The next day was Tuesday. When Celie entered the winter dining hall for breakfast, she found the table covered in maps, and Bran was explaining to the family that all Pogue’s earlier predictions about the Castle had come true. The corridors and rooms he’d told them about had appeared, splitting the Castle into two distinct sections. But he hadn’t foreseen the large barracks that were now behind the griffin stable, which cut through the back wall surrounding the Castle. It was worse than the break caused by the new stables. The wall looked like it had been hit by a battering ram: stones and chunks of mortar were scattered all across the sheep meadow, and it was fortunate that the sheep had still been in their barn when it happened, or they surely would have been killed.
King Glower summoned the entire court to the throne room, the Glower family trailing after. Celie and Lilah were wearing two of their new gowns, made from fabric the castle had provided: matching blue velvet that hung in heavy, rich folds.
Lilah had altered one of the ancient patterns that had been found in the fabric room, and had a stiff, rectangular cape hanging down from her shoulders. It was made from satin that had a random pattern of triangles and a large circle embroidered on it. It almost made a picture, but the embroidery was subtle enough that you couldn’t quite make out what it was a picture of.
Celie liked that the thick fabric of her own gown made her feel safe and warm. She almost wished she had a cape as well, but didn’t want to be too weighed down. Something bad was happening to the Castle, she could feel it. She smoothed her skirt and listened to her father.
“Friends,” King Glower said, his voice deep with concern. “The Castle is in crisis. Once rooms and corridors changed with a sense of whimsy, or because it filled a need for those who live here. Now the changes have become drastic and even dangerous.” He sighed.
“I must warn you all to stay away from the outer wall,” the king continued. “Large portions of it have been weakened by the breaks made this morning, and we are concerned that other sections may collapse. We have stonemasons working to shore it up, but until they do, please stay clear of it. Likewise, the Armor Gallery is still off limits. The Royal Wizard and Wizard Arkwright have been able to uncover the purpose of most of the weapons therein, but those they have studied haved proved to be highly dangerous.
“In the meantime, the heads of the guard, housekeeping, and cooking staff and the Council have all been issued copies of Princess Cecelia’s atlas. It is as up-to-date as my daughter and the royal cartographer can make it. If you lose your way and do not have access to an atlas, just remember the two rules, which, fortunately, still hold true: keep going east and you’ll find the throne room, or turn left three times and climb out a window to find the kitchens.”
One of the councilors came forward, holding his hand up to ask a question.
“Yes, Lord Sefton?”
“Why is this happening?”
“We don’t know yet,” the king said, sighing heavily. “But we are doing our best to find out.”
And with that less-than-reassuring statement, King Glower excused everyone but the family, Wizard Arkwright, Lulath, and Pogue. They all looked around at one another, at a loss.
“Is the danger of the gravest?” Lulath asked when no one else spoke.
“Bran?” The king was sitting on the throne, rubbing his face, which Celie knew meant that he was tired and frustrated.
“We don’t know,” Bran said. “It definitely seems bad. Nothing in Grandfather’s journal indicates that the Castle ever made changes this severe during his time here. Celie?”
Celie was already shaking her head. “There’s nothing in Hadlocke’s book, either.”
“Hadlocke?” King Glower looked at her, then at Bran.
“Is this part of your project, dear?” Queen Celina asked.
“Yes,” Celie said. “Rolf and I have been trying to find anything we could about griffins, putting it all in the holiday feasting hall. We’ve found cushions, tapestries—”
“An anvil,” Rolf put in. “And a wooden map.”
“Several books,” Celie went on. “One of them is a history of the Castle written by one of the former Royal Wizards, an ancestress of ours named Hadlocke.”
Wizard Arkwright made a muffled sound, like he’d been struck. Everyone looked at him, but the king signaled Celie to continue.
“We’re starting to piece together the history of the Castle,” Celie told her father eagerly. “And it seems that griffins are real, and that they once lived here in the Castle with their riders!”
“That is indeed strange and wonderful news,” her father said patiently. “But I’m afraid it doesn’t explain what’s happening here and now to the Castle.”
“It does,” Bran said, and Celie shot him a warning glance. He ignored her. “It tells us a great deal. There once were griffins and riders in this Castle when it stood in another land, but then the Castle came here, to Sleyne, and now they’re gone. I suspect, from what Celie has told me of her studies, that the Castle brought parts of itself here for self-defense. It brought griffins and warriors, too, but they were dying and didn’t live long. Now I think it’s bringing more and more rooms here, and keeping them here, because it’s being threatened again.”
“You mean, back … wherever the rest of it is?” King Glower’s face was pale.
“Exactly,” Bran said, nodding.
Celie was aghast. The Castle was in danger? Was that why it had brought Rufus’s egg here? Who was attacking? Was there anything they could do to help?
“What can we do?” King Glower asked, echoing Celie’s thoughts.
“I don’t know,” Bran admitted.
“If I may interject?” Wizard Arkwright looked at the king, his eyebrows raised.
“By all means, sir,” King Glower said. “If you know anything, or can help in any way …”
Wizard Arkwright gave a curt nod. “Your Majesty, I have studied the Castle all my life,” he began.
Bran frowned, and so did Celie. If this was the case, then why had he never been there? How had Celie, or her father, never heard of him until he appeared in the courtyard?
“And I can assure you,” Wizard Arkwright went on, “that the Castle is not under attack. It is not threatened— it is angry. Angry because something very precious has been stolen from it.”
“Stolen?” Bran and King Glower said at the same time.
“Who would dare to steal from Castle Glower?” The king looked more bemused than anything else. “And what did they steal?”
“A griffin.”
“That was a griffin’s egg that I found, wasn’t it?” Queen Celina stood up, moving back and forth restlessly in front of her throne. “Where is the griffin that hatched from it? Do you know, Arkwright? Who stole it?”
The wizard sighed heavily. Then he turned and looked straight at Celie. She realized she had been so distracted by his eloquent eyebrows that she had never looked at the color of his eyes before. They were a pale golden-brown that reminded her of Rufus’s eyes.
“I’m sorry, Princess Cecelia. But you must give back the griffin. It doesn’t belong here.”
Celie’s mouth went dry. She couldn’t move. She couldn’t talk. She just stared into Arkwright’s strange golden eyes.
“What?” King Glower leaped to his feet. “Impossible! Celie couldn’t have stolen a griffin; where would she hide it?”
“Princess Cecelia,” Arkwright said, “tell us where you’re hiding the griffin. It has to go back.”
“Of course it has to go back,” King Glower said. “But it can’t have been Celie who stole it.” He turned to Bran. “Can you do some magic to locate it, or shall we bring in the soldiers to search?”
Celie’s gaze was still held by Arkwright. They were facing each other across the throne room. Celie didn’t know what to do. Her legs were starting to shake and her feet and hands felt numb. He knew. He had seen her and Rufus, flying together. He knew that was the real reason she was collecting the things in the holiday feasting hall. But she hadn’t stolen Rufus, she hadn’t!
“Just run,” Pogue muttered.
“What?” Celie flinched. She’d forgotten anyone else was in the room. Even her father’s increasingly heated voice and Bran’s low murmur had faded. All she could see was Arkwright’s eyes.
“Give me the griffin, princess,” Arkwright said.
“Celie,” Queen Celina said.
Celie managed to move. She turned her head to look at her mother.
“May I see it?” Her mother’s voice was soft, her eyes wide with amazement. The question stopped King Glower, and Bran, and then everyone was looking at Celie.
“It’s not some prize-winning pig to be gawked at and stroked for luck,” Arkwright said. “It has to go back to the Glorious Arkower where it belongs! At once!”