As the door of the keep closes behind me, the true understanding of how isolated I am begins to set in.
I am alone in Annordun. Alone in Faerie.
Alone in a place of riches and wonders.
I can’t remember the last time I was really, truly, alone in a house. I’ve been alone on the streets of Belgate, alone while running errands, but when I’m at the Hearth, there’s always someone around.
There’s no one in this fortress—at least not that I can see or hear. If I wanted to dance around naked in Annordun, I could.
It’s a silly impulse, immediately squelched. Even if I’m certain there’s no one else here, I should double-check anyway. First I’ll do a sweep of every room on every floor, taking note of where Drosselmeyer’s collection is being kept. Then, once I’ve explored the whole place, I’ll return to Drosselmeyer’s belongings and organize them as best I can.
The first room I enter is a parlor with comfortable couches and two glass display cases, one of which houses a fancy jar with a lid, and the other containing a sealed box covered in symbols. The ceiling is studded with a handful of eyes, and a beautiful mural decorates the parlor walls.
The paintings capture my attention because they seem to tell a story, and they feature not only Faeries, but humans. I’m not usually interested in art beyond its market value, but there’s avibrance and warmth to the illustrations that appeal to me deeply.
The story seems to have two central characters, a curvaceous blond woman and a tall, black-haired Fae with sharp ears. Toward the beginning of the mural he’s stiff and solemn, with a hinged jaw and a wood-grain texture to parts of his skin… but as the story progresses, his posture relaxes, his skin clears, and his face falls into more pleasant lines. He’s falling in love, and it’s all because of the indomitable woman beside him. She’s overbearing at times, messy and wild, but he can’t look away from her. His eyes are always on her, no matter what monsters or madness they encounter throughout the story.
The last set of images depicts the two lovers, now a King and Queen, suffering at the hands of a powerful ice-witch who tortures them and tries to tear them apart. Near the end, the Fae King has been blinded, deafened, and mutilated, and yet still he crawls toward the love of his life as she sits chained to a tree, weeping.
I’ve never viewed a scene like that. I find myself staring at it, my breath quickening and my eyes damp.
I haven’t had the best luck with men, but I still want that kind of love to find me. I want it to run straight at me, crash into me, carry me out of myself and out of this life into something entirely new. The idea is terrifying, and yet I crave it. I want a terrifying kind of love, one so powerful that none of my mistakes or faults will matter.
Or maybe I’m just feeling guilty, unsettled, and lonely because I made my crew disappear. Maybe that kind of relentless, all-consuming love only exists in paintings.
Taking a slow, deep breath, I continue along the wall.
The next few scenes depict the joyful reunion and triumph of the lovers, including a panel of the human Queen in warrior’s garb, at the head of the Fae King’s army. But I keep lookingback at the terrible scene in the snow, under the tree, and eventually I walk back over to it.
I stare into the bleeding face of the beautiful King, and into the tragic eyes of the human he loves.
“Who are you?” I whisper, touching the image with my fingertips. I can feel the texture of the paint, the swirls and streaks left by the brush. I get the sense that whoever painted this mural was deeply invested in the tale.
Part of me wants to stand here for hours, memorizing every detail, but I manage to tear myself away and continue my exploration of Annordun.
Other than the ever-present eyes, which appear in every hallway and nearly every room, the rest of the first floor turns out to be rather prosaic. A few of the rooms contain books, supply cabinets, and broad tables where someone might examine various artifacts. There’s a room with a long, glossy table bordered by elegant chairs. Each chair is carved to represent a different type of tree, though I don’t recognize most of the species. Then there’s a dining room with a small table and two chairs, both comfortably padded.
At the far end of the main hall lies a kitchen with gleaming cupboards and a pantry that emits frosty air when opened, probably thanks to some Faerie spell. To my relief, neither the kitchen nor the pantry have any eyes in the walls or ceiling. There’s a rack filled with wine bottles, and the entire space is well-stocked with food for the Fae Stewards who occasionally spend time here. I’m tempted to sample some of the delicacies, but I decide to postpone that indulgence until I’m desperately hungry. After all, this is Faerie, and not all the food and drink here might be suitable for humans.
It’s not until I return to the central hallway and mount the carpeted stairs to the second floor that things start to get interesting. And by interesting, I mean more difficult.
In addition to more magical eyes, every room on the second floor contains relics or artifacts, and some of the chambers seem to comprise their own pocket dimension. One door I open leads to a cave—an actual cave, complete with a dank smell, cool air, and a dark pond with a weird-looking rock in the center. There are glowing symbols on the rock, and they react to my presence, rearranging themselves into what looks like a message. I shut the door quickly. I am not interested in conversing with a dangerous magical stone.
Other rooms look normal enough—beautiful rugs, smooth walls, lamps, and paintings. But the lamps contain little floating balls of magical energy instead of fire, and the paintings represent landscapes and creatures that are completely alien to my experience.
The normal-looking rooms contain shelves full of artifacts or pedestals on which various relics repose. Some of the displays are shielded by glass, while others are cloaked in the same shimmering scarlet energy that we encountered on our way in. A spell to prevent any Fae except the two appointed representatives from touching the items.
I can’t help wondering who the Stewards are. One Seelie and one Unseelie. They’d have to be incorruptible, incapable of being bribed or tortured into allowing someone access to these treasures. Perhaps their identities are kept a secret from everyone but the rulers of their respective kingdoms. How many hundreds or thousands of years will they live, carrying this burden? Or do they get to choose a successor at some point? Do they meet here occasionally to study the objects and converse about them? How will they react when they realize this place has been robbed?
More importantly, are the Stewards connected to Annordun in any magical way? Maven seemed to doubt it—she said any connective magic like that would be too easy to trace, that the representatives wouldn’t risk someone discovering theiridentities. But if she’s wrong, and there’s some sort of magical alarm humans can’t perceive, one or both of the Stewards could be on their way here right now.
The thought sends a chill through me. I shut the door of the room I just peeked into and proceed to the next one.
So far, I haven’t seen anything that resembles Drosselmeyer’s work. Whole books have been written about his inventions, and I had everyone on the crew study those volumes in the two days prior to this job—although I suspect for most of us, “studying” meant flipping through the pages and looking at the pictures. I’ll admit, I spent more time reviewing the illustrations of Drosselmeyer’s work than reading the information about them. It was still time well spent, because I know the general aesthetic of his pieces and the hallmarks of his mechanical technique. Nothing in the rooms I’ve explored has remotely resembled his craft.
At the very end of the second-floor hall, at the back of the fortress, an elaborate spiral stairway leads upward. I should probably return to the central staircase and ascend to the third floor. That way I can clear it the same way I did the other floors, starting at the front of the keep.
But this rear stairway is enticing. It has a small landing with a door to the third level, but beyond that it continues up and up. Luminous eyes wink off and on in the darkness, and an intriguing red light glows in the distant gloom at the very top.
