“That is not a castle.”

  I glanced at Nadine. “Yes, it is.”

  “No. That’s a city that swallowed a cathedral.”

  I followed her gaze to the outer wall, the black stone rising in immaculate lines, towers and spires lifting behind it in deliberate tiers. I shrugged.

  “There is a cathedral within the castle, but no city. The town outside was abandoned and repurposed long ago.”

  She tore her eyes from Ebonhold to look at me, then shook her head.

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  I raised my brows, waiting for her explanation, but she only sighed and looked back to the wall.

  “So, how do we get in?”

  I nodded. “Right. There are two ways.” I led her to the wall, and then along its perimeter, running my fingers over the black stone as I spoke. “The first is the hidden breach. There are even clues, pointing people in that direction if they make it this far. They would lead invaders to the graveyard.”

  Nadine glanced around. “Of course they would.”

  I grinned at her double meaning, but continued. “There is a mausoleum within. Beneath it, a staircase descends into the catacombs. It is a maze of many layers. The dead from several eras are interred there, and most have not remained still.”

  “Please tell me that doesn’t mean what I think it means.”

  “It doesn’t… so long as you don’t think it means the place is full of zombies, wights, cursed mummies and ghosts. Some of the older chambers are rumored to contain the experiments of long slain demons. Horrible, massive undead abominations and unimaginable monsters made of their corpses.”

  She stared at me.

  “If one survives that,” I continued, “there is a guardian at the lowest vault. I’m afraid I don’t know much about it, but beyond lies an ascent into the deepest dungeons.”

  “Gods above, Mirela. Escaping something like that must make any dungeon feel like paradise.” She paused for a moment. “Unless the dungeons are somehow worse.”

  “Not worse, I wouldn’t say. More structured, perhaps.” I answered, contemplatively. “And they likely smell better, but they are no less dangerous. Arcane sentinels guard key intersections and stairwells. The halls are patrolled by living armor incapable of feeling pain, with their animating runes hidden within and difficult to destroy. There are also monstrous bats and rats, failed necromantic prototypes, and revenants bound to service. Most are half mad from their long servitude in the darkness.”

  “And… You know a way to sneak past them all to get safely inside?”

  “Oh, absolutely not. I don’t think there is a way to sneak past. Even if you could, you’d never be able to get through the magically reinforced gates to ascend the floors.”

  She looked at me exasperatedly. “Maybe it has slipped your mind, Mirela, but you no longer have a sword, and I do not know much in the way of combat magic.”

  “We are far from helpless, Nadine,” I said with a shake of my head. “Now, where was I? Right. If you secure the appropriate keys and pass the upper gates, you only have to defeat the jailers. A difficult, but not impossible task. The jailers are death knights, and their aura alone is lethal to the unprepared. But if you are successful, you will reach the courtyard.”

  Nadine blinked slowly. “Is that all? And this is the welcoming path?”

  “It is the obvious path.”

  She studied my face, trying to determine if I was joking. My expression was stone, but I could see the thoughts boiling behind her eyes.

  “Alternatively,” I said, stopping beside an unremarkable section of wall, “we could use the family entrance.”

  I drew a nail across my palm and pressed my blood into the stone. The wall drank it in, and a seam of light traced downward. The stone withdrew, revealing a narrow passage through the thickness of the wall, softly lit by suspended wisps.

  Nadine stared at it.

  “Yeah. That seems… preferable.”

  “It is.”

  The passage sloped downward through the first few meters of wall, cool stone close on either side. It was barely wide enough for us to walk side by side, but Nadine made it work. She had no intention of being anywhere but at my shoulder. I did not blame her.

  The tunnel carried us beneath the outer ramparts, then angled upward again. Soon the air changed, turning warmer, followed moments later by the scent of smoke and oil instead of moss and earth. A soft glow gathered ahead, steadier than torch light, and in a faint violet hue that felt like home.

  We emerged onto a narrow stone walkway set high within the inner curtain wall, and Nadine stopped.

  “I thought you said the town was abandoned?” She asked.

  Her gaze was locked on the town below, and I followed it, then nodded. “Yes, it was. Long before Father moved here, even. He repurposed it for his needs.”

  The streets of the town were clear. The roofs were repaired. Lanterns burned with steady white flame along the main thoroughfares. Figures moved through the square in ordered lines, bearing crates, tools, and lengths of timber. A forge rang in even intervals. Leather frames were stretched and scraped. From somewhere near an old guildhall came the faint hum of active enchantment, a structured pulse of magic that thrummed against the senses like a distant heartbeat.

  Yet, no one spoke. No laughter drifted through the streets, no masters shouted instructions to their apprentices, and there were no quarrels over price or pace. The workers did not acknowledge one another as they passed. They did not pause or gesture. They simply turned, lifted, hammered, stitched, or carried.

  “They’re all undead,” Nadine said, her voice filled with awe and terror in equal measure.

  “Yes. Father’s creations. He has been working on them since the beginning. He is very talented with Necromancy.”

  And he was. There were none of the shambling, feral monsters one might expect when thinking of their kind. Their movements were clean and efficient. Their eyes dull but focused on their tasks. Some bore the remnants of armor from older eras, while others wore the plain clothes of tradesmen long dead. A few were too tall, their proportions wrong, stitched from mismatched histories, but never in a way that made them less functional. The rhythm of labor never faltered.

  Nadine’s fingers closed around my sleeve. “It’s like watching a city labor in perfect harmony. They’re just… working.”

  “Yes. I always thought of it like watching the gears of a clock.”

  “And now I’m afraid of your clocks. But, why? All of them working like this… what are they building toward, and for who?”

  I watched a pair of revenants guide a wagon into alignment without exchanging so much as a glance.

  “They are maintaining the castle infrastructure,” I said. “They handle repairs, production, and stockpiling.”

  “And they all just work without order?”

  I frowned. Her observation was something that was bothering me, as well. The village functioned when and how it was directed. When Father required it. It would not operate at full capacity without instruction, and this was already far more work going on at once than I could remember.

  Below, the forge struck again. The tempo a cadence in the background of my thoughts.

  “They have purpose,” I said at last. “Father directs them, though he need not be here to do it.”

  Nadine looked at me. “I feel like this is more than one might expect for support alone.”

  I gave her a calming smile. “Do not worry. He likely has a new project. It might even be interesting.”

  A cart rolled into the square bearing stone blocks cut to precise dimensions. Three figures lifted them in unison and carried them toward the keep, and the rest of the town continued to move like a single organism.

  I turned away from the railing. “Come. We should not linger.”

  Nadine cast one more look over the silent industry before following.

  Behind us, the wall sealed without a sound. Ahead, the inner gates of Ebonhold rose in polished black marble, already opening at our approach, the pristine stone parting without so much as a whisper of effort. Nadine glanced at the mechanisms instinctively, searching for gears or chains, despite there being none to find. I think that excited her even more.

  Inside, we crossed the castle courtyard together. The polished flagstone here was veined faintly with gold, clean enough that it reflected the sky in a muted sheen. Balconies rose in elegant tiers above us, arches layered one over the next in careful symmetry. Fountains lined the central approach, their water clear and steady, catching the light like threads of glass.

  High above the keep, something immense rested along the parapet. Its wings were folded neatly against its body, dark membranes catching the moonlight just enough. Curved horns swept back from a broad skull, and talons as long as short swords gripped the stone. Its eyes were open, tracking us as we crossed. I offered the smallest inclination of my head. Nadine did not react, her gaze fixed forward and unaware as we passed beneath it and into the keep.

  The grand stair rose directly ahead, wide and ceremonial, moonlight pouring down from tall windows and catching along the bannisters in pale streaks. It was the obvious route onward to the throne room, and one Nadine apparently thought we were following. I grabbed her hand before turning into a side corridor. She followed without protest, though her eyes lingered briefly on the stairs.

  The hallway stretched long and straight, vaulted ceiling rising far overhead. Along both walls stood suits of armor in immaculate rows, each one distinct. Some were slender and etched with fine patterns. Others were broader, designed for war. Each helm faced forward. Each polearm rested upright at its side.

  Nadine slowed, taking it in.

  “They’re incredible,” she murmured. “I can’t even see what they’re mounted on.”

  “They are properly balanced,” I said.

  “No, I mean it. The stands are invisible.”

  I smiled faintly. “In a way, I suppose. They are works of art.”

  She stepped closer to one, tilting her head. “They feel like they’re about to move.”

  “They are precisely where they should be. I don’t think they’ll be going anywhere any time soon.”

  That did not reassure her, though she fell back into step beside me.

  “Are we going to meet your father?” she asked after a few moments.

  “No, not yet.”

  She blinked at me. “But… he knows you’re here.”

  “Yes, of course.”

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  “And he’s not coming down?”

  “Oh. No, he will send for us when he is ready.”

  I could tell from her expression that wasn’t the answer she expected.

  “Mirela,” she said carefully, “you were kidnapped.”

  “Yeah. That is going to be embarrassing to explain.”

  “Embarrassing? What does that have to do with anything? Isn’t he worried?”

  It was my turn to blink at her. “Why would he be? I’ve returned.”

  “That isn’t what I meant!” she said, frustration building. “And don’t you want to see him?”

  I gave a helpless shrug. “He can be difficult to find when occupied. It is better not to interrupt him.”

  Nadine studied me, searching for something in my expression.

  “He didn’t even greet you,” she said quietly. “I must be missing something important.”

  “He is not human,” I answered just as quietly. “Relief does not compel him to ceremony. I am home. I am unharmed. That is enough.”

  “You almost died.”

  “I think it’s more fair to say I was inconvenienced.”

  She exhaled through her nose, clearly unconvinced.

  “Now that we're here, I don't mind a small delay. I likely am in trouble,” I added, glancing at her.

  Her head snapped toward me. “You’re joking.”

  “I left the deep woods untrained and traveled to Angelshade alone. I was captured. It… reflects poorly.”

  “That reflects poorly on the people who kidnapped you.”

  I blew out a long breath. “I doubt that is how he will view it. And let's not forget that he’s likely gotten a surprise notice of an impending wedding. Oh, and the minor inconvenience of having to explain that I’m the Saint when he asks about what class I unlocked. I am honestly unsure how he’s going to take that one.”

  We reached a junction, and I turned left without slowing.

  “Okay. Maybe things won’t be so easy. So we’re just… waiting?” she asked.

  “No, not exactly. We are going to my tower.”

  “You have your own tower?”

  “My rooms are there, and it is near the library. You will enjoy it.”

  She hummed noncommittally. “And… that is where we’re waiting?”

  “I thought we might have a bath, find a change of clothes, and if you’re hungry, head to the kitchens. It does not matter where we are. He will send someone when he wishes to speak with us.”

  She looked back down the corridor toward the courtyard, then up toward the vaulted ceiling.

  “This place,” she muttered. “It feels like a palace built for giants.”

  “Perhaps at one point it was. For now, it was built to endure, and that is all that matters,” I said.

  She hesitated, then added, “Also, I feel like something’s watching us.”

  I tilted my head slightly. “You walked past father’s familiar in the courtyard. Perhaps that is what you’re feeling.”

  She staggered a step. “His what?”

  “The creature above the keep.”

  “I saw nothing above the keep. Please do not tease me right now, Mirela.”

  I regarded her for a moment. “I don’t recall you looking up, then. Of course you didn’t see anything.”

  Her gaze flicked upward instinctively, as though she might see through layers of stone. “You’re serious?”

  I nodded. “Yes. Don’t worry yourself. He’s no threat to you.” I thought about that for a moment. “So long as you keep your distance.”

  A pause stretched between us.

  “I don’t like that,” she decided.

  I snorted, losing my composure for a moment. “That is understandable.”

  We continued walking past the tapestries, paintings, and occasional display, the armor standing silent along the walls our only companions. Nadine edged closer to me, not quite touching, but near enough that I could feel the warmth of her presence. I took her hand with a gentle squeeze, and she relaxed, just a little.

  We walked on. The corridor widened, then narrowed again, giving way to long stretches of tapestries and tall windows that spilled pale light across the marble floor. The armor eventually gave way to painted histories, then to statues set in alcoves, then to nothing at all but smooth stone and quiet.

  The walk was longer than Nadine expected, but she adjusted to the scale as we went. Soon her steps evened out and her grip on my hand loosened as curiosity began to outpace unease. About ten minutes later, one side of the corridor opened into a vast, vaulted archway framed in carved black marble.

  Nadine stopped so abruptly, nearly thrown off balance, her eyes scanning everything beyond. I took a step back to stand beside her, and smiled.

  “Oh, sorry. The library. See? I told you that you’d like it.”

  Story upon story of shelves climbed toward a ceiling lost in shadow, balconies wrapping around the interior in elegant tiers. Ladders clung to rails that curved along the stacks. Narrow bridges arced from one wing to another high above the ground floor. The air held the faint scent of parchment and ink, warm and dry and alive with quiet magic.

  Nadine’s jaw fell open, but it took several seconds before she managed any words.

  “That’s the library?” she breathed. “That’s… endless.”

  I folded my hands behind my back, unable to calm the curve of my lips. “I told you that you would enjoy it.”

  Her gaze traveled upward, following the balconies as they rose higher and higher. “How do people even get up there?”

  That question probably landed more sharply than she intended.

  “They shift into their bat form and fly,” I said lightly.

  She blinked. “Right. Of course they do.”

  I kept my expression composed. “I have not seen those shelves personally.”

  Her head turned slowly toward me. “Really? You, with your love of books? How did you resist?”

  “I’ve never had a way up.”

  “What about—“ she began, but I cut her off with a stern look.

  “Maybe one day.”

  The faint pride I had been indulging cooled a degree. The upper tiers remained distant, unreachable in new ways I did not care to dwell on.

  Nadine studied the soaring stacks once more, then looked back at me. “We are coming back here.”

  “We are,” I agreed, and turned away before she could ask anything further. “My tower is this way.”

  The path narrowed again, the library’s immense space giving way to a quieter corridor that curved gently along the inner wall. Ahead, the corridor opened onto a high gallery overlooking the inner grounds. From there, a narrow stone bridge extended outward to one of the outer towers, its dark walls rising clean and straight against the sky. Windows spiraled up its height in even intervals, catching the light in a way that made the stone shine as violet as amethyst.

  “Here we are,” I said.

  “You weren’t exaggerating,” she murmured as we crossed the bridge.

  We stepped inside, where a circular room greeted us on the first floor, shelves lining the walls in neat rows, a broad desk set near a tall window. Papers lay stacked with careful precision. A smaller collection of books filled one side, organized and well-kept. It felt exactly as it had the day I’d left.

  I led the way to the spiral stair along the wall, following it upward to the second landing. Glassware gleamed along long tables. Racks of reagents were secured in labeled cases. An enchanting circle had been inscribed into the floor in silver inlay, its lines clean and unmarred. The notes from my most recent experiments were still resting on the table where I’d left them.

  Nadine turned slowly in place. “You didn’t mention the laboratory.”

  “Where did you think I practiced?” I teased.

  She made a soft, impressed sound, and we continued our climb.

  The third level opened into my rooms, and immediately, something felt wrong. The air was different, like the space had been occupied.

  Maeyke stood near the hearth, a cloth in her hand, polishing away dust that I doubt was there. Her posture was as straight as ever, her expression composed as she inclined her head.

  “My lady.”

  I smiled at her, an introduction already on my lips when I saw the room’s other occupant. On the floor near the far wall, beneath the window, Coralie knelt. Or, rather, she had tried to kneel. Now she leaned heavily against the base of a small table she had dragged near the light. Upon it stood a modest arrangement of carved symbols and a folded strip of cloth marked with careful script. A simple shrine where she could pray to the gods.

  Coralie herself looked diminished. Her cheeks were hollowed, and her skin had paled far beyond its natural tone. Shadows pooled beneath her eyes as though sleep had abandoned her entirely. Her hands trembled faintly where they rested in her lap. The sharpness she once carried had dulled into something brittle.

  Nadine’s grip on my hand tightened again.

  “What happened to her?” she asked, voice low.

  “I’m not sure,” I answered, even as ideas grew in my mind.

  Coralie lifted her head at the sound of my voice. Her gaze found me instantly, and fixed, unable to pull away. Her eyes were full of desperate hunger, only not for food. She needed something else.

  I remembered my last command as clearly as if I had spoken it moments ago. Do not leave the tower until I return. And she had not. She couldn’t disobey me, I knew now.

  And Maeyke, wonderful Maeyke, had cleaned up my mess. She had fed her. That much was obvious. A tray rested on a nearby table, scraped clean. I imagine she’d done everything else she could while I was gone, but Coralie couldn’t leave the tower.

  Coralie swallowed, her throat working with visible effort.

  “My lady,” she whispered.

  The words were fragile and reverent. The wrongness of it stung my heart, even as something deeper within felt it was natural. A slow, creeping understanding settled into my thoughts. I had given her my blood. Repeatedly, far more than anyone else, all in such a short period with no time to recover. And now, somehow, she was bound to it. I felt it as easily as I could feel another vampire nearby. She was mine.

  And then, I had left. I had left her here alone, with no escape, and no relief.

  Nadine looked from Coralie to me, confusion deepening. “Mirela?”

  Maeyke’s gaze shifted subtly toward me. Even her expression was guarded, waiting to see how I would deal with this situation.

  Coralie tried to push herself upright and failed, her palm slipping against the polished floor. Even that small effort drained her. The shrine she had built trembled as her shoulder brushed it. Carved symbols toppled and scattered across the stone.

  A small, broken sound escaped her. She crawled another inch toward me anyway.

  That was enough. I crossed the room in three strides and dropped to my knees beside her, sliding an arm around her shoulders before she could collapse again. She was lighter than I remembered, almost childlike. Heat radiated from her skin, but it was the heat of fever or strain.

  “Coralie,” I said softly.

  She sagged against me as though the effort of holding herself upright had finally exceeded her will. Her body shuddered, trying to weep and lacking the strength to do so.

  “I am sorry,” she rasped. “I did not know… I did not know it would be like this.”

  “You have nothing to apologize for.”

  “I cannot pray.” Her voice cracked. “I kneel and I feel nothing. I try to speak, and it is empty. They have forsaken me.” Her fingers twisted weakly in the fabric at my sleeve. “Everything hurts. I feel… wrong. Like I am wearing my own skin incorrectly. Like I am not myself.” Her breathing hitched. “Please. If this is what I am now… let me die. I did not mean to betray them.”

  Her words carved deeper than I expected.

  “I did not intend this,” I murmured. “I did not know it would bind you so tightly.”

  She shook her head weakly. “I followed you willingly.”

  “I commanded you to remain here.”

  “And I would again,” she whispered, with terrible sincerity.

  That ended it. I drew my hand up and cut across my palm with my nail. Blood welled bright and pooled there.

  Coralie flinched.

  “No,” she breathed, turning her face away even as her body leaned closer. “I do not want to fall further. I do not want to betray the gods.”

  I reached up and pulled back my hood, and my halo flared into quiet brilliance above my head, golden and steady, filling the room with gentle light.

  Coralie froze. Her trembling stilled and even her breath hitched.

  “You are not betraying them,” I said. “The gods care not that I am a vampire. They have not withdrawn from me. They will not withdraw from you.”

  Her gaze rose slowly, disbelief and awe warring across her hollowed features.

  “You…You’re the Saint?”

  “Yes.”

  The light reflected in her eyes, and for the first time since I had entered the room, she did not look broken. She looked stunned.

  I held my bleeding hand between us.

  “Drink,” I said softly.

  She tried to resist. I could feel it. A thread of will pulled back, but her resistance was fading with the realization, and the bond tugged harder. Her lips brushed my palm, and then, she drank.

  Change came with the first swallow. Color returned to her cheeks in faint increments. The trembling in her limbs eased. Her breathing steadied. The tightness in her expression softened into relief so profound it bordered on reverence. She drank as though she feared it might vanish, and I let her.

  When she finally drew back, she was no longer sagging against me. Strength had returned to her posture. The shadows beneath her eyes had faded to something almost normal, and even her muscle had recovered to that of a warrior.

  “I will find a solution,” I told her quietly. “I do not yet understand what has occurred, but I will make it right. Until then, you will remain with me. You will not be left to suffer.”

  Maeyke cleared her throat gently.

  “There is clarity to be had, my lady.”

  I looked up. The revenant stood with her hands folded neatly before her, expression composed.

  “You fed her thrice in close succession,” Maeyke said. “With deliberate intent, with authority, and without allowing the mortal body time to recover.”

  My heart began to sink. I felt the essence of what she was about to say before the words left her lips. Or, so I thought.

  “You have made her your familiar.”

  I stared at her in confusion. I had never heard the term familiar used like that. I knew father had familiars, but they were monstrous beasts. I’d thought they were like a wizard's familiar. Had he fed those monsters his blood? Or had they once been human?

  “There is no remedy for that,” Maeyke continued. “If you abandon her, she will wither. Slowly at first. Then rapidly. She will fade until nothing remains.”

  Nadine inhaled sharply.

  “The only path away from such dependency,” Maeyke added, “is to complete the transformation. To elevate her fully. That choice rests solely with you now. No other can turn her.”

  Coralie turned her head toward me. There was no fear in her expression anymore, only certainty.

  “I do not regret it,” she said softly. “I felt lost. I thought they had cast me aside.” Her gaze drifted toward the halo above my head. “But that wasn’t it at all. They placed me here.” Her hand rose, steady now, and covered mine. “I will protect you. I swear it. Where you go, I go. If this is my purpose, I will not turn from it.”

  I nodded my acceptance. It wasn’t something to have an opinion on, it was simply the truth. I had done this, and she was my responsibility. More, I could feel in my heart, and in the link between us, she would be loyal no matter what the future held. It was her nature now, for better or worse.

  “Well. This is not how I expected my homecoming to go,” I said plainly.

  “Mirela,” Nadine said, drawing my attention back to her. “Are you okay? What happened here?”

  “Right.” I stood, turning to face everyone. “Introductions are in order. This is Nadine, my cousin.” I raised a hand to gesture at the others. “This is Maeyke. She is the one who raised me after my mother died.”

  I paused as an unfamiliar warmth filled my chest at the notion. It was an understanding I hadn’t had before I’d left home, and faced with her, one that was difficult to ignore. For now, I pushed it aside, and continued.

  “This is Coralie. She is a Templar of the church. Or, at least, she was. Now she is my familiar.”

  Nadine gave a small curtsy that they both returned. “It is wonderful to meet you both, though I must admit, this entire situation has left me confused."

  I waved away the concern. “Let us worry about that later. We should bathe and find clean clothing before Father calls for us.”

  As if summoned by the thought, a knock sounded at the base of the stair. Maeyke’s gaze shifted toward the door, and we followed it. A moment later, another revenant ascended the spiral steps with smooth, unhurried strides. His attire was formal, immaculate, cut in a style several centuries out of fashion and maintained as though it had never aged.

  He bowed precisely.

  “My lady.”

  “Yes?”

  “His Excellency requests your presence in his study,” he answered, the words were delivered without inflection.

  “And?” I asked.

  “You are afforded one hour to prepare.”

  Nadine glanced at me. “One hour?”

  I inclined my head. “We will attend him.”

  The revenant bowed again and withdrew without another word. No one spoke for several seconds, until we were sure we were alone again.

  I exhaled slowly. “Well. That is generous.”

  Nadine shook her head at me. “Generous? I don’t see it.”

  “He could have summoned us immediately.”

  She shook her head. “He could have met you at the door when you arrived. This doesn’t make things feel any better.”

  “It should,” I said. “It means he is not displeased enough to abandon formality.”

  That was only partly true. I looked toward my chambers.

  “One hour,” I said. “Let us not keep him waiting.”