CHAPTER 1
Niamh
Something was wrong, and my belly swooped at the ominous feeling niggling at me.
I sat in my stuffed armchair, blanket across my lap, a book in hand, looking around the tower that had become my home over the last three years. Books filled the shelves curving across the walls, organized by color and size. Sun shone through the tall windows lining the stairs that spiraled up to the second floor.
I wrinkled my nose, inhaling the earthy, mossy scents that filled the little room. I shifted in my chair, the skirt of my dark blue dress bunching under my legs. Nothing was amiss outwardly, but I could’ve sworn I felt the slightest tremble beneath me. I could go to the windows to see whether there was anything to be concerned about, but then I might actually witness a threat, and what would I do then? I wouldn’t be able to fight it—I didn’t have a sword, and even if I did, I’d be more likely to stab myself with it than someone else.
Panic jolted through me as a terrifying thought hit: It could be the Brotherhood of Magic, come to take my tower from me, the fearsomeButcher of the Brotherhood leading the charge. I didn’t hear any yelling outside, and there was no evidence of people lurking about.
I chewed at my lip, glancing around the tower and studying each part, from the bookshelves to the rug to the stairs winding around the wall. A few books fell to the floor, then fluttered upward, inserting themselves back onto the shelves. This was a magical tower, so maybe it was using some magic I couldn’t see.
It did that sometimes.
Moved itself away from the sun or toward it, depending on its mood. Sometimes it opened its roof to give me a perfect view of the starry sky. The tower could do anything it wanted—anything I wanted—which was why it made the perfect home, the perfect place to keep me safe.
My stomach rumbled, and I realized I’d been so caught up in my thoughts that I’d forgotten about dinner. I snapped my fingers, chuckling quietly. That must’ve been what was wrong. The tower wasn’t in any kind of danger. I was just hungry and not thinking clearly.
I’d have to remedy that. “Tower,” I called. “I’m ready for dinner.”
Before my eyes, the cylinder stone tower transformed into a round dining hall with a long cherrywood table. Beneath me, my armchair became a dining chair. Food appeared from thin air in front of me: roasted leg of lamb with sautéed squash and whipped ricotta cream.
“You could warn me before you do that, you know,” a voice said from the book still sitting on my lap.
I glanced down at Morton, his sleek, pink, scaled body tucked into the crevice between the pages, his eyes blinking sleepily as he gazed at me. He spread out his pink wings, then folded them back into his body.
I grabbed the book and set it on the table next to my plate, then shook out a napkin and laid it across my lap. “I thought you were sleeping.”
The bookwyrm’s shaggy pink eyebrows bunched. “Iwassleeping. Then someone’s stomach rumbled as loud as a clap of thunder and awoke me.”
“Ah, so it wasn’t the tower transforming that awoke you but mystomach.” I lifted the leg of lamb and took a bite, speaking through a mouthful of delectable meat. “I can’t really help that, now can I?”
He harrumphed and slithered from the book to the table, forked tongue poking out toward my plate.
I swatted at him. “You get your own food.” I glanced at the full plate doubtfully. “On second thought, this is a lot. We’re going to have to take a walk after this.”
His tail rose in the air, shaking back and forth behind him. “As long as it’s not on a cliffside again. It was so windy last time, I almost fell over the edge and straight into the sea.”
I cocked my head. “You do know you can’t die in this tower, right?”
For the smallest second, my chest grew tight. At least I didn’t think it was possible. Thoughts of those earlier trembles entered my mind, that tight feeling growing more taut, making my muscles feel like they might snap. I’d seen this tower transform into hundreds of places and environments, and never once had I been in enough danger to question my mortality.
I was fine. This was fine. Everything. Was. Fine.
His pink eyebrows shot up. “And how would you know? Have you ever tried to die in here?”
I stuffed another big bite into my mouth, unable to stop myself as I said the next command: “Tower, I’m done with dinner.”
Morton let out a yelp as he fell from the disappearing table to the dark purple rug, his wings flapping unceremoniously as he righted himself.
I scurried to the bookshelves unraveling on the wall. They were filled with books and journals, each one making a littlepopsound as it appeared from thin air. I grabbed a green cloth journal and pulled it out, flipping it open to a blank page before I lost my train of thought. As I pondered if we could die, the exact question in my brain appeared on the blank page in dark ink.
Can we die in this tower?
Once I figured out the answer, I’d open the journal and record it here with my thoughts.
“What are you journalling about now?” Morton stretched out hisneck and looked at the page where my question had appeared. “Do you need your cloak?” His eyes dipped to the tips of my fingers, which were a bluish-purple. “Maybe you need to sit back in your chair and get a blanket. Or I could get the jar of firebugs?—”
