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1
Fire curled around my fingers as I watched the pregnant moon rise above the castle. Since dusk had arrived it was impossible not to take my eyes off the monstrosity of stone and mortar that seemed like a toy building so far in the distance. Not even the friendly warmth of the conjured fire could keep at bay the cold dread that had settled, unwelcomely, into my bones.
There was a flurry of snow that drifted across the world beyond the window. The first bout that came as a warning to the harsher conditions that would follow in the coming days and weeks. It did little to help the shivering that passed over my skin.
From my perch on the windowsill, I could see Castle Dread perfectly. It would seem my mother had purchased this humble dwelling for the view alone. A way of reminding me of my life’s duty. Not that the view before me was the reminder I needed, not when every day for as long as I could remember I was reminded of it.
Every day was in preparation for this one.
I pulled my gaze from the sleeping castle, giving up on waiting for the countless windows to glow with light. It only happened during the final month.
A signal of warning for the guest it would soon welcome within its empty rooms.
Me.
“Jak, they are waiting for you.”
I fisted my hand and the flames winked out. Fire was my most obedient element, the one that came more naturally to me. Tearing my gaze from the castle, I regarded Lamiere who had poked her head around the bedroom door.
“And they can wait a moment longer,” I replied.
Lamiere lowered her stare to the floor. It was custom to respect your elders, but that was a wasted tradition for the mundane. A witch never bowed to those with more age. For with age came a lack of power. And I was the last of our kind with ties to magic. It was why they held respect for me.
“Margery has asked for you to join the coven for our last circle. She worries that you will be late before the Claiming.”
I sucked my tongue across my teeth and peered at the faint glow of candlelight far down the dark corridor behind Lamiere. “I cannot help but feel that I am being rushed out the door. If they believe me to be late on such a special day, then they do not know me well enough at all.”
“You know that your mother holds you to a high esteem… she means well. I can sense her anxiety for your pending separation.”
I hated the term Lamiere used.Mother. I scoffed at it, knowing that it was likely the very woman before me that deserved the title more.
“She has an awfully odd way of showing it.” I moved across the room, sparing it a final glance. I had never slept anywhere but here. For as long as I remembered, these four walls had become my den. A place of safety. Of peace. I was more worried about sleeping away from this place than I was the deed that would soon follow.
“Will you miss me, Lamiere?” I asked, studying her expression closely as I passed her.
“So much that it already hurts.” Lamiere pressed an aged spotted hand to her heart and held it there. Her wide, amber eyes glistened with tears of honesty.
I sighed, reaching for her cheek. “I will return. Do not be sad.”
“You are a kind boy, Jak.”
“Kind boys are not brought up as killers.”
Lamiere winced. “Perhaps not…”
“And anyway, I am not a boy. I’m a witch. Has Mother not drummed that into you enough since morning?”
Lamiere laughed through a hiccup, her smile returning to her creased face. “I fear that it is your humour which will finally destroyit.”
“There are worst ways to go,” I said, taking her arm and folding it in the crook of mine. “Do not worry for me, Lamiere. You know as well as I that I am ready for this. I do not believe anyone in this life or the next has ever been more prepared to complete a task as I am.”
“This is no simple task, Jak.”
“Really?” I tugged her away from the room, leaving it for the final time in a while. “And here I was thinking that it was an easy feat, ending the life of the Eternal Prince.”
It was a silly name given to the creature that dwelled within the castle. Even the name of the castle was conjured by youths of past and present.Castle Dread.I was certain it would have had a real name lost to the forgotten memory of history. Much like that of the creature that was trapped within the castle’s boundaries.
“It is not a laughing matter,” she scolded, feet shuffling across the worn, carpeted floor of our home.
