Castle of the Winds (The Secrets of Ormdale, #3)

by Christina Baehr

“Edith, you really wrote this?” repeated my travelling companion, Simon Drake, for about the fifth time, looking up at me from the manuscript in his hands. “I really did! Only, if you keep asking me, I’ll begin to wonder which you think too stupid: me, to have written the book, or the book, to have been written by me.”

But aren’t you hungry? You’ve been reading for simply hours.” “Hungry? Yes, I suppose I am.” Yet he made no move to get up. “We have to change trains later; we might get a basket at the station when we do that. Or we might eat something now, in the dining car…” His eyes lit up. “Might we?” For a moment, I’d forgotten that this was his first railway journey. I smiled. “Yes, we might.”

Ugh so cute 🥰

I changed the subject and was prattling on about our plans when the train entered a tunnel. “Edith,” came his voice, very calm indeed, “what is this?” My eyes had not yet adjusted to the abrupt dimness. “I don’t know—what does it feel like? Have you found the mustard pot?” “The light.” “Oh! It’s a tunnel. We’ll be through it shortly.” I made note of the fact that when Simon was alarmed, he sounded particularly calm.

Guuuuuhgh stop so cute

“What if we’ve come all this way for nothing?” I ventured at last, just as Simon was getting up to go to his room. Simon smiled his slow smile, the one that had surprised me with its sweetness the first time I saw it. “I wouldn’t say nothing. At least, not for me. After all, you let me read your novel.” I tried to damp down my smile of delight. Good heavens, what an egotist I must be if this was the way to my heart!

“Edith, may I ask you a question that might be considered impertinent?” I felt my pulse quicken slightly. It is always dangerous to give a young man permission to ask an impertinent question. One cannot, after the permission is given, complain when he does so.

They were speaking in Welsh, which sounded to me like a sunlit river running over rocks.

This was the kind of hair that made me undeniably envious. I’d recently become somewhat reconciled to my hair, but it still insisted on its own ways of doing things, treating my own ideas on the matter as irrelevant. This girl’s hair was obedient. I suspected a lot of things became obedient around her.

With this in mind, I glanced beside me at Simon. I’d told his mother he should have the opportunity of comparing me to other women so he didn’t settle on me like the nurse in The Pirates of Penzance, but this level of competition was hardly fair: beauties like this were not to be met with every day! I would have to make mention of this to him later. But there was no trace of the slack-jawed admiration I’d expected. Instead, he looked a little displeased.

then looked back at the view as if I wasn’t worth more than a glance. And probably I wasn’t. I had not dressed in my practical walking costume to be admired. I doubted if our new companion ever dressed any other way.

The girl appraised him for an instant, then smiled (good heavens, was that a dimple?). "Thank you ever so much. My ankles are a little weak, you see, so my poor aunt was compelled to carry it, out of concern for me.” The poor aunt was wheezing, one hand trembling on her scant bosom. I offered her my arm for support and she took it gratefully.

What a bitch Please author, don’t make her a good person at the end. Sometimes people are catty bitches. Just let them be

“Edith Worms, of Wormwood Abbey.” She took my hand briefly. “And your unusually tall chaperone?” she asked a little dryly, indicating Simon. I ignored this absurd appellation—I didn’t require a chaperone for a walk in the mountains. “This is my cousin, Simon Drake of Drake Hall.” “Why have I never heard of either of these places?” she demanded rather rudely. Perhaps she thought manners were only for people that didn’t look like Helen of Troy. Perhaps Helen of Troy thought so, too.

as the journey progressed, I felt irritated. The addition of companions to our quest ought to have heartened me; I had now met the first representatives of a mysterious race I had been longing to meet—the legendary Worm Wardens. But now that I had met them, I wasn’t sure I liked them.

At length, I ventured to suggest that now we had left ordinary towns and people behind us, she might liberate her pet from its cage to enjoy the open air with us. “What a charming idea,” she said, her tone communicating precisely the opposite of her words. Simon looked curiously down at the cage he held. Her eyes flicked over him. “If Mr Drake wishes to risk another digit, he has my permission to attempt it.” Simon flushed. It seemed her eyes were as sharp as her tongue. I had not noticed Simon’s afflicted thumb until I had spent far more time than that in his company, and I had not dared to make reference to it until today.

“Not what you were expecting?” asked Miss Falconer. I turned to look at her. I shut my mouth. She was now atop a rock, watching me with a cool smile. “You weren’t expecting an actual castle, were you?” “Of course I knew Castell y Gwynt was a geological feature!” I snapped. I hated that I was losing my composure, but I had climbed a rather difficult summit and probably saved her aunt’s life, and she sat there, positively decorating a rock.

Bitter disappointment flooded me. This was all wrong. As comely as this man was, he could not replace the magnificent dragon who had haunted my dreams. How could he sit there so complacently, expecting to be admired, when I didn’t want him at all? I had feared to find a small and underwhelming creature, but this was far worse. Then a dreadful realisation seized me. It wasn’t him that was all wrong. It was me. I had made a horrible, horrible mistake. What had that infernal invitation said? The Red Dragon will choose his bride. But they hadn’t meant a real dragon. They meant a man. This absurdly beautiful man before us. It was, indeed, far worse. It was one of the most dreadful moments of my life.

The flower of manhood was now wearing a slightly quizzical expression. I suppose he wasn’t used to young ladies looking at him as if they’d found a nest of rats in their hatbox. It is almost beyond my power to describe him. He had pale skin, black curly hair, a deep crease in his cheek that flashed when he smiled, and eyes as blue as speedwell. Each part of his colouring was designed to heighten the other. I will stop there—I do not like to lose my head while describing a man.

I didn’t have to look far to identify the Red Dragon’s prospective brides—the steward was announcing us by name. Miss Falconer rose from her deep curtsy. As soon as she caught sight of my face, she blinked in surprise. I suppose sheer horror wasn’t the reaction she expected from me, either. As soon as I caught sight of her, I felt a rush of relief that dizzied me. Thank heavens I had a rival of such singular beauty! I felt a sudden tremendous gratitude and liking for Miss Falconer. I fervently hoped that I looked an absolute fright in my kilted climbing skirts and knickerbockers. I noticed that Miss Falconer had remembered to let her skirts back down. How lovely she looked, heaven bless her!

“It was my turn, I think, to ask a question.” “Ah, but you asked me a question just now.” She smiled. I was a little irritated but shrugged to concede the point. It seemed trivial to joust with each other in this way. “Why did you look like that when you saw the prince?” she asked. I decided there was nothing to be lost by telling her the truth, at least about this. “Because I had no idea there was a prince.” I felt horribly stupid as I said it. “I’ve made a mistake. My cousin and I thought the invitation was about…dragon breeding.” I blushed. She went completely blank. “Dragon breeding? Are you serious? But what about the letter that came with the invitation? Explaining to come with a chaperone and an evening dress and…” She stopped when she saw my face. “You didn’t get it.” I shook my head, feeling a little sick now as I remembered how I had pestered the guides to meet the Red Dragon.

“I don’t want to offend them by turning down their Adonis. I want him to choose Miss Falconer. Not that there’s any danger of him choosing me.” Somehow, I wasn’t explaining myself well, and I was now quite red. This was not the kind of thing a girl likes to discuss with a prospective sweetheart! And Simon was listening in an intent way that didn’t help me along at all. “Why do you say that?” he asked. “Good gracious, Simon! Look at her!” I gestured to where she was standing with the prince right now, listening to him with an expression of utter absorption in his words, her hair lit by the sun. “Why, any man would…” I began. “No, Edith. Not any man,” he said quietly but very firmly. This silenced me at once. I felt an odd bubble of happiness. Perhaps I might fairly strike ‘compare me with other women’ off the list now, since the prettiest girl I’d ever seen hadn’t turned his head for even a moment.

His eyes were sparkling. “Well, I am happy to tell you this—if you can ride a horse, you can ride a dragon.” “When?” I said without hesitation. He blinked in surprise at my ardour. I cursed myself inwardly for not restraining it. “Are all East Midlands clergymen’s daughters as fearless as you are, Miss Worms?” A grin was spreading over his face. Oh, no. No. This was entirely too friendly. Quick—I must say something obnoxious. “Are all Welsh princes as beautiful as you?” But I had not counted on the man’s vanity. Instead of being repulsed by my impertinence, he looked delighted—the peacock! “Sadly, there are no other Welsh princes, but I am happy to know you think me beautiful,” he almost purred.

Lmaaaoooooo

“Is it true?” demanded Miss Falconer when we were in our room again. Aunt Lavinia was still fast asleep. “What?” I asked, carefully unlacing her boots so she would be more comfortable. “That you’re an outsider? That you didn’t know about dragons before April?” “Oh. Yes.” I eased off the boots and then stretched out on my own bed to rest my aching limbs. “Good heavens.” She sat on the edge of the bed. “Well, I wouldn’t mind getting rid of a rival, but I don’t particularly want to watch you die in agony, so please listen to me carefully.” I rolled to face her. “Muzzles, cages, gauntlets,” she listed in a staccato voice. I was a little bewildered. “Gauntlets? You mean those enormous gloves that people were always throwing down in the Middle Ages?”

😂

“I have to marry,” she said flatly. “Papa’s estate will go to my brother, Harry. He’ll be the next Warden, and he’s already told me he won’t support me unless I work myself to the bone for whoever he marries and their brats. So it’s either Arthur or one of those dreadful Tallantire brothers up in Renwick. If they weren’t horrible enough, there are the sisters to be dealt with—they’ll never marry; they’re too peculiar. They’ll be there forever, healthy as horses. And the mother!” She shuddered. I felt myself warm to the Tallantires, whoever they might be, who had not sent any young women to the Red Dragon, to be picked over like cabbages at a market. “The only other marriageable men among us are Arthur and your Mr Drake,” she said, her tone changing. “What is he, by the way?” This startled me. “What do you mean, ‘what is he’?” “A younger son?” she guessed. “An only son.” “Really!” It was like a cat spotting a mouse-hole. I thought rapidly. “But he has a mother,” I warned. “What kind of mother?” she said, her eyes narrowing. “A very, very bad one. She’d make life awful for you.” There was no need to exaggerate. I had my own doubts about life with Helena as a mother-in-law. Between her and Miss Falconer, though, it would be pistols at dawn. “Is she likely to die?” “Not anytime soon.” She sniffed. “Pity. He’s very good looking, and seems so biddable. Oh well, you can have him,” she said airily. It was like passing on a hat that didn’t suit her. I felt myself torn between indig...

“What’s wrong?” I said as soon as I saw him. His face was tight with worry. He came close to me and spoke quietly. “Edith, how did our things get here?” he asked. “Oh, I wrote a note to Mrs Jones.” “You did?” “Yes, I did. Why?” He didn’t answer for a moment. “What did the note say?” “It said we had run into some friends who invited us to stay with them. Whatever is wrong, Simon?” He looked about us. “It’s only that if for some reason we weren’t to come back, I had hopes that Mrs Jones would report us missing to the mountain rescuers.” “Are you expecting to require a mountain rescue?” “I’m not expecting it. But I fear it.” Though I had seen Simon lying dragon-bitten in a ruin at midnight and I had seen him feed a voracious subterranean beast in the gloaming, I did not think I had ever seen Simon afraid before. “But surely our hosts would be able to—” His voice lowered further. “It is our hosts I fear.”

“Is that what you and your cousin are? Ambassadors?” “We could be,” I said. I was not yet ready to admit I had made a disastrous mistake in coming here; I did not know how that would tip the balance of my precarious situation. But then Arthur astonished me. He glanced at Simon, and without altering his tone, said, “It seems very strange to appoint a man who is in love with a young woman as her chaperone. But I know little of Yorkshire.”

“I was following you.” “Were you?” There was a silence. I wasn’t entirely sure what I thought of being watched like that. Then I remembered all the times I had found myself watching him. How odd to think that we’d been watching each other, like the pair of wyverns back in the Dale. “Edith, you know those legends about maidens and unicorns?” It was the last thing in the world I expected him to say. “Yes?” “That—tonight…that was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” he said, utterly serious.

“Edith. I must ask you something.” How was it that I’d tamed a giant winged dragon in the moonlight and only now my heart began to kick up a fuss? “Yes?” I seemed to be saying yes a great deal in this conversation. Perhaps I might go on saying yes, whatever the next question was—a leap into the dark that felt oddly appealing at this moment. “Edith, can you be happy leaving it here?” It was nothing like what I’d thought he might ask. “Simon, anyone would think you wanted me to stay!” I laughed, and then the laugh died. “Do you?” My voice came out oddly. Had he only now realised that growing closer to me would necessitate a complete disruption of his life? Had I finally succeeded in my old plan to inoculate him, when I no longer wished to?

We felt the spray even at our height. Arthur let out a very modern oath, which left me in no doubt that he had not been educated in this mountain hideaway, but at an expensive public school. (In England, only the very upper and lower classes are really capable of such language.)

“Drake, would you care to spar with me?” Arthur asked lightly. I jumped. Simon went still. I hated the idea of Simon being knocked about in that beastly way. Did I imagine it, or was there really a faint look of spite in Arthur’s eyes as he held out his weapon, hilt first? Simon was more than a match for Arthur as far as size went, and clearly in the peak of physical fitness (as evidenced by his gratuitous walk the day before), but did he know anything of swordplay? “I’m afraid I’m not much of a fighter,” he replied calmly. This brought back what he had said to me, the day I dined at Drake Hall and watched the humming-dragons with him: that it was absurd for men to fight over women when they were quite capable of choosing for themselves. Arthur looked, I thought, a little nonplussed at this response. He had tried to start a little game with Simon over me, and Simon had refused to play.

“The weaver doesn’t speak English, lady,” explained the steward. “Can you tell her what I said?” He translated my compliment. She turned to him and let out a string of rippling Welsh and then nodded at me. He looked slightly perturbed. “What is it?” I asked. “She wishes you success this evening, lady, and happiness in the future.” He smiled a little too deliberately. If that was all she said, why did he seem uncomfortable? As we were leaving the building, I drew close to Miss Falconer. “What did she really say?” Miss Falconer’s cheeks were a touch pinker than usual. “She said that she hopes you win because she thinks you will be kind to the prince and his children.” I stared at her. “Meredith, I don’t…” “Never fear,” she said with armoured cheeriness. “I still intend to win, though perhaps she is right and I will not be so kind a wife as you would be. And about this evening, just remember, you wanted me to win.” She gave me a smile that was about as warm as the draft from a door blown open in a winter’s gale.

Suddenly, the warmth inside me went ashy cold. “Simon, did you bring that with you?” I asked huskily. “No.” His brow furrowed. “They gave it to me. Is something wrong?” I shook my head. I could not explain now, not when my thoughts were groping about in the dark. What had Helena said to me, at our last meeting? I hope that you will not blame me for pressing my advantage. There was only one explanation: the gown she had given me to wear had originated here, in this place. But what could it mean? I was going to the ceremony in a dress that had been made here, by someone in this community. And that was exactly what Helena had meant me to do. Helena, who—of all people—had no reason to wish me to return.

Simon would understand. When every other person present began to think me mad, he would know that I was doing this because I was, suddenly, perfectly sane.

I have a pleasant singing voice, I have been told. I might have sung some sweet and amiable air, but I thought if I was going to humiliate myself, I might as well do a really thorough job of it.

“I’m terribly sorry, and I’m sensible of the honour and all that, but I’d make a simply rotten princess, and I’ve quite made up my mind I’m going home tomorrow.” “You’ve quite made up your mind?” he repeated. “Quite.” He was quiet for a moment. “I’m not a fool, Miss Worms. I can see that much of what has happened here has come as a surprise to you, and that you came for different reasons than I initially supposed. Therefore, perhaps I should make quite clear to you the conditions that were agreed upon between our people. It seems that whoever sent you here was not entirely frank with you. But I will be. By coming here and participating, you have given up your right to make that decision.” I stared at him in disbelief. He spoke in a pleasant tone that belied his words. “The conditions were, if the bridal candidate refuses after being chosen, then she must leave someone in her place. In this case, that would be your cousin, Simon Drake. He would be my hostage.” “Your hostage? But that’s perfectly—” “Mediaeval? Yes, perfectly. What did you expect, Miss Worms?”

“With everything that was kept from you, it does make me wonder—are you sure they want you back in Ormdale?” I was stricken. Had Helena intended to maroon me in Wales? Was this the knowledge she had asked me in advance to forgive her for using against me?

“Tell me, in the use of what weapons was he trained? The lance? Swords?” I stared at him. “Don’t be ridiculous.” “You won’t think it so ridiculous when he fights me for your honour.” He almost snarled at me. “I’ll make sure you have the best seat when I challenge him to single combat.” I stared at him. How thin was the gilding of civilisation that lay over the cruelties of a selfish man.

“Then come home with me, Edith,” he said, and his voice was full of emotion, words stumbling over themselves. “If they try to keep you here, I’ll find a way to get you out of here, I promise.” He was moving towards me. The desire to feel safe in his arms came over me as an ache, but I stopped him from coming closer with an upraised hand. Then I said the words I had hoped never to say. “What home are you offering me, Simon? Drake Hall?” He stopped dead. “That is your mother’s home,” I said. “How could it ever be mine, while it is hers?” This question had been held inside me for too long, and it came out gracelessly. He looked bewildered and hurt. Perhaps he had never allowed himself to ask it of himself. “My mother cares for you,” he protested, his voice ragged. I took a deep breath; I needed it to tell him the truth about his mother. It might give him the push he needed, might send him running back to her long enough for me to escape without putting him in danger. “No, Simon. Your mother wanted to rule me, and when she realised she couldn’t, she sent me here, hoping I would never return. You said you would protect me. But how will you protect me from her?”

I had never wanted, never intended, to be the one to make him choose between us, and yet I was doing just that.

Pendragon had called me atomistic—a lonely individual adrift in a sea of modernity—but he was wrong. His community was a sham one, a painted scrim lit by footlights. I knew it, because mine was real. Suddenly, I remembered Mother’s words: Courage is love defying fear. I would defy this place and escape it. I would defy it for those I loved and for myself, because to stay and lose myself here would be the most grievous sin of all. It was time for me to escape.

“Please, we need to go,” I whispered. Irrationally, I wished I spoke Welsh. But of course Welsh dragons didn’t speak Welsh, any more than English ones spoke English.

“Rusalka? Are you all right?” At the sound of the familiar voice, my heart jumped. I yanked open the door. Concern was creasing Janushek’s scarred face. At that moment, I truly thought it the nicest face in the world. I burst into tears. He shut the door and put his arms around me. I couldn’t speak. I could only sob into his crumpled collar, which smelled distinctly but not unpleasantly of ale, pipe smoke, and sheep. “Please, can you take me home, Janushek?” I managed. I couldn’t bear the idea of a night alone at the inn. “Yes, yes, of course, tonight, if you wish. Do not worry. For now, just cry.” I don’t think I’d ever been told to cry before in my life, but it was excellent advice. I felt as if my spirit was slowly returning to my body—perhaps guided thither by the sound of my sobs.

Her words were like a thick fog. The only way to keep your head was to remember what you had seen before the fog descended, to remember where things really were before they lost their shape and clarity.

“You want me to go back and give myself up in exchange for him,” I realised. “Yes, of course. Isn’t that what you want, Edith?” For a moment, I did. After all, it was because of me that he was now a prisoner. He went back for me. He had chosen me when I had believed he would run home to his mother. It would be a fine thing, a relief, in fact, to sacrifice myself for Simon. “It’s the only way you can fix what you’ve done,” she said. “Would it be so bad to be Princess of Gwynedd, after all?” With that, the fog instantly cleared. I blinked, appalled that for a moment I had fallen under her spell, that my thoughts had lost themselves in hers.

“You’ll leave him there?” Now her voice was sharp as a knife. I heard fear in it too. For she had laid a trap for me, her enemy, but the one person who was precious to her had fallen into it. We each must carry a kind of guilt now, but I thought hers was worse.

As soon as I unfastened Francis’s lead, he astonished me by scaling the wardrobe. Then he turned and looked at me. “What is it?” He made a barking sound at me. “Francis!” I exclaimed in surprise. He’d never made such a sound at me before. I pulled up a chair and stood on it to see what was bothering him. To my amazement, there were three luminous objects in the shadows on top of my wardrobe. Eggs. I stared at him in amazement. “Wait—” I gasped. “These are yours, aren’t they? You’re—you’re not Francis with an i— you’re Frances with an e!”

“You’d have done the same.” It was, I realised with shock, the first real smile I’d seen on her face. A smile of fierce, hard-won joy. What a strange thing to smile about, I thought. And then I knew why she did it. She was comforting me. I had thought to comfort her, but she was comforting me. Humble yourself, Father had said. “So, there’s to be no more talk of leaving, do you understand?” I said rather sharply, to cover the emotion in my voice. I had cried all over Janushek already, and it would hardly do to cry on all the servants in turn. We didn’t pay them nearly enough for that.