitting the ground.
Tristan relented; his grip faded, my pulse throbbing in relief.
“There is the door to the hall,” Allenach said, pointing to a set of tall double doors christened with his armorial banner. “Breakfast and dinner will be served in there for all my guests. And here are the stairs. Let me show you to your room.”
I walked beside Allenach up a long flight of stairs, a maroon carpet rolled out like a tongue to lick every step, up to the second floor. We passed several Valenian men who looked at me with interest but said nothing as they continued on to the hall. And then I began to notice the carvings over the doors, that the threshold of each guest room was dedicated to something, whether it was a phase of the moon, or a certain flower, or a wild beast.
He saw my interest, slowing his pace so I could read the emblem of the closest threshold.
“Ah yes. When my forefather built this castle, his wife had every room blessed,” Allenach explained. “See, this guest room is given to the fox and the hare.” He pointed to the baroque carving of a fox and a hare running in a circle, each chasing the other.
“What does that mean?” I inquired, fascinated with how the fox’s sharp mouth almost clamped on the fluffy tail of the hare, and how the hare almost bit the generous tail of the fox.
“It harkens back to a very old Maevan legend,” Allenach said. “One that warns of stepping through a door one too many times.”
I had never heard of such lore.
He must have sensed my intrigue, for he stated, “To protect oneself against the wiles of thresholds—to ensure a man knew where it would lead him every time he passed from one room to another—it became wise to mark, or bless, each room. This room grants stamina to the Maevan who never let one’s enemy out of sight.”
I met his gaze. “That is fascinating.”
“So most Valenians say, when they stay here. Come, this is the room I think will best suit you.” He led me to an arched door, latticed with iron, blessed with the carving of a unicorn wearing a chain of flowers around its neck.
Allenach took the candle from the nearest sconce and opened the door. I waited as he lit candles in the darkened room, a warning brushing against my thoughts. I was hesitant to be alone with him in a chamber, and my hand drifted to my skirts, feeling the shape of the hidden dirk.
“Amadine?”
I let my hand fall from my gown and tentatively passed beneath the unicorn’s blessing, standing a safe distance from him, watching as the light roused the chamber to life.
The bed was covered with silk embroidery, curtained with red sendal. An old wardrobe sat against one wall, carved with leaves and willow branches, and a small round table held a silver washbasin. There were only two windows framing a stone hearth, both war-inspired slits of glass. But perhaps more than anything, it was the large tapestry hanging from the longest wall that drew my admiration. I stepped closer to look upon it, the endless number of threads coming together to depict a rearing unicorn amid a colorful array of flowers.
“I thought that might catch your eye,” Allenach said.