They’ve given it a title.
A soul.
Lady Redford.
Her gates swing open with a creak after a guard steps forward to speak with the driver.Philip, Kai reminds me when his attention is removed from us, unwilling to disrespect Mark Henry’s long-lost twin—who could probably bench press us both. The car rolls through, and the gravel crunches beneath the tyres. And not the modern type of gravel, either, the kind that still remembers the feeling of hooves and carriage wheels. More trees line the driveway as it curves (of course), and then we’re face to face with Redford.
I say ‘face’ because she has one.
You can feel it: all the windows placed like little eyes, just watching me. She knows why I’m here, and she’s not impressed. There are bars on some of them, and Kai—ever the creative—mumbles that those rooms must’ve belonged to the witches. The steel catches the sunlight like teeth, and the hair at my nape rises slightly.
Philip stops just before the main steps, but I don’t move. Not yet. I’m staring straight at history, at a castle with bones older than half the country. The stone is grey, darkened in some areas by rain and age, and towers rise unevenly in some places. Redford looks as though she was built to withstand a siege, but nobody told the architecture that the war ended centuries ago.
It’s like she’s still waiting.
Still defending.
For the first time in a long while, I feel unwelcome. Not just politically; everybody knows I’m used to that shit. But personally. This place doesn’t want me here. Doesn’t want Atherbourne blood anywhere close to her, so she bares her teeth.
I kind of respect it.
Kai leans forward in his seat, unclicking the seatbelt. “Is it just me, or are there no guards?” His voice is tight, half joking and half not. “Not to bethatroyal ass, but shouldn’t we be met with people?”
He’s right. I haven’t said it aloud yet, but the absence of security has already injected itself into my nervous system. I’ve been trying to ignore it. There are a few of them, obviously, but not too many. Definitely not enough considering this place will be housing two heirs of Marzod.
Philip adjusts his mirror, then unclicks his own seatbelt. “There’s no need. Redford doesn’t let strangers in.”
Kai chuckles uneasily. “Right, right—of course, makesperfectsense.” He tosses me an expression that emphasises he doesn’t find it sensible at all. I snort. “But let’s just say somebody was to break in, like physically, and all that?—“
“Nobody who’s not meant to be here makes it past the gates,” Philip cuts in and unlocks the doors. The sound echoes through the car. “If Redford doesn’t let you in, you won’t get in.”
“You mean the staff, right?” Kai questions.
“I mean the castle.”
Philip slides out and steps towards the stairs, where a singular footman awaits. The latter stands tall in a uniform of oxidised red. My brain supplies the hex value before any other adjective: 480000. I eyedropped it straight from the ‘Welcome to Sheffolk’ PDF when I couldn’t sleep on the plane. The material looks thick, heavy and woollen, not at all modern, with golden buttons glinting like eyes. He stands perfectly still as Philip speaks.
Kai turns to me and blinks rapidly. “What the fuck does that even mean? Does the castle, like, decide for them or something?”
I don’t have an answer for him. At least, not one that won’t unsettle him further. “I’m starting to believe the Sheffolk women really are witches. The old kind, the ones who bury hearts beneath the floorboards.”
“You’re joking, right?”
“Am I?”
Without staying for his response, I slide out of the car and listen to the way the gravel cracks beneath my feet. In another life, I could’ve been a soldier returning from war; instead, it feels like I’m about to enter one.
My brother rounds the car and stops beside me, shoving his hands into his coat pockets. Redford’s shadow looms over us, and a strong gust of wind hits our backs, almost strong enough to push us forward. Kai side-eyes me, voicing what neither of us wants to. It feels like the castle is pulling us forward, and any moment I expect the doors to be thrown open like a hungry mouth.
A prickling sensation washes over me, and I look up. There’s movement higher up, by one of the windows in the west wing. Just a flicker at first, but then there’s a silhouette. Watching. It’s a woman. I don’t know how, but I know. When I squint, I can almost make out the long locks of hair and the posture of somebody who stands with poise. She doesn’t move, just watches.
I swallow dryly, breathing steadily through my nose. The air fogs before me, disappearing almost immediately. I don’t want to be the first to look away.
Kai shifts closer. “Eric, there’s someone?—”
“Yeah. I see her.”
But when the fog clears again, the silhouette is gone. The feeling inside my chest, however, still hasn’t left. Philip approaches with the footman and begins to unload our luggage.
