“What of Radre?” He was a Bertillian too.
“He brought shame to this house.” Ella lifted her skirts, turning toward the hallway. “Come with me.”
Wycke vaguely remembered the tower as a place he never wanted to be, though a friend once dared him to climb three steps. Where were his friends now, the names of whom he no longer remembered? Since leaving this place, he'd not thought of them, too busy trying to survive his new reality by not looking back on what he'd lost.
They strode down a long corridor, turned left, then right. Without Ella, he'd never find the way. Not that he fully trusted her, but if Saris cared for this woman, Wycke would tamp down his suspicions.
For now.
Ella spoke quietly with Saris while Wycke followed behind, taking great care to muffle his footsteps on the stone floor.
No life in these halls. No people but them, no mousers roaming in search of mice. No mice, even. Tendrils of dread seeped into Wycke’s mind, sliding down his spine in icy chills. His mother died in this ancient pile of stone. His father. Many other Bertillians.
He’d no plans to join their ranks this day.
They finally entered a part of the castle even more rundown than where they'd been. Dust hung thick in the air and on every surface. Thick spider webs shrouded the corners, bringing to mind burial garments. Their guide headed with sure footsteps through an opened door. Across the room, a faint light glowed on the wall. Wycke stepped forward.
“What, Wycke?” Saris asked.
“Magic.”
Ella nodded. “It's the door.”
Wycke studied the faintly glowing lines, barely visible at the edges of his sight. “It's warded.”
Ella waved a hand. The glowing faded. Wycke and Saris both stared at her. “What? I'm a servant. I need to get into all parts of the castle. No one thinks to remove a servant's access to the wards. I'm far beneath your brother’s notice, I assure you.” She placed her hand against the wall, up, down, side to side, as though building a portal. The section of the wall slid back, revealing a narrow staircase. Unlike the rest of the castle, these stairs bore no dust.
“Does he use this a lot?” Saris asked, peering inside.
“No,” Ella replied. “This is the oldest part of the castle. Several sorcerers worked on its creation. As a result, these stairs will never wear, never need cleaning.”
Wycke let out a whistle.
“That's a lot of magic for a set of steps,” Saris commented dryly.
“When you have the well-spring at your feet, you use all available. The sorcerers who created the original parts of the castle all lost their minds.” Ella’s lips curved into a bitter smile. “They were killed back in my grandfather’s grandfather’s time.”
Saris exchanged a troubled gaze with Wycke. So much magic, too much for a human to endure for long. Had magical overload happened to Radre? If he used Lady Nyanda's tower, he probably tinkered with arcane forces far beyond his capabilities.
“Your brother showed very little magical abilities as a child. They built slowly over the seasons. Then, two winters ago, he began locking himself in the tower. A maid once heard him mumbling about finding a peer or something. But how can he find a peer if he never leaves the tower?”
Not a peer. Pieravor.
Once more, Wycke exchanged a glance with his sister. He lifted his hand, conjuring a mage light that thankfully didn't result in a fireball. “Stay behind me.” Wycke shook his head at Saris’s eye roll, lifting his sword while shouldering past the women. “I’m the one with the sword, remember?”
“If you will excuse me. I cannot bear to go near those rooms,” Ella said.
“Certainly.” Saris hugged her. “We appreciate all you've done.”
Wycke turned to see Saris plant a kiss on Ella’s brow. The woman murmured, then her footsteps led away. She closed the door behind her.
“Shall we?” Saris asked, putting on a brave face.
Wycke turned back to the business at hand. The stairs went on forever, an endless loop of steps, slowly leading to their destination if they led anywhere. After seemingly climbing for hours, thigh muscles screaming, he finally reached the end and stopped, extinguishing his light. The walls glowed a soft green, likely more of the builders' magic infused into the stones.
More than one voice filtered through the door at the top of the stairs.
“Did Ella say whether or not Radre ever had visitors?” he whispered.
