Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Living in Castle Whitestone meant living with ghosts.

Most were metaphorical, of course. The place had centuries of history and accumulated legends, the shades of traumas and tragedies and triumphs that had all played out in turn. It was impossible not to feel the weight of it all, especially when it was part of your lineage, and the de Rolo children had been well tutored in this history, thanks to a father who was concerned with passing on its importance. Still, that didn’t mean he was willing to share every detail, and a few more were beyond his knowledge, lost to history or even deliberately erased. In lieu of definitive answers, the children were imaginative enough to invent their own stories. They all traded theories about who had broken the nose off that statue, or what made that creaking noise in the third-floor corridor every night, or what sort of horrible act had resulted in the bloodstain that no one had ever quite buffed out of the drawing room floor.

Wolfe was responsible for most of the tales about that one. Vesper, who knew perfectly well he meant to spook his younger brother, made him stop before he scarred poor Freddie for life. At the same time, though, she couldn’t blame him for being morbidly fascinated. This place had seen its villains, some of them recently, and it was hard not to believe the whole place was haunted.

Despite her own attempts at maintaining her position as The Sensible One, she felt that eeriness more keenly than anyone else.

She’d never confided in any of her family about this. Her parents would only ever worry, or perhaps simply reject it out of hand, determined that the dead and gone remain that way. Her youngest siblings, she had no intention of frightening. And the twins were…well, the twins. She’d only ever lightly broached the topic of ghosts with them — just earlier today, in accidental, impulsive chatter in the library — and unsurprisingly, they didn’t take it seriously. 

Wolfe had listened for all of ten seconds, in fact, before interrupting to ask which sort of ghosts she was talking about. To be fair, there were any number of candidates. “We’ve got a surfeit of dead relatives,” he’d said carelessly, waving his free hand toward the historical volumes. The other was bracing a finely carved wooden puzzle box in his lap. It was no real challenge for him, but he always preferred to have something to do with his hands. “Skeletons in the closet. Great-great-whatever Melanie’s victims.”

“You were named after one of them,” Leona pointed out from her place in the window seat. It was Vesper’s favorite spot, but Leona had beaten her to it, leaving Vesper at the much-less-comfortable desk. “If Melanie’s haunting anybody, it ought to be you.”

“As I have yet to be dismembered in my sleep, I’m guessing she’s not.”

“She poisoned people. She didn’t chop them up.”

“Pedant,” Wolfe said dispassionately, and leaned back in his overstuffed armchair, going back to rearranging puzzle components.

Vesper sighed. She briefly toyed with a quill pen on the desk before collecting herself. “I’m not talking about Melanie. At least not solely her. Just…ghosts in the general sense. Have you ever felt signs of such a thing?”

Leona asked shrewdly, “Have you?”

Vesper didn’t have a clear answer to that. It was her entire reason for asking. She had a difficult time putting a finger on it: the sense that fell over her sometimes of something there, but only like echoes and shadows, indistinct. She found herself arrested in corridors sometimes, listening for absent voices, and staring into glass as if expecting to see reflections of something that simply wasn’t present. Gwen had caught her at it once. Gwen, inconveniently, noticed everything. “it’s nothing, darling,” Vesper had told her that day, and swept up her littlest sister to carry her back downstairs, off to somewhere brighter. She’d probably spoken truly. It probably was nothing.

But what if it weren’t?

“I think,” Leona said with exaggerated care, “our dear Ves let herself get spooked while thinking about the Briarwoods again.”

Vesper narrowed her eyes. “I did not let myself get spooked.”

Leona shrugged, making a face. “Well, I’m spooked by the Briarwoods. Anyone with any sense would be spooked by the Briarwoods.”

“Father certainly wants us to be,” Wolfe put in, finally lifting his gaze again. “He dwells on it so. I mean: yes, I get it, it was thoroughly dreadful, much was lost, much was broken, and much darkness remains, so I promise not to poke at anything questionably eldritch they left in the basement, but they’re dead and it’s done. He acts like we’ll all start summoning demons for fun and profit if we don’t get it hammered into our heads once a week how Truly, Terribly Bad it all was.”

“You’d be the first of any of us to actually try it.”

“And I fully expect you, dear Leo, to drag me kicking and screaming to my senses before I actually have any fun.”

“Oh, she’d be the one to cart you off to temple to expunge you of your sins,” Leona said, thumbing in Vesper’s direction. “I’d just tag along to watch. And eat snacks.”

“At least do me the courtesy of sharing.”

“Only after you stop gibbering in tongues.”

That was all Vesper could take. “Are you both constitutionally incapable,” she said, “of answering a single question put to you?”

“Not at all,” Wolfe said smoothly, clicking another component of his puzzle into place. “But I think Leona’s right. I think you got through history lessons and took them too much to heart, and now you’re jumping at shadows. Otherwise you wouldn’t have asked about ghosts of all things. I’m not seeing any. Are you?”

“No,” Leona said, agreeing with him in totality for once. “Not a one.”

“There. And she’s the scaredy-cat—“

“I most certainly am not.”

“—so that ought to settle it. Anyway, I don’t know why it bothered you. We knew all this. What was it that got to you this time?”

Vesper wished she had a clear answer. Wolfe had a point. The story of the Briarwoods was so deeply ingrained in this place and in their lives that it ought not to have been newly unsettling. Yet something had added to the chill this time. She just felt reluctant to admit as much, especially to someone as unaffected as Wolfe. Of course, he acted disaffected about everything these days, which was proving irritating for everyone within a mile’s radius. Vesper shook her head and decided to drop it before she prompted anything worse. “Never mind. This was clearly an unproductive avenue of inquiry.”

Wolfe mimicked her, annoyingly. Vesper got up, firmly instructing herself, Be a proper lady about it. Don’t roll your eyes. She tried not to dwell on the fact that her mother often did about all sorts of matters, extravagantly so, and somehow got away with it. 

Her whole family got away with a lot. She wished she knew what it was like not to worry about such things, because somehow, she’d missed inheriting that trait. Maybe that was why she was overthinking everything again. But still…

“I bet I know what got under your skin,” Leona said, before Vesper could get any further away. “Father’s siblings, who died back then. We almost never talk about them. But he mentioned that book last time. The one he said was his eldest sister’s. You remember that, don’t you?”

Vesper went very still, and put one hand out to the nearest shelf.

“What was it even about?” Leona went on. “I mean, I suppose it doesn’t matter, but I went back to look later and it wasn’t on his shelf anymore.“

The silence after that statement was goading. “It was a novel,” Vesper said softly, unable to help herself. “A historical adventure she’d liked. He said it was left behind in her room. Never got lost, somehow.”

“And you weren’t supposed to take it,” Wolfe said, leaning closer. “But that’s where it went. The supposed good girl nicked it and did some extracurricular reading.”

“Oh, leave it,” Vesper said, but Leona had picked right up from Wolfe. The twins rarely shared their targets, but when they did, their aim was merciless.

“You got your hands on something that belonged to your namesake, and now you’re asking us about ghosts, because you got creeped out thinking about poor dead Auntie Vesper...”

“Oh, have some respect! You sound like him!”

Wolfe made a “who, me?” gesture, then spread his hands wider in a shrug. “Vesper thinking she’s seeing Vesper. That’s some nominative determinism for you.”

Leona rolled her eyes just like Vesper had been trying not to. “Do you know how much of a prat you sound like when you say things like ‘nominative determinism’?”

“Well, I’m terribly sorry for having an advanced vocabulary. Inconsiderate of me.”

“Not that advanced. I’m not even sure that’s really what it means.”

“And I did not say I’m seeing Vesper,” Vesper burst out. “I don’t even know what I’m—“

Leona’s gaze grew very sharp. Vesper threw up her hands and turned away before her sister could start prying. “You two are impossible,” she said, and walked away, leaving the twins to bicker between themselves. She needed some peace and quiet, and she wasn’t about to find it with them.

The only place she was really likely to find it was in her room, however, and she was afraid that her siblings were right about one thing: she had indeed taken her aunt’s book, and it was stashed away in there, waiting.

Father’s bound to ask me about it eventually, she thought uncomfortably. And I need to figure out what to say.

With that on her mind, Vesper sighed and began navigating the halls back to her bedroom. Whether the sense of suspicious eyes watching her had more to do with ghosts or with her own newly creeping guilt was hard to say.

The temperature did, however, seem more chilly than the weather truly called for, and it was hard not to imagine that the shadows in the hall stretched uncommonly long.

Chapter Text

Dinnertime at the de Rolo household was typically a formal affair, at least in intent. Everyone present in the castle— which varied depending on familial duties, travel, and occasional adolescent fits of pique — would gather in the castle’s vast, much-renovated dining room, each of them taking up their customary seats at the long table. The meal, no matter how finely prepared, was never the most important part. Here, between the newly commissioned family portraits and the near-excess of lights and lanterns — for the eldest de Rolos were determined to keep the heart of their home bright — the family would gather to discuss their days. Everyone was expected to contribute.

Vesper that night was not exactly in the mood to contribute.

“Freddie, darling,” her mother was saying, gently entreating her youngest boy to speak up. When Aunt Cassandra was occupied, as she was tonight over a late meeting, Vex tended to held court over the dinner table, and she preferred calling on Freddie first to let him off the hook as soon as possible. Vesper half-listened while delicately moving her food about the plate, pretending she wasn’t still thinking about a forty-year-old novel and its owner. 

“Did you enjoy your afternoon?” Vex was asking. “You went with Lewis to visit the aviary, didn’t you?”

Freddie — Vax’ildan Frederick in full, although he was seldom called anything but his nickname — nodded. He looked anxious as always at being the center of attention, but his dark eyes were wide with interest. Vex asked, “Tell me, then. Which of the birds did you like best?”

“Did you get over to the falconry while you were at it?” Wolfe put in. “Those are my favorite.”

“The way you handle them, I’m amazed none of them have pecked your eyes out,” Leona commented under her breath.

Freddie shrank back in his chair. For all that the boy was highly intuitive with animals, and was best friends with a bear cub of all things, most other predators tended to be a bit much for him. “I…I didn’t go there. I stayed inside.” At his mother’s questioning look, he hesitantly answered, “I think I liked the…the conures best.”

Vex smiled, glad to get an answer. “Well, those are charming birds. And cleverer than most. Did you know some of their family can learn to talk?”

He made an effort, pushing past the stutter that kept him quieter than his siblings. “The keeper said one of them knew t-thirty words. They’re skilled at m…mimicry. Some can learn meaning. And they pick things up from everyone.”

Leona murmured, “We definitely shouldn’t let Wolfe near them, then.” Their father heard her that time, and gently shushed her.

“Well, then. I’m glad you had your outing. And you know what?” Vex conspiratorially added, “Those are your aunt Kiki’s favorite birds, too.”

Freddie nodded solemnly, and spared himself from having to say anything else by filling his mouth with a forkful of the roast. It was Gwen who lifted her head, frowning quizzically, while she thumped one foot idly against her chair.

“Why do we always see her with ravens, then?” she asked.

Percival looked over his glasses at his youngest, then his wife. He and Vex shared a long look before Vex said, “The ravens adopted her, darling. In a manner of speaking.”

“And that,” Percival added, reaching for his wine, “is a very long story.”

Gwen’s frown became a pout. Percival’s expression softened. “We’ll tell you more about it later, dear. Eat your vegetables first.”

Gwen, not breaking his gaze, speared a snap pea with her fork and set about determinedly munching. Percival’s face creased with a smile.

“In the meantime,” he asked her, “what did you learn about today?”

“Geometry,” she said, around her food. Before she could be reminded of her manners, she swallowed hard and added, “And I read the first three chapters of Reflections on Calamity.”

Leona stopped midway through polishing her glasses and addressed her father, appalled. “You’ve got her reading that?”

“She was the one who chose it,” Percival said mildly.

“It does sound like heavy reading material,” Vex interjected, her voice quiet. “Are you still certain that giving her free rein in the library is wise?”

He spoke just as quietly, but with force. “You know how I feel about hiring tutors.” Then he sighed. “I’m happy to take a more active role in guiding her reading selections if you’d prefer. But Gwendolyn, dear. Can you speak to some of the themes you’ve encountered in the text thus far?”

“The hubris of humanity,” she said promptly, even if the last traces of her little-girl lisp made it sound more like hubrith. “And how important it is to write everything down. The authors keep having to say how much they don’t know.” She giggled. “Their footnotes sound so annoyed.”

Percy murmured to Vex, “I think she’ll be fine.”

“Speaking, however, of reading material,” Wolfe said, his voice raised, “I wanted to mention something that Leo and I were discussing with Vesper.”

Vesper let go of her fork at last. It clattered against her plate, making everyone peer at her. “Is this really the time?” she asked, but her father said, “I suspect I know what this is about,” and she flinched. Of course he’d noticed. And those flinty eyes were turned right toward her.

Before she could get ahead of her siblings with an explanation, Wolfe continued, “It sounds like she’s been reading your sister’s book. But I thought you’d said your personal collection isn’t to be tampered with?”

“I was not tampering.”

Leona picked up the thread. “I might have asked for a look, too, if I thought I’d be allowed. But.”

She let that last word hang. It was only accentuated, somehow, by Gwen’s little foot still thumping rhythmically against the chair leg. Vesper’s eyes narrowed.

Percival, for his part, said, “Being a tattletale doesn’t become you, Leona.” Leona deflated. Vesper just barely heard her mutter, “Wolfe brought it up first.” Percy ignored both that and Wolfe’s incipient protest to add, “Would you care to explain why I found it missing this morning?”

Vesper looked down at her plate, trying to shut out the interested stares of her younger siblings. She was almost never the one caught out, and she was sure it had to have its share of novelty. She just also wished that this was easier to explain. “I’m sorry, Father. I did mean to ask. I think I just got distracted. I felt…”

Strangely compelled, she thought, picturing the bookshelf, and the faintly sun-hazed room, and the sense that somewhere between the dust motes she could almost see and recognize the fingerprints on the book's spine.

“I’m afraid I lost track of myself,” she said inadequately. “I took the book with me. It’s in my room.”

“I think that’s putting everything very nicely, but she was definitely out of sorts,” Wolfe said. “She even interrupted us in the middle of study to ask all sorts of weird questions—ow!”

Vesper had, uncharacteristically, kicked his shin under the table. Percival sighed. “Children…”

“And what were you studying, exactly?” Vesper interrupted, addressing her brother, while Gwen watched with her fork held motionless in her mouth. Freddie looked rather as if he’d like to escape the table. “If I remember correctly, you were meant to be working on a civics essay. Which you were most definitely not doing.”

Wolfe glowered. “And Leona gets called a tattletale? Besides, I do not answer to you.”

“Children!”

The outburst startled them all upright. It wasn’t Percival who’d spoken this time, but Vex. “Really. If you’re going to bicker, at least try for more panache. My brother could insult me more entertainingly than that by the time we were twelve.” She quirked one corner of her mouth. “Wolfe, darling, please pass the bread; I’d like one more slice.”

Wolfe looked mildly abashed, and did as she asked. Vesper collected herself as best she could, although she did feel as out of sorts as Wolfe had claimed. Percival, who was watching her closely, had assuredly noticed.

“Well, Vesper,” he said, “now that you’ve read your aunt’s book, which I might note is irreplaceable, what do you think you’ve learned?”

Vesper resisted the urge to fidget. She thought of describing the novel’s plot, but knew she’d feel foolish. It also wasn’t the important thing. She thought instead of the feel of the book in her hands. It wasn’t expensively bound, for it had been sold in large numbers, a popular read. But they’d taken care with the design, suggesting something of the story’s exotic locale, and color still lingered in the title’s lettering and the author’s name. It was that name that slipped from her memory, though. The name of only one woman mattered here, and it was the same one that she shared.

The answer she found herself giving was entirely about that.

“Vesper dog-eared her books,” she said. “Neatly, though, Perfect triangles, all the same size. She made notes about her favorite passages in green ink. Her handwriting looks almost like mine.” Her voice cracked. Everyone was looking at her, and she was starting to feel unsteady, but she couldn’t stop talking. “I barely know anything real about her, but now I know that she kept a letter from a faraway teacher she hoped to study with tucked inside a book about that place, and she never got to go because she died, and why do you never talk about her, Father? About any of them?”

The room went quiet. Even Gwen went still, and the thump-thump-thump of her swinging foot ceased. In the absence of any other sound, Percival let out a long, heavy breath. “I do not speak of their loss,” he said at last, “because the loss itself is unspeakable. And I refuse to tell that story here, in this place.”

“Percy,” Vex whispered, putting a hand to his arm. Wolfe glared daggers at Vesper. She realized, quite keenly, that she’d misstepped. While her father had never shared the entire story, he’d made one point clear: the Briarwoods had betrayed the de Rolos over dinner.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I didn’t mean to remind you of that. I only wanted to know about her.”

He sighed, shook his head, then looked at her. The room’s newly installed electric lights threw glinting reflections off his glasses. “I suppose if I never wanted you to be curious, I shouldn’t have named you after her,” he said, with a touch of self-deprecation. “But there are better ways to ask than stealing.”

“I remember you telling me,” Vex said, low enough that Vesper barely heard her, “about a time you borrowed a book of hers without asking…”

Percy flushed an uncommon shade. Then he rubbed a hand over his face and spoke more commandingly before anyone else could comment. “Vesper, I want the book returned. I have very few mementos left of my late siblings, and I’d prefer to keep this one close. If you’d like to know something real, as you said, about your namesake, I think it’s fair to tell you she was always my favorite.”

Vesper knew her cheeks had reddened, too, and she looked down. Leona was making an “oh, of course” sort of expression that she didn’t want to face, either.

“Yes, Father,” she said quietly. “I can go fetch it for you.”

He studied her, thinking it over. Something she couldn’t even guess at had softened his tone. “It can wait until morning.” He lifted the last bite of his roast, pondered it, and added dryly, “Also, please don’t repeat what I just said to your aunt Cassandra. We’ve had enough squabbles about favoritism as it is.”

Vesper didn’t have it in her to laugh, but she almost managed it. Wolfe looked less amused. “That’s it? Give it back tomorrow, all is forgiven?”

Percival eyed him. “I also let your afternoon of truancy lie. Would you like me to reconsider?”

Wolfe opened his mouth, shut it again. Percival made a dismissive gesture with his fork. “Consider it a draw,” he said, and finished eating. Vex smiled, if not without exasperation, at the lot of them, then called for the table to be cleared.

Vesper excused herself before dessert.

Two flights of stairs separated the dining room from the siblings’ rooms, and Vesper walked them slowly, still thinking things over. When she arrived in the corridor, it was quiet. She’d been mulling over asking for a room somewhere more private, but for now, she was just down the hall and around a corner from everyone else, with a window that looked off to the mountains. Tonight it was cloudy, and the stars absent.

When she stepped inside and closed the door, there was a moment, just one, before she reached her lamp and everything was still stark black. Under shadow, she was suddenly gripped with the idea of the dinner table, but not as she’d just left it. The room was dimmer, the family bigger, and someone had just drawn closer, looming, threatening, to seize the figure sitting in Vesper’s seat…

She turned up her lamp as bright as it would go.

Her room wasn’t big or grand, so it only took a few breaths’ time to take stock: neatly made bed, imposing wardrobe, a heavy chest, a long shelf holding several of her favorite trinkets. And then there was her desk. Vesper went to it, sitting uneasily in the padded chair, and caught her breath. It wasn’t exertion that was making her shaky. Not physical exertion, anyhow.

She caught her reflection in the mirror nearby, and flinched.

Like her father and her aunt, she’d begun graying young, although without half as much of an excuse. Wolfe had called it her Generational Trauma Hair, passing it off as a joke, but had then covertly gone about checking his own reflection for any signs of gray. So far, though, her siblings seemed exempt. Only Vesper had gone from hair as dark as her mother’s to being nearly fully silvered by the time she reached her teens. It made her look strangely ageless, and sometimes, simply a bit strange.

She pulled at a strand, studying its fall, and wondered distantly what the elder Vesper had looked like. She’d never had any evidence any which way. All the portraits, she’d been told, had been burned.

Vesper was still thinking about that when there was a sudden, soft rap on the door. It was the only warning she got before the door opened and someone said, “Hey, Ves?”

Vesper stared, sighed, and waited, because she knew that in three seconds or less, her sister would walk in uninvited. Sure enough, Leona stepped inside a moment later. The only surprise was that she looked, for Leona, almost sheepish. Leona took her in, pushed back her curly hair over one ear, and said, “Yeah. You’re moping.”

All right, not that sheepish. Vesper made a face. “What is it, Leona?”

“I was…thinking about what went on downstairs.”

Vesper raised an eyebrow. “You mean when you and Wolfe ratted me out to the entire family about something I asked you in confidence?”

“If you didn’t sound so haughty about everything, it would be less tempting to do,” Leona shot back, peevish. Then she sighed. “But yes. I wanted to say sorry. Mostly for my brother. But also me. Us giving you shit is one thing, but we shouldn’t have put you on the spot.”

Vesper didn’t say anything. Leona fidgeted through a moment of silence before bursting out, “Also, I wanted to ask if I could see that book before you have to bring it back.”

Vesper shook her head. “No ulterior motives at all, then.” But her hand fell on the top drawer handle in her desk, and she didn’t think about it long before sliding the drawer open. Tucked beneath a sheaf of papers was her aunt Vesper’s book. She carefully lifted it out and handed it over. 

“Please don’t mangle it and have Father blame me,” Vesper said.

Leona looked insulted. Once she had the book in hand, though, Vesper could see that she was indeed handling it with care, even if she plopped down with it to sit on Vesper’s bed without much grace.

“All that fuss over this,” Leona said, easing it open, and murmuring — because they’d all picked up a few things from their father — “Pretty endpapers.”

“That’s one of her notes,” Vesper said, pointing. Leona looked, thoughtfully tapped her thumb atop it, then flipped forward a few pages. She was silent for a while, and Vesper, feeling awkward, asked, “So where did Wolfe go off to, if you’re apologizing on his behalf?”

“He volunteered for Story Night,” Leona said in a distracted tone. Vesper let out a guilty little “oh.” Story Night was a longstanding tradition, beginning with their parents reading to them as children. As everyone grew busier and time grew short, however, Vesper picked it up to entertain her siblings. She especially wanted to do it for Gwen’s sake; just because her youngest sister had learned to read absurdly young didn’t mean she should miss out. Now, the older siblings traded turns as storyteller. She’d begun wondering what she’d do with herself when Freddie and Gwen decided they were too old for it. Tonight was her turn, though, and she’d been the one to forget. 

Instead of admitting to all that, Vesper murmured, “You know he goes off book.”

“Yeah. That’s why he’s Freddie’s favorite. And Gwen says he does the best voices. You need to step up your game.” Vesper felt inadequate suddenly, but Leona was already paging on with interest. “Hell, maybe you should read this to them next time instead. It’s a good read.”

“I have to give it back, remember? Thanks to somebody here.”

“Oh, don’t blame me for that. You’re too much of a goody-two-shoes not to admit to it eventually.”

It was probably true, but as always, it raised her defenses. “I’m not that goody-goody. Who lied to get you out of trouble for messing with Father’s mask last week?”

“You still lectured us about it afterwards. Besides, that was just reacting. Name one irresponsible, reckless thing you’ve done that was purely your own idea.” She looked at the book again. “Besides, I mean, stealing this.”

Vesper wanted to come up with a good retort. What she said, though, was simply truthful. “It barely even felt like stealing.”

Leona eyed her over the rims of her glasses. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know. It’s just that it felt like it was already…always…”

There was a pause. “Yours?” Leona said.

Vesper bit her lip, but nodded. Leona flipped further on through the book until she found the envelope. She paused over it and studied the address — Vesper de Rolo, of Castle Whitestone — which could, of course, have belonged to either generation. Leona’s expression went unreadable. She reluctantly put the letter back and set the book aside.

“What have you been seeing, Ves?” she asked softly. “Is it her?”

Vesper leaned on the desk and put her head in one hand. “I don’t know,” she said helplessly. “Mostly there’s nothing, where there should be something. Or where there used to be something. It’s like the absence of ghosts, which doesn’t make any sense. But it’s like I can see where they should be.” She winced. “You must think I sound crazy.”

“I think a lot of things happened here,” Leona said, “and it’s a miracle we haven’t all gone out of our skulls over it. But no. You’re not crazy.”

“Then what is this?”

“Maybe you’re seeing where Vesper ought to be,” Leona said. “Where she used to be. You’d be the most attuned to that of anybody, I guess. Maybe the castle remembers her and it’s trying to show somebody, and you’re the only one who’s noticed.”

“The castle remembers?”

“I don’t know. You’re the one who’s haunted.” Leona’s lips twisted. “I just wonder after all this if you should tell Father about it, too.”

Vesper jolted up, horrified. “Oh, no. Did you see how upset he got over dinner when I brought her up? I can’t dump this on him when I can’t even explain it right. And no matter what it is, it doesn’t feel sinister, it’s just…strange. And sad.”

Leona sighed heavily. “I won’t say anything,” she told Vesper. “But I think if you can’t figure this out and it keeps going on, you need to tell someone, because I don’t want to be living with ghosts any more than you do. And I don’t think our parents will be as forgiving as they were tonight if something goes wrong.”

“You’re right.” Vesper rubbed her forehead. “I know.”

“Would you mind saying that again? Just the first part.”

Vesper sighed. “We’re doing this?”

“Oh, absolutely. I earned this one.”

“Fine. You’re right, Leona. I concede to your wisdom.”

Leona beamed. “I am going to bottle this moment,” she said, clasping her hands to her chest, “and return to it to keep me warm on cold and rainy nights—“

“Get out of my room, Leona.”

Her sister snickered and got up to leave. She only paused once, looking back at the book atop Vesper’s bed. “You know…he changes his mind sometimes,” she said. “Maybe you’ll get it back.”

Vesper smiled wryly. “But it’s not really mine, is it? I’m not the real Vesper. Maybe I’m the ghost.”

“Don’t be morbid, Ves.” Leona shook her head. “Get some sleep.”

With that, she stepped outside and shut the door, and Vesper was alone in her room once more. 

She did her best to take her sister’s advice. She cleaned up, dressed for bed, brushed out her hair, set aside her other garments for cleaning. Then she got out her journal and settled down to write something about the day’s events, like she always did. But no matter how long she sat there, she found herself unable to begin. One or two words, half an idea, sentences scratched out—nothing. All she accomplished was ruining a page.

Vesper looked in disappointment, then disgust, at the mess she’d made, then slapped the journal shut and shoved her chair back from the desk. She added her aunt’s book to the stack, barely looking at it. Then she cranked down her light and threw herself into bed, as if by sheer determination she could fall asleep just as fast. Eyes open. Eyes shut.

That didn’t work out for her either. Of all the thoughts chasing each other around her head, the one that nagged her the worst was, of all things, something Leona had just said.

Name one irresponsible, reckless thing you’ve done that was purely your own idea.

Her eyes opened again. “Gods damn it, Leona,” she whispered.

No one, of course, answered aloud, but something up there flickered.

She had no idea — none of the children did — whose rooms these had been, way back when. They might have been bedrooms. Guest rooms. Storage, for all she knew. It was starting to occur to her just how much her father had left out of his family histories, when all was said and done. But she’d imagined before that maybe, just maybe, when she’d chosen this room, it was for a reason.

She felt a nauseating wave of vertigo, and something about the room changed.

It was still dark, still indistinct, too vague to get a handle on, but when Vesper pushed herself upright, she caught strange impressions. Blankets pulled back, instead of hugged up around her chest. A wardrobe door flung open. She felt sickly disoriented as she struggled to focus, but this time the shadows came clearer. It looked like there was a silhouette at her wardrobe, poised like it was shoving clothes aside. “Vesper?” she whispered, her voice snagging.

The silhouette turned, and Vesper saw it properly. It was a face she knew, but much younger, and contorted with terror. Tears were streaking down her face. Dark marks had spattered across her clothes, too, and while the color wasn’t clear — all of this was drawn in shadow — the marks were fresh and wet, and undeniably made by blood.

Vesper, the memory of Cassandra sobbed. Vesper, where are you?

Something distant slammed, the room quaking. Vesper lunged out of bed just in time to see Cassandra, frightened by the sound, shut herself in the wardrobe to hide. At that, the vision fell apart, and the source of the sound vanished, even if it kept echoing in Vesper’s ears. Vesper stumbled in the dark, pulled herself upright by clutching a bedpost, and flung open her own wardrobe as if she could bring it all back. 

All she saw was her own dresses, hanging undisturbed in the dark.

“What?” she whispered helplessly. At the same time, her thoughts ran wild. Not ghosts — can’t be — Aunt Cassandra’s still alive — but that was so…

Real. So heart-stoppingly real.

She thought back, recalling that upsetting imagining of a very different family dinner. Maybe that had been just as real, too.

And if that were the case, maybe Leona really had been right. Maybe this castle was trying to show her something.

Vesper took a deep breath, trying to push away the image of Cassandra looking so frightened. But a question whispered its way through her thoughts: If I follow this feeling again…what else could I find out?

Vesper stood shivering for a time before the bedroom door swung slowly open, seemingly of its own accord. She noticed, though, that she must have done it herself without realizing; her hand was indeed on the latch. Outside, the corridor shifted in and out of shadow. She heard footsteps. She had no idea if they were real.

Name one irresponsible, reckless thing you’ve done…

She had to know. And as reckless things went, this would do.

Watching time and shadow waver around her, Vesper went outside to follow the footsteps.

Chapter Text

In another room not so far away, Leona was huddled up in bed, almost asleep. It was dark, and quiet, and blessedly still. And that lasted for exactly five breaths more before her door opened with a creak, and a small voice on the other side asked, “Leona? Are you asleep?”

“Not anymore,” she grumbled into her blankets. After a few seconds of irritated fumbling, she found herself staring blearily down the length of her bed to the familiar silhouette — always a little startling, even now — of her little sister. Lamplight backlit the unmistakable shape of Gwen’s horns. It also showed that she was clutching a small stuffed owlbear, one of the few childish affectations she had left. It was hard for Leona to see too many details with her glasses off, but she thought Gwen was looking upset, in a pensive sort of way. 

Leona made an effort and sat up properly. “What is it, Gwennie?”

“I had a bad dream,” she said reluctantly.

“What was it about?”

“Vesper,” Gwen said. Leona tried to gesture her closer, but she kept standing in the doorway, anxiously shifting her weight from foot to foot. “And i went to see if she was okay, but she wasn’t there.”

Leona frowned. “What do you mean, wasn’t there? You checked her room?”

“Yes, and the library, and the kitchen, in case she sneaked down for snacks like Wolfe does. But I didn’t see her anywhere.”

Leona, suddenly keenly aware of how much attention Gwen was paying to everyone’s comings and goings, had half a mind to call her on it. But then she remembered how strangely Vesper had been acting, and thought better of it. She warily considered her little sister.

“Listen,” she said. “I don’t think you should be wandering around alone like this right now.”

“Is something wrong?”

“I…have no idea.” Leona grimaced, reached for her glasses, and once they were settled, got out of bed. She fumbled around in the dark until she negotiated her feet into her slippers. “I should go see if I can find her.”

“Why are you going alone if I’m not supposed to?”

“I just think you’ll be safer here. This castle’s big and weird, you know that.”

“Well, if there’s anything scary, I don’t want to be alone in my room, either. And Freddie’ll just fuss. And Wolfe gets even crankier if I wake him up than you do.”

“Truer words,” Leona muttered, but then she looked at her sister again, now that she could see better. Gwen’s stubbornness was evident, but there was also clear concern. It was uncomfortably close to Vesper’s haunted look from earlier. 

“Gwen,” she asked, starting to feel afraid of the answer, “what was Vesper doing in your dream?”

“She was following somebody that I couldn’t see,” Gwen answered, hugging her bear tighter. “And she wouldn’t listen to me. And it was getting so bright.”

Leona, juggling that description with uncomfortable thoughts of ghosts and mysterious memories, whispered, “Shit.” Gwen gasped at the bad word. Leona flushed. “Forget I said that.”

“Wolfe said a worse word yesterday,” Gwen admitted.

“I’ll bet he did.” Leona paused. “Which one?”

Gwen just shook her head. Leona smiled, ruffled Gwen’s hair, and then stepped forward to look down the corridor. The lights were warm and steady, but right about now, that hallway still looked like it was going on forever. 

“I’m probably going to regret asking this,” Leona said, “but that dream you were having…was it in the castle?” Gwen nodded. “Then which way was Vesper going?”

“I don’t know. It was all funny. But it kind of felt like…it felt like we were going up.”

“And you said it was bright?” Gwen shrugged. Leona made a face. “Better than dark, I suppose…”

Gwen looked uncertain. She shivered, too, although that probably had more to do with the temperature than anything else. Gwen was always the first of any of them to get cold. She was wearing a long nightgown, but unlike Leona, she hadn’t donned her slippers, and she was standing with one little red foot partly covering the other, trying to keep her toes warm.

“I should put you back to bed,” Leona sighed.

Gwen, though, shook her head again, this time decisively. “I’m going with you.”

“Gwen—“

“Maybe I’ll remember something. I can help.”

“And now that the idea’s in your head, you’re going to sneak out again to look no matter whether I say yes or no, aren’t you?”

Gwen’s eyes went innocently wide. Leona thought about it, remembering how she’d goaded Vesper earlier, and winced. “I’m going to be responsible for getting both of my sisters into trouble and our parents will never let me hear the end of it,” she said to herself, before holding out one hand. “Owlie stays here, okay? He can keep watch in my room.”

Gwen solemnly passed the bear over. Leona settled him firmly against her pillow, tugged the blankets up, then returned to her sister and offered the same hand again, this time to hold.

“Stay close to me,” she commanded. “No questions asked. And if we see anything wrong or spooky, we’re going straight back downstairs and getting help, okay?”

Gwen nodded. Leona squeezed her hand, hoping she wasn’t making a huge mistake, and headed with her little sister to the staircase at the end of the hall.

The uppermost reaches of the castle didn’t see much use these days, and so it got dark quickly once they pushed open the fourth-story doors. Leona reached for the handheld candle kept in an alcove nearby and lit it. There was nothing to fear in the castle anymore, they’d all been reassured; her parents had hired a cadre of experts to scour it from floor to ceiling, both for practical and supernatural threats, and although they didn’t really like to remind the children of this, they called those experts back in periodically for another look, just to be sure. So there really shouldn’t have been anything to be afraid of in these rooms. Still, the emptiness of it, and the way any noise they made echoed — even though Leona and Gwen were stepping as softly as possible — made the space especially eerie.

Leona lifted the candle higher, trying not to pay too much mind to Gwen’s flickering shadow, which was spooky by default. Still, the little girl was easily the least scary thing in the room, no matter what she looked like. Or what her dreams sounded like. There was just too much weirdness wound all the way through their family to discount the idea that there might be truth to them. 

I hate magic, Leona thought, and sounded in that moment, although she hated to admit it, exactly like her father.

“What you were dreaming about…did it look like this?” she asked. Gwen didn’t say anything for a minute. She looked around, tugging at Leona’s hand, and Leona had little choice but to follow. She soon found herself facing another, smaller hallway, one that branched off from the main corridor. It led to a small, barred door.

Or it should have been barred. It wasn’t. The door stood partway open, and cold air curled in around the edges.

“It looked like that,” Gwen said unhappily.

Leona stepped slowly forward. “Where were you going, Vesper?” she whispered, before she remembered where this led. Beyond this door was one more staircase, a narrow, spiral passage that led up to one of the watch towers. Despite its purpose, this one was seldom attended. There were other, newer ones constructed around the castle, and a tower in another wing that Percival swore was sturdier and offered an equally comprehensive view. He’d waved this one off as needing repairs. Somehow, though, no matter how fastidiously he cared for this castle, this tower was always deemed insufficient.

Leona eased the door open further and looked up. Neatly spaced windows let in enough moonlight to see, even without the candle, and from what she could tell, everything looked sturdy enough. Still, something about it made her anxious.

“What’s up there?” Gwen asked.

“I don’t know yet.” 

“Is it a long climb?”

“Don’t know yet either.” 

Gwen looked reluctant, but she was the one to step forward, tugging Leona onward again. She had little choice but to start making the trek, too.

Gwen marched on bravely, all things considered, but she made a sound of tired complaint a couple turns along. Leona set down the candle in one of the narrow windows and hoisted her sister up, even if she knew right away it was a terrible idea. “You’re getting too heavy for this,” she grunted, and adjusted Gwen in her arms before she could lose her balance. “Ow. Mind the horns.”

“Sorry,” Gwen said, and turned her head. In that motion, she must have seen something up ahead, because she came suddenly alert. “We’re almost there.”

Sure enough, only a few more steps forward was another door, and this one stood wide open. On the opposite side was a small, round room that looked like it hadn’t been disturbed in ages. Old tools and weapons rested against the walls; a long table was strewn with neglected supplies and weather-aged papers. For all that her father had spoken of repairs, it looked like no one had touched this place since the Briarwoods had left.

And across from her was the opening to the balcony, one that ringed the watchtower to allow for views in every direction. Hanging above them all was the half-moon of Catha, glowing erratically through the cloud cover. Ruidus at least showed no inclination to interfere.

That was the only good thing that could be said about the view, because all Leona could focus on was Vesper.

Maybe Vesper had been right earlier, Leona thought in shock. Maybe she was the real ghost. Out there by the ledge, her white hair and nightgown disturbed by gusts of wind, Vesper looked like some sort of specter, and she was casting her gaze about wildly, crying out to someone who wasn’t there.

“Please don’t,” she gasped, reaching out. “Oh, gods, please don’t do this…”

“Vesper?” Leona said, so startled she couldn’t even think what to do with Gwen in her arms. The little girl stared, eyes huge, wordless. “Vesper, what are you doing?”

Vesper pushed out one hand, looking confused when it passed through thin air. Whatever she was seeing, she seemed half aware of its absence, but the idea of it was so visceral she kept trying to grab at it. Even Leona, suddenly queasy, could almost see something, like a faint, shadowy overlay. She couldn’t distinguish shapes, though, in any real way. It was Gwen who whispered, “Soldiers.” And then, even fainter: “It’s her.”

“It’s who?” Leona burst out, but really, she already knew.

Vesper met Leona’s eyes for a split second, seeing through whatever shadows held her. Then something else passed between them, and the contact was gone. She backed up a step, getting dangerously close to the wall, and loosed another desperate plea: “Don’t do this to her!”

Leona abruptly remembered herself. More to the point, she remembered who she was holding, and the promise she’d made before they came upstairs. She also knew, though, that she didn’t dare leave. She abruptly set Gwen down, placing the little girl firmly with her back to Vesper.

“Gwen,” she breathed as she knelt down. “Gwennie, I need you to listen to me.”

“Leona…”

“Ssh. I need you to go downstairs, right now, and get Momma and Papa, okay? Tell them Vesper needs help and to come up to the western watchtower right away.”

Gwen obviously remembered Leona’s exact words from before, too. “But you said—“

“I can’t come with you. I have to stay and try to talk to Vesper. I can’t be both places at once. So go get Mom and Dad for me, all right? Please.”

Gwen looked unhappy, but after a quick glance behind her — Leona couldn’t redirect her attention in time — she did. Gwen darted for the door and down the stairs, and Leona was left behind with what her sister had just seen: Vesper clinging to the stonework of the tower railing, which was, indeed, in need of repairs after all. Dust was starting to crumble away.

Leona got to her feet and called again, “Vesper!”

She was starting to hate her parents’ choice in names. Her Vesper, the real Vesper, was growing confused. Where before she’d been watching some sort of memory of her predecessor, observed from a distance and across decades of time, now she was talking like it was happening to her.

“Let me go,” she cried, struggling against nothing. Her hand on the railing pushed a small stone loose. Leona rushed forward, hoping to pull Vesper away from the edge, but she fought against that, too, like Leona was one of her unseen assailants. Knocked off balance, Leona hit the opposite wall with a painful thud, and she found herself resenting her parents all over again for insisting on all those years of self-defense training. Of course Vesper had been the quickest study.

“I am not letting you do this,” Vesper gasped. “I am a de Rolo, and this is our rightful home.”

“Of course it is!” Leona shouted back. “I am your sister and I’m trying to help you!”

There was another flicker of eye contact, of near-realization. Then, as if another cloud had passed over the moon, everything dimmed. The shadow had weight, somehow. Leona still couldn’t see whatever Vesper saw, but she couldn’t shake the sense of duality, of the past crowding close.

Meanwhile, Vesper was still staring through the years, losing focus.

“You’re not Whitney,” she accused. “You’re definitely not Cassandra. You’re…you’re part elf. You’re not one of us at all.”

Leona felt oddly stung, and self-conscious of her ears for the first time in her life. Then she realized Vesper had just handed her the perfect weapon. “So are you, you dumb-ass,” she shot back.

It startled Vesper just enough that she pulled back, and reflexively raised one hand to check. When her fingertips met the subtle point of her ear, she paused. She looked disoriented, and then afraid. Around them, the shadows weighed heavier.

“L…Leona?” she said, coming almost lucid. “Where are…oh, no.”

A wave of vertigo nearly knocked Leona off her feet. When she fought to push herself up again, she saw Vesper looking frantically all around her. Whatever scene she was watching must have been juddering back to life. Leona still couldn’t picture it, but she felt it: struggle met with sneering disdain, careless cruelty engendering terror and desolation. And all of it was pushing Vesper to the brink. 

Leona tried to reach out. She didn’t get there in time. For a split second, things became clear to them both, and the shadowy tableau was horrifying: enemy guards. The woman who stood as their commander, her chin raised high. A young woman held precipitously at the wall. For the first time, the de Rolo sisters knew exactly what the original Vesper looked like.

And the real Vesper was stepping into the very same place, starting to lose her balance.

“Vesper,” Leona cried out. “Vesper Elaina, snap out of it!”

It was the name that did it. Vesper’s full name — one part de Rolo, one part Vessar — brought her back upright. She stared at Leona through all of those shadows with a hint of wonder before she clasped her hands hard to her head, as if she were trying to impress all of reality back in.

Then she flung her hands out to both sides and screamed.

Light burst out, obliterating everything.

It couldn’t have lasted for more than a heartbeat. It seemed to go on forever. Bright, pure illumination washed over the tower, burning through every shadow, lighting every corner. It was warm: warm and real, and despite being born from a moment of desperation, it felt like a blessing.

It was also so intense that it was simply too much to look upon. Leona squeezed her eyes shut, not that it helped, and tried to hold on while the light poured over everything. Then at last, at last, as quickly as it had appeared, it faded.

Everything went very quiet.

Leona was still blinking spots out of her eyes — with some difficulty, for her eyelids felt oddly swollen — when she realized there was some sound after all, except only a faint one. She squinted to focus. Vesper was on her hands and knees next to Leona, who had fallen at some point, too, without noticing. Leona gathered her up and dragged them both back to the relative safety of the balcony’s doorway. At the spot where Vesper had been standing, a sizable chunk of the outer wall had crumbled loose. She didn’t much want to think about that.

The more pressing matter was that Vesper was quietly, desperately sobbing.

“Ves?” Leona said hesitantly. She wanted to ask — about the shadows, about that light, everything — but she didn’t know where to start. “Are you okay?”

Her sister looked up and met her eyes with terrible clarity.

“They threw her off the tower,” she said, tears still streaking down her face. “The Briarwoods. They dragged Vesper here, to make…an example of her. I saw everything. They threw her from the tower.”

It was the only conclusion, really, from what Leona had just witnessed, but hearing it said, seeing it in her sister’s eyes, broke something in Leona’s heart. “Oh, Ves.”

“I shouldn’t have asked,” Vesper choked out. “Oh, gods, I shouldn’t have asked.”

Leona, who was crying too, pulled her sister into a tight hug. She was still holding on when she heard footsteps again: three sets of them, one panic-driven, one light and swift, one pattering after as if someone had been told to stay behind but, as ever, didn’t listen to that. And so the eldest and youngest living de Rolos found them there, hugged them too for a breathless while, and then drew them downstairs, away from it all.

They left behind new, strange marks on the tower stone, extending outward from where Vesper had been standing in a perfect, radiant sunburst.

Chapter Text

The clock in the library had just finished chiming when Vesper was shown to the window seat and given a few moments to settle. Three chimes, for three in the morning. She was still wearing her nightgown. Her feet were bare, and her hair tangled. Her hands kept fidgeting, until her mother pressed a cup of tea into them. She didn’t drink it, but she was grateful to have something to hold onto.

She knew she looked a mess. She felt a mess. And she had no idea what to say when her father quietly asked her, “What happened?”

After Percival and Vex’ahlia had found her — along with Gwen, although she’d been quickly delivered to a confused and half-awake Wolfe, with an unenlightening command to put the girl to bed — they’d led Vesper downstairs, along with Leona, who was sitting uncomfortably at the same library desk Vesper had occupied that afternoon. Leona looked red in the face, and not from embarrassment, although it was hard not to feel that under their father’s gaze. He didn’t look as stern as Vesper might have expected, though. He looked as if he’d been terrified, and was trying to hide it. His grip on his cane was still white-knuckled enough to betray him.

Vex, who was holding her own cup of tea, sat beside Vesper and gently stroked one hand down her hair. “Darling, it’s all right. Just tell us what you can.”

She did her best, in fits and starts. The shadows. The odd sense of glimpses of the past. She stuttered over describing the vision of the young Cassandra; somehow, seeing a moment that vulnerable felt like an invasion of privacy. She was supposed to meet with her aunt tomorrow and shadow her, of all the terms, at a diplomatic meeting. She suddenly couldn’t imagine facing her, having seen what she’d seen.

“So all of this,” Percy prompted, when she’d paused too long, “led you to the tower? The one I told you was off limits?”

Vesper’s chin rose. So did a shred of her temper. “You never even tried to repair that tower, did you? You couldn’t bear to look at it. You knew. You knew perfectly well what happened there.”

Vex gave Percival a silent look. He in turn was looking at anything but the other occupants of the room. “I didn’t see it happen,” he said, with too-careful diction. He took off his glasses partway through, and busied himself with polishing them, over and over. Over and over. “I was being held in the dungeons at the time. It was described to me, however, in painstaking detail. The fall. The result. I wanted to believe it was invented just to torment me. One more implement of torture in their arsenal.” Slowly, he lifted his glasses again and slid them back on, and he met Vesper’s gaze again. She quickly wished he hadn’t. “When they took me outside days later to show me, I was in chains, unable to back away, and she was still exactly where they’d left her.”

Phrasing it obliquely took away none of the horror. Vesper had to look away. She glimpsed Leona as she did, and her sister looked utterly ill.

“I have tried so hard to shield you from this,” Percival said. She heard his voice quaver. “I never wanted you to suffer as I did. But for it to still be here, no matter what we’ve done, soaked into the bloody walls…”

He broke off sharply, and turned aside. It took Vesper a minute to realize what he meant. He wasn’t angry at her for prying, or for digging into the past. He was scared for her. He was, quite simply, far more haunted than she’d ever been.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “You have no idea how sorry I am. But it’s over. I know it’s over now. The shadows are gone.”

It felt true, too, as she said it. She was still weighed down by exhaustion and lingering sorrow, but not by feeling like the past was pressing in, trying to get through. There were no unwanted reflections in the window, no sense that someone unseen was nearby, and no feeling of dislocation of self, like what had happened at the tower. She watched Leona again, trying to piece things back together. The shadow of the other Vesper had overlaid her so completely that Leona had seemed like a complete stranger. It shamed her. But it was gone, and her sister -- her impossible, aggravating, but thankfully perceptive and determined sister — was unmistakable.

She just wished she could remember why Leona kept tugging her hair down over her ears.

“Would you tell me,” Percival said, interrupting her train of thought, “how you are so certain that whatever compelled you before is gone?”

Vesper knew exactly how, but when she tried to explain it, words fled. She felt like she was back at her journal again, scribbling over words. Just as Percival’s expression clouded once more, Leona lifted her head and spoke up.

“I can vouch for that part. Vesper burned those shadows clean away. There’s nothing left. I just can’t explain how she lit herself up like one of your lightbulbs to do it.”

Vex’s eyes widened. “Lit up...”

Leona waved at her own face, which was, indeed, as red and puffy as if she’d lain outside on a summer day for far too long. “Bright as the sun,” she said dryly. “I stand as evidence. Or sit tiredly as evidence. The evidence needs a nap. And aloe.”

Percy and Vex took that in, then stared at Vesper before staring even longer at each other. After putting things together, Percy said awkwardly, “Vex, I think this one’s yours.”

Vesper looked questioningly at her mother, who set her tea aside and gave a sudden, inexplicable little smile. “Well. I suppose that does make sense.”

“What does?”

“Just a moment. Let me see to your sister,” Vex said, gently deflecting Vesper. One hand was already crooked in a familiar gesture to concentrate a pool of healing energy in the palm. Vex stroked her fingers across it to bring the magic to her fingertips. When she stepped up to gently touch Leona’s face, Leona sagged in obvious relief. The redness faded almost immediately. “I’m sorry for not doing that sooner.”

“S’okay,” Leona sighed. “Better now.”

“Would you like to go and get some rest?”

“Uh-uh,” Leona said, albeit sleepily. “I’m not going until I hear the answer to all this.”

“That’s fair,” Vex said softly, sounding more than a bit like Percy. She hooked Leona’s hair back — and a small memory came back to Vesper, making her squirm — before returning to sit cross-legged on the window seat, facing Vesper. Vex was, she finally noticed, wearing a hastily tied-together robe, and looked more than a bit tousled. She decided not to evaluate the state of her father’s pajamas.

“You know why the crest of Whitestone has six stars,” Vex said, coming at things the long way, “and why one of them was added when I came to serve the city. Correct?”

“Of course. It’s one for every champion of Pelor.” Vesper felt certain she’d be catching up to the actual point sooner if she weren’t so exhausted. “You earned the title when you…”

Something in Vex’s expression made Vesper trail off. Percival elaborated for her.

“She was blessed by our patron god and stood as his champion in our battle against the Whispered One,” he said, a bit pointedly. “As you should be well aware.”

Leona roused back to alertness. “We are, but what does that have to do with her?” Vesper was too tired to be offended at her tone. Then Leona stopped short. “Wait. Literally blessed? I thought that title was, like…ceremonial.”

Vex lifted an eyebrow. “We’ve told you we’ve met gods,” she said over one shoulder. “Pelor was one of them.”

Leona gaped. “Okay, but when you toss that off like it’s nothing, and don’t tell us the details, and then you go on taking us to the Temple of the Dawn like you’re just normal people, la-dee-dah, bless the Sun, now let’s have brunch, it’s a little hard to take that seriously.”

Vex let out an extraordinary, involuntary snort. Then she eyed Percy and said, “I fear, darling, that in attempting to protect our children from the traumatic parts of our stories, we’ve also left out too many of the fun bits.”

“Fun,” Percy said to the ceiling. “You’re referring to a trial that could have burned you to cinders and which caused me to blurt out all my deepest feelings about you to our closest friends, not to mention to a bloody god with our fate in his hands, as fun.”

Leona was still agog. Vesper wasn’t far behind. “I can’t believe you haven’t shared this with us before,” she said in amazement.

“Oh, I shared every bit of it with you.” That strange little smile was back on Vex’s face. “You were there.”

Vesper went speechless. Percy looked oddly embarrassed. It was Leona who screeched, “You were pregnant?!”, which at least spared everyone else from having to say it. Vex rubbed the back of her neck, still smiling distantly.

“I didn’t know it at the time,” she said, almost as if apologizing. “I can’t imagine I’d have risked you if I had. Of course, at that point, it was all like staring down the end of the world. We had to put everything on the line. Our futures. Ourselves. We just had to hope it would all be worth it. In the end, we got lucky.” Her head tilted. “Or, yes, blessed.”

“And some of that,” Vesper said slowly, “when Pelor blessed you for battle…passed to me?”

Vex gave a funny little shrug. “It wasn’t entirely limited to the battle,” she said, deflecting again. “Although in the long term my title really is ceremonial. I mean, Pelor clearly hasn’t made a habit of calling on me to go march off carryIng his light or whatever. But in the heat of the moment I admit I didn’t exactly ask for all the terms.”

“There are no such lasting expectations,” Percy said firmly. “But if he ever starts getting notions to the contrary, I will be the first to intervene, because we have surrendered enough to the gods in this family, thank you.”

Vex went somber. This time Vesper had some idea of why. “That we have,” Vex said quietly. After a moment, she reached out and curled a protective hand around Vesper’s. Her heart thumped oddly.

“You still haven’t answered my question,” Vesper whispered, watching her teacup wobble dangerously in her other hand’s grip.

“I think only you can answer that, darling,” Vex replied. “And really, you already have.”

It was quiet while everyone took that in. Finally, Leona, who was sitting backward in her chair by now, folded her arms across its top and wearily let her head drop there. “Behold, our perfect, sainted sister,” she muttered, muffled by her sleeves. “Oh, holy, oh, holy.”

“Leona,” Vex gently chided. It was Vesper who erupted.

“Perfect?” she exclaimed, and sloshed her tea onto the floor at last, which was probably inevitable. “I nearly ruined everything. I didn’t understand what was going on until it was almost too late, and I don’t have a clue what I did to get out of it, so Pelor only knows” — she said it with an ironic, wild little laugh — “if I’ll ever be able to call up sunlight like that again, and if I’m blessed, it’s only by halves on a technicality, so what does all of that actually make me, other than reckless and irresponsible? What a fabulous thing to be!”

She threw those last words out like daggers, and going by Leona’s stricken expression, they’d hit their mark. But she instantly felt guilty, for she’d pivoted from self-blame to blaming the last person she should have. She surrendered the teacup completely and put her face in her hands.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “You saved me up there, and I shouldn’t…I don’t know what I’m doing.”

Leona sounded uncomfortable. “I egged you on again. I always do. Sorry.”

Vesper let her hands drop. After she caught her breath, she laughed weakly and replied, “Well, I’m still glad you found me, because I can always count on you to pick the perfect time to call me a dumb-ass.”

Leona, understanding, gave her a crooked smile. Their parents looked more bemused, but some of the tension finally went out of the room. That lasted until Vex asked curiously, “That reminds me, Leo. How did you know where to find Vesper?”

“I didn’t,” Leona said with a shrug. “Gwen did.”

Percy’s eyes narrowed. “And again we ask, how?”

“She said she dreamed about it.” Off their confused expressions, Leona yawned and added, “You’re going to have to ask her about that one in the morning.”

Percy blinked a few times. “Quite,” he said distantly.

Vex chose that moment to get up. “I think we should all go sleep this off,” she said, starting to yawn, too. “The storm’s passed. Things will be clearer come daylight.”

Most of that, Vesper noted, seemed directed to Percival, whose stance softened slightly when Vex put a hand to his shoulder. Leona, though, was the first to take the hint. She rose and headed out after a silent nod to her parents, looking as if she was expecting to get stopped with a “one more thing” at the door. When she wasn’t, she disappeared quickly. Vesper was left to ponder the mess still at her feet. Percy, though, waved Vesper off when she bent down to see about cleaning up the spill. “Leave it,” he said. “We’ll sort it out. Go get some rest.”

She straightened back up again, saw the tangle of emotions still swirling in his eyes, and rushed forward to give him an impulsive hug. He bore it silently for a moment before wrapping his arms around her, too.

She could still feel the anxious intensity of that hug after she’d left the room. Outside, Leona turned out to be lounging against a decorative pillar, waiting for her.

“Not letting me walk back unattended?” Vesper asked as Leona pushed herself up and began matching Vesper’s pace. 

“Nope,” her sister replied equably. “Just in case.”

“I guess I deserve that.”

They rounded a corner. Vesper began slowing once they neared their rooms, and Leona, not missing a beat, did the same. They stopped not far from Leona’s door.

“Listen,” Vesper said awkwardly. “I meant what I said. You saved me up there. You knew just what to say to break through. I’m not sure anyone else would have.”

Leona looked just as awkward. “Yeah, well. Had to do something.”

“I’m just afraid I was hurtful. Something I said…or Vesper said…” She scrubbed a hand over her eyes. “it’s confusing.”

Leona seemed to know exactly what she meant. She quirked an eyebrow, Vex-like. “You mean the part where Aunt Vesper might have been a little bit racist?”

“It wasn’t that,” Vesper protested. “I could tell it wasn’t. It’s just…you said you were my sister, but she didn’t recognize you. There weren’t any half-elves in her family yet. You didn’t fit the memory, and memory was all she was.” Vesper hunched her shoulders. “I just feel bad for acting like you didn’t belong. I didn’t mean it. That’s all.”

That hit home, too. Leona turned aside.

“You are just a lot, sometimes,” she said. “It’s hard to feel like anyone but you fits. First daughter, named after favorite sister Vesper and beloved mother Elaina, gifted at everything you try, destined for greatness and blessed by a god, because of course you are…”

Vesper winced, but Leona kept talking.

“The others get to be special, too. Everyone loves Freddie. People. Animals. Supernatural weird shit in the forest. It’s like they can’t help it. Gwen’s a godsdamned tiefling; nobody can top that. Wolfe may not be any of that, but he’s trying his best to be notorious, and sometimes he even manages it, which is annoying.” She huffed out an unhappy breath. “And then there’s me. I’m just part of a pair, and not the interesting one. My name always comes after an ampersand. You have no idea.”

Vesper, who supposed she didn’t, admitted, “I always thought it would be special, being you two. Always having someone with you. You’re such a double act.” She paused. “Usually.”

“Sometimes I get tired of it. It’s a lot, too.”

Vesper gave her a sympathetic look that became half a smile. “Well, your brother missed all this excitement, didn’t he?”

Leona’s answering grin was even more cockeyed. “Kind of the plan.”

Vesper stepped forward, and without hesitation, hugged her sister tight. “I’m glad it was you,” she whispered. When she pulled back, she added, “Sorry about the sunburn, though.”

“Stop apologizing and go to bed,” Leona said. “For real this time.” 

After a light shove that pointed Vesper the right way down the hall, she went inside. Vesper took the hint. She found her way back and curled right up under her blankets, settling in to rest. It just took a while for her eyes to close. A long while before her thoughts quieted, and she was able to drift off.

Vesper’s book atop her desk was the last thing she saw before she slept.

Chapter Text

She met her father the next day in the poison garden.

It was a cunning choice of meeting places, she had to admit. No one was likely to interrupt them here. The castle staff had strict instructions to leave its tending to the family, and the approved family members, in turn, were very few. Freddie and Gwen certainly weren’t allowed anywhere nearby. The twins, for their part, had been banned after an ill-advised attempt of Wolfe’s at a prank.

Sometimes Vesper understood why Leona wanted a little distance, from time to time.

She was allowed here, though, even if she didn’t have her own key. Those permitted beyond the delicate wrought iron gate of the Widow’s Garden were Vesper, Percival, and Vex — although her mother really only visited as an observer, keen to find out what new types of weapons Percy was crafting for her — along with Aunt Keyleth, when she came to town. The last such visit hadn’t been long ago, and the hellebores were still showing signs of enthusiastic overgrowth. Plants liked her. Percival, his hands protected by fine leather, was doing his best to trim things back down to size.

He had also, she noticed with surprise, left the gate open for her, uncommonly trusting. But when she approached, he called by way of greeting, “Close it behind you.” Vesper made sure it was latched before traversing the path between artistically arranged and fastidiously labeled plants. She ducked under a golden branch of the laburnum tree and approached the raised bed where her father was working.

“Good morning,” she said, for it was still more or less morning. It was as early as Percival preferred to be about, in any case. Vesper had been up for hours. “I hope you slept well.”

“After last night? Not especially.” He set a spade down with a soft clack. “But at least this exercise still proves soothing.”

Vesper left him to it a minute before she touched the small bag at her side. “I brought your book back,” she said. He still wasn’t watching. He was bending down to inspect a small blossom.

“I spend months breeding hybrids by design,” he muttered, “and then your aunt Kiki breezes through and three new types sprout up without her even trying. Druids.”

Vesper cracked a smile. Percival stood up and began tugging off his gloves. “All right, then,” he said. “Let’s see it.”

Vesper lifted the bag’s flap and drew out the novel. When Percy set his gloves aside, she handed it over. He held onto it, weighed it, and sighed in that way of his when he was attempting to compose his thoughts. It sounded sadder than usual, though. Wistful.

“Sit with me, would you?” he said, and gestured to the nearby bench.

Once Vesper settled, she took a good look around. The garden was situated in a private, inner courtyard, so that the castle and its outbuildings stretched up around them in all directions, reaching irregular heights. She found herself angling for a better view of a very particular tower. Percy noticed.

“I put in orders this morning to complete repairs,” he said, as he eased himself down next to Vesper. “You were right. I was avoiding it. It was negligent, and I apologize.”

“You don’t need to apologize.”

“I’m raising my children in a haunted house,” he said dryly. “I rather think that I should own up to the folly of this plan.”

He was looking at the book again, tapping it lightly against one knee. When he stilled, he looked slantwise her way. “Did you truly see Vesper last night?”

It was her turn to sigh. “I don’t know. It felt so real, but it was like…portraits. Perfectly captured. But not inhabited.” She shivered in a stray breeze, knowing that wasn’t quite true. “Mostly.”

He sat with that a minute.

“I’d wanted to believe she was at rest,” he said. “But I suppose after everything that happened, it would be more surprising if some of that pain hadn’t lingered.”

“Were you ever able to bury her? I mean, I suppose I’d have seen it if…”

“No. I never learned what became of any of them.”

Vesper looked down at her hands. There was a memorial on the castle grounds, of course, a simple stone pillar carved with their names and inset with a crest made of whitestone itself. But there were no individual graves. She’d known, she had, she just…wanted a kinder ending.

“I’m sorry,” she said softly. “I did what I could.”

Slowly, something passed into her line of vision. Her father was holding the book back under her nose.

“Vesper was a reader, as I’m sure you’ve gathered,” he said, while she looked up in surprise. “And she had a romantic streak about it. My father never approved of her taste in books, so she’d send away for them special. Smuggle them home in fake covers. I believe she originally disguised this one as a mathematics textbook.”

Vesper cradled the book in her hands. “And…that worked?”

“It helped that she was also a mathematical genius. It had considerable natural camouflage.”

Vesper blinked. “I thought she wanted to study history.”

“She did. But history comes in many forms. Some of it is about cultures, countries, politics. Some of it is about how we learn to understand and shape the world. She was fascinated by the development of math. Science. Technology. All the things that those of us without magic have had to build in this absurd world to make our own way.”

“No wonder you liked her.” Vesper nudged her father. “But you do have some magic.”

“Nothing useful,” he groused. “And I didn’t have it at all, then.” He paused, and looked her over. “But now, so do you, it seems.”

She gave a self-deprecating shrug, thinking of Leona. “I suppose if I ever find myself in battle, I’ll defeat my enemies with sunburn.”

“That is nothing to be scoffed at.” Percy leaned closer. “Did you know that when your mother defeated Sylas Briarwood at the last, it was that exact same power she used to burn him to ash?”

Vesper stared at him. “Truly?”

“See for yourself.”

He was looking at something past her now. Vesper turned to find her mother standing in the garden behind them. She was dressed in black and vivid green, sharp and stylish as ever, but the most notable thing was how she’d chosen, as it were, to accessorize. Above one outstretched hand floated a sphere of intense, concentrated light. She held it out, focusing on it to make it rotate, and all around her, flowers slowly began to turn toward the miniature sun. Even when she curled her fingers up to dispel it, the radiance lingered all around her.

Vesper would have teased her father for looking besotted, but really, it was hard not to share the awe.

“I don’t cast it often,” Vex said, turning her hand over to study the effect, “because it lasts longer than is often strictly convenient. Still, it has its uses.” She smiled. “I remember casting it for a certain little girl who was scared of the dark, once or twice.”

Vesper realized the moment she spoke that she was sounding exactly like Leona. “You used the blessing of the Dawnfather as a nightlight?”

Vex laughed. As she did, Vesper thought back to her earliest years, and the image did somehow seem familiar. Familiar and warm.

Maybe this place really did need its share of memories like that.

“I’m certain I could teach you how, if you’d like,” Vex said. “You clearly have the spark.”

Vesper didn’t even have to think about it. “I would. Oh, I would.” She turned to Percy. “That is, if you don’t mind that I—“

He waved a hand. “Don’t let my feelings about magic stop you. This place needs the light. Just be careful.” He directed the next words to his wife. “You know I’d rather not draw too much divine attention to the children if we can help it.”

“That one’s out of my hands, I’m afraid,” Vex said. “I’m quite sure he already knows.”

“Yes, well.” Percy grimaced, then levered himself up. Vesper had done her share of wondering about how much his cane was a matter of need and how much was for style, because her father could still be plenty nimble when the need called for it, but in that moment she could see he was getting older, and she felt a sudden pang. “Aren’t you holding a meeting with the other Treasury officials in a bit?”

“That I am.”

“With that aura?”

Vex shrugged flippantly. “Doesn’t hurt to remind them now and again just who they’re answering to.”

Percy chuckled, kissed Vex on the cheek, and made to take his leave. Vesper stopped him at the last when she realized what she was still holding.

“Wait, Father—didn’t you want to take this back with you?”

He considered the book, then her, and said, “I think it’s found its way back to its rightful owner. Don’t you?”

Vesper hugged the book to her chest. Percy smiled subtly, nodded, and turned to go. Vex put a hand to Vesper’s shoulder as he went and whispered, “He does have a special soft spot for you, you know.”

“Gets me in trouble with the others,” Vesper said, but she was smiling too. “Do you need to go?”

“I do.” Vex sighed and stood back. “But we should talk later. Magic lessons.” She twiddled her fingers, which were still faintly glowing. “Tonight, after dinner?”

Vesper opened her mouth to say yes, but paused. She looked thoughtfully down at the book in her hands. “Actually, can we make it tomorrow? I have something to make up for with my siblings.”

“Oh?” Vex looked down at the book, too, and seemed to understand. “Ah. Of course. Tomorrow, then.”

“Thank you, Mother.”

“Always, darling,” Vex said, and kissed her on the forehead. It tingled slightly, even after she’d left. 

Vesper stood there a while in their absence, surrounded by the beautiful and the dangerous, and then opened the book in her hands, and turned again to the first page.

—

“I’ve got a new story for you tonight,” Vesper said, hours later, in Gwen’s comfortably warm room.

They were gathered around the fireplace, as always, supplied with a mountain of pillows and cozy blankets. Gwen was wrapped in one of those, sitting closest to the hearth. Vesper had made sure every corner was tucked safely away from the fire — along with Gwen’s tail — before settling down herself. Freddie, meanwhile, was sitting attentively by with Charlie in his lap. The cub, it had to be said, was evidently less invested in storytime than the rest of them. He was already gently snoring.

“What did you bring this time?” Gwen asked, peering curiously. 

Vesper lifted the novel for them both to see. “Remember that book I wasn’t supposed to have?”

“Ooh,” Gwen said with approval, even as Freddie said in surprise, “Y-you got to keep it?”

“I did. And you know what? I’m not the first person to sneak around with it. Turns out our aunt Vesper wasn’t supposed to have it, either. Her father didn’t approve. She had to read it in secret, after dark by candlelight. A lot like this.”

She was embellishing, but she’d taken Leona’s advice to heart. Sure enough, a little flourish didn’t hurt. Freddie looked both scandalized and impressed, and Gwen leaned forward eagerly to ask, “What’s it about?”

“It’s an adventure. Just like Vesper always wanted to have.” She felt regretful at that, but curious, too, as she opened again to the beginning. What kind of adventures did she want to have herself, if given the chance? She’d have to think it over. “And it starts all the way over on the other side of the world.”

“This is gonna be good,” Gwen said, and Freddie grinned right along with her.

Vesper began reading the opening lines of the book, doing her best to bring as much life and light to the words as she could. And as her story unfolded and her siblings listened close, the ghosts and tragic memories of Castle Whitestone couldn’t have seemed further away.