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Iris stood in the doorway for a long moment, just looking around.

“This… this was her room,” she murmured.

“It was.” Nathaniel crouched beside her. “She used to sit at that desk and write letters she’d never send, just because she liked the swirl of handwriting on the page. She was a terrible speller, though. It used to drive our governess to distraction. She said her hand couldn’t keep up with her mind.”

“I’m a terrible speller too,” Iris said, brightening.

“I noticed, but you still have time to improve at it. You are only six, after all.”

Iris laughed and darted into the room, running her small hands over the eiderdown, the dressing table, the spines of a small collection of books arranged on a shelf near the window. “Can I read her books?”

“Whenever you like.”

“Can I sleep in here sometimes?”

Nathaniel tensed. Laura put a hand on his shoulder and felt him relax.

“If you’d like to,” he replied. “I’ll have the maids make up the bed properly, so it is fresh for you. How does that sound?”

“It sounds so great, Uncle Nathaniel!” Iris gushed.

She pulled a book from the shelf. It was a slim volume of fairy tales, which were her favorite. She opened it carefully and traced one finger along a line of faded, looping handwriting inside the front cover.

“What does it say?” she asked, holding it out.

Nathaniel took the book gently and read aloud in a rough voice, “To my darling Isabella, on her eighth birthday. May you always believe in magic, especially when the world tells you not to. Love, Mama.” He cleared his throat. “Our mother gave her this. I remember the day.”

“Please tell me about it,” Iris said, settling onto the soft rug, her hands clasped under her chin in expectation.

And so he did.

Laura watched him sit on the floor of his sister’s bedchamber in his fine coat, entirely unconcerned with the dust, telling his niece about a birthday twenty years gone.

“There was a lemon cake, and ribbons strung all about the dining room. She loved this book. She always insisted that the fairy tales in it were true and that she intended to find a real fairy before the year was out,” he explained, crossing his legs.

“I like lemon cake too! What else, Uncle Nathaniel?”

Laura found that she was taken more by the sight of them in this room than the words they spoke. The two of them looked so alike in that position, their dark heads bent together over a faded old book. The candlelight caught gold in Iris’s curls and silver in the threads that had begun to show at Nathaniel’s temples. He put his hand over hers, tracing the words on the page as they read.

“Ah, here is the story of Cinderella,” he started.

I love him so much, Laura thought as he began to read. I love him, and I love her, and this! This room, this castle, this strange and difficult and tender family I never asked for and cannot now imagine living without.

She must have made some small sound, because Nathaniel glanced up from the page, and whatever he saw on her face made him go quiet. He patted the floor beside him, and she smiled, slow and sure. She walked over and sat beside them, putting an arm around Iris as she leaned in.

“Can you do the next one, Laura? You have the best voice for reading,” Iris said, her eyes warm as she looked at her.

“I’d love to.”

Laura took the book from Nathaniel and began to read.

CHAPTER 25

Later that night, Iris had finally been coaxed to her bed after a promise that she could return to the west tower first thing in the morning with Miss Borden.

Laura found herself standing on the balcony of her own chambers, looking out over the moonlit grounds. A shawl was wrapped tightly around her shoulders, and her hair fluttered in the wind.

A shooting star danced across the dark sky, and she made a wish.