Whispers Behind Stone
860 Words
Morning arrived dressed in gold, as though the previous evening had never happened.
From my bedroom window, Ashthorne looked exactly as it always had. Thin streams of mist curled around the castle walls, servants crossed the courtyards with baskets balanced on their arms, and the palace bells rang with quiet precision, announcing the beginning of another day.
Somewhere below, the royal guards had already begun their morning drills. Steel struck steel in steady rhythm, carrying across the gardens like the heartbeat of the castle itself.
Life continued as it always did.
Even when pride had been bruised the night before.
Lady Miriam insisted I eat breakfast before disappearing into the library as I usually did.
"You cannot survive on books and stubbornness," she said, setting another piece of bread onto my plate.
"I've managed rather well so far."
"You've managed because I've never allowed you to try."
I smiled despite myself.
She noticed.
"There she is."
"Who?"
"The girl who argues before sunrise."
"I only argue when people are unreasonable."
Lady Miriam lifted a brow.
"And I suppose I'm unreasonable?"
"You've doubled my breakfast."
"I've tripled it."
I looked down at the table.
She had.
With an expression of complete satisfaction, she poured another cup of tea.
"The Gathering lasts several weeks. If you plan on wandering every corridor in this castle looking for trouble, you'll need your strength."
"I don't go looking for trouble."
"No."
She folded her hands.
"It usually finds you."
. . .
The palace seemed even busier than it had the day before.
Delegations arrived one after another, each announced by the sounding of horns from the eastern gate.
Courtiers drifted through the corridors exchanging carefully chosen words, while servants hurried between chambers carrying messages sealed with wax bearing the crests of distant kingdoms.
I preferred the quieter parts of the castle.
Perhaps that was why Mother wasn't surprised when she found me standing before one of the oldest murals in Ashthorne.
"There you are."
I turned.
She dismissed the ladies accompanying her with a gentle nod before walking toward me.
"I've been looking everywhere."
"I wasn't hiding."
"No."
She glanced around the deserted hallway.
"You simply disappeared."
"I like it here."
"I know."
Her gaze settled upon the mural stretching across the wall.
It depicted the founders of the Seven Great Packs standing beneath a brilliant moon while enormous wolves guarded their backs. Time had softened the colours, but not the craftsmanship.
"When I was your age," Mother said quietly, "I used to come here whenever the palace became too loud."
I looked at her in surprise.
"You never told me that."
"There are many things mothers forget to mention."
For a moment we simply stood together.
Finally, she spoke again.
"A scholar from the southern kingdoms wishes to examine the oldest sections of the palace. Your father has council meetings until evening, and I have guests arriving throughout the afternoon."
She smiled.
"I thought you might enjoy accompanying him."
"I would."
"I suspected as much."
...
Master Orien was nothing like I expected.
Instead of the proud, serious historian I had imagined, the elderly scholar possessed bright, curious eyes and the habit of stopping every few steps whenever he noticed an unusual carving.
"Incredible," he whispered for perhaps the tenth time that morning.
"You've said that about every hallway."
"Because every hallway deserves it."
I laughed.
"You truly love history."
"My dear princess..." He rested one hand against an ancient stone pillar. "History is simply people refusing to disappear."
We spent the next hour wandering through parts of Ashthorne few visitors ever requested to see.
Rooms whose original purpose had long since been forgotten.
Then we reached the North Wing, almost no one came here anymore.
Dust rested along the windowsills, and faded tapestries hung quietly beneath arched ceilings crossed with wooden beams darkened by age.
Master Orien wandered toward a collection of faded inscriptions near the far wall.
I drifted in the opposite direction, something had caught my eye.
A row of carved wolves decorated the stone beneath one of the archways.
I stepped closer, every wolf had silver eyes, except one. Its left eye was carved from polished black obsidian.
I frowned.
"That's strange."
Carefully, I reached out, brushing my fingertips across the cool stone.
The obsidian eye shifted beneath my touch.
A soft click echoed somewhere beyond the wall.
Ancient gears hidden inside the castle groaned to life.
Dust drifted from the ceiling as part of the stone wall began sliding inward.
My heart hammered against my ribs.
A passage, hidden behind centuries of stone, I looked over my shoulder.
Master Orien remained completely absorbed in the inscriptions across the room, muttering translations to himself without the slightest awareness that half the wall behind him had just moved.
I should have called for the guards.
I lifted the lantern hanging beside the corridor entrance.
The darkness beyond seemed endless.
Cold air flowed gently through the opening, carrying with it the unmistakable scent of old parchment... and something else.
Taking a steady breath, I stepped across the threshold.
Behind me, the stone wall rumbled softly as it began closing once more.
- Writer
