The castle smelled of damp and decay and Xander could never quite get his clothes completely dry. He huddled on his bed, pulled the blankets tighter about his shoulders and leaned back against the wooden headboard, carved with intricate designs of poisonous plants. Mold grew in the corners of his room and despite covering the flagstones with thick rugs, it was always cold. There was a fireplace surrounded by fancy metal scrollwork but nothing to burn and no way to start the flame anyway.
Xander sighed. This was not what he had signed up for.
His access to the hidden libraries had been refused until he could prove himself a true follower of the Shadow. He didn’t have any friends because the castle was full of guards below his station and feral children with no control over their magic. He had tried to get into their hall but the little freaks had driven him away with fireballs and cruel laughter. He was allowed — even encouraged — to visit the Fertility Halls but the place made his skin crawl. He was truly an outsider here.
When Sir Douglas Mercator had first talked of the glories of the shadow side, he had spoken of unlimited magic, of a forbidden library full of books of beasts that Xander could illustrate and skin maps he could use to conjure them into being. He promised a fulfilling life in the Borderlands, the life of a prince, no longer subject to the demands of the Ministry, no need to restrict his magic. All he had to do was deliver the daughter of John Farren, so her skin alongside her father’s would complete the Map of Shadows, and Xander would have his new life.
He had fulfilled his promise and brought Sienna to the castle but somehow, the Mapwalker team had made it out. Xander still remembered her face as he had revealed his true allegiance, how Perry had lost his father that day and how he had lost his friends.
He’d also lost his prize and so Xander found himself consigned to the castle, living not the princely life he’d been promised, but a limbo existence unwanted by all. Sir Douglas hadn’t mentioned the bleak living conditions here in the castle or that the forbidden library would still be forbidden, or that the skin maps he had been promised were kept locked up to be used for more important things than conjuring beasts.
On top of all that, Xander had been without his phone for missions into the Borderlands but he had never really considered a life without technology altogether. It pretty much sucked.
Despite his annoyance at Bridget and the Ministry and the dire warnings of what would happen if they gave in to the shadow side, he found himself missing Bath. The way the stone turned to honey-gold in the late afternoons, the birdsong along the canal where he had walked with Mila sometimes, Zippy her spaniel running ahead. Right now he even missed Perry. He could start a fire anywhere and right now, the warmth of the flames would go a long way to making this place bearable. Xander wasn’t even getting a chance to use his magic, since Sir Douglas was holed up in his study at the top of the north tower and hadn’t been seen for days.
Enough.
Xander unwrapped himself from the blanket and grabbed the satchel containing his sketchbook and pens. He would just go knock on the door and ask — no, demand — access to the forbidden library. That would be a start until there was something more interesting to do. Like summon the cool beasts he’d soon be drawing. After all, what was the point of being an Illustrator when you couldn’t illustrate? He would prove himself to the Shadow if it took all his magic to get there.
Xander stalked through the corridors of the castle, the stone tunnels lit with lamps in iron brackets, the cold permeating his bones. He passed soldiers along the way, some staring at him with searching eyes, assessing his status. He met their gaze, noting their features, determined to seek them out once he was given his rightful place here. They would respect him when they faced the creatures he conjured.
As their footsteps faded into the distance, Xander reached the bottom of the staircase to the north tower. It was flanked by two pillars carved with occult symbols on one side and the crest of the Mercators’ on the other. Xander put his foot on the first step, hesitating as the cold seemed to permeate deep into his blood, filling his veins with ice. He looked up, a sudden doubt filling him. What was really up there?
Perhaps he should come back another time? Perhaps Sir Douglas was too busy to see him right now?
Footsteps echoed behind him as the soldiers marched back down the corridor.
Xander walked on, taking the steps two at a time, unwilling to face them as he retreated. His heart pounded as he climbed, the welcome exertion of physical movement combined with one concern.
He had not been invited.
Xander slowed his steps to stop on the curve of the stair and pulled a scrap of leather from his pocket. Placing it on the ground, he smoothed out the edges around the beasts drawn there: a tentacled sea monster and a shark in one corner, a dragon in the opposite, next to a coiled serpent and a powerful lion.
Xander summoned his Illustrator magic and channeled it into the leather. Asada, the lion, stepped from the map, shaking his thick golden mane as if waking from sleep. He rolled his powerful shoulders and nuzzled against Xander’s side, his purr a deep sound that echoed in the corridor. Xander put his face in Asada’s mane, closed his eyes and breathed in the animal scent mingled with the leather of the map. This was about as close to home as he could get and for now, it was enough. With Asada by his side, Xander’s confidence returned. Together they padded quietly up the stairs.
As the staircase spiraled up into the upper reaches of the tower, Xander looked out of the slits in the rock which opened to the castle and lands below. On one side, guards trained in the quadrangle in front of huge double doors leading to the children’s wing. On another, a group of women in rags stood around a pile of bloody shrouds, those who didn’t make it out of the Breeding Halls alive. Carrion birds swooped low over the burial pit, their cries a haunting ululation to honor the silence of the suffering victims. Xander looked away and redoubled his pace, Asada at his heel.
As they reached the top of the tower, Xander slowed, taking quiet steps toward the giant wooden door which stood open a fraction. He could hear voices from further inside, although they were faint. Sir Douglas had a whole suite of rooms up here in the tower, so Xander pushed the first door open with a gentle hand and stepped inside.
The plush apartment was cosy, warm with a crackling log fire and animal skins on the walls for insulation. Xander reached for Asada’s mane as he noticed a lion pelt next to a rare leopardskin. Life was cheap here, even more so for animals.
Sir Douglas’s wide mahogany desk dominated the space, a map of the Borderlands placed on top, the corners weighed down with the tiny skulls of children.
Xander started as the voices rose in argument, now clearly coming from the next room. He knew that he should leave now but something about the map drew him in.
The Ministry had many maps of the Borderlands but all were of different parts and they shifted over time. As new places were pushed over the border, the very shape of the Borderlands changed as it squashed some cities closer, pulled apart mountain ranges, and nudged rivers off course.
But this map was a recent survey, a bird’s-eye view of the whole expanse all the way to the Uncharted with the addition of tent cities that Xander had never seen before, each drawn close to portals that he definitely did know about. The biggest tent city near the shadow gate that led into Bath through the portal at The Circus — right in the heart of the city he had left behind.
As Asada lay down by the fire, licking his paws and enjoying its warmth, Xander walked around the other side of the desk. Rounding the corner, his foot knocked against something leaning on the side. A plague doctor’s mask with a long beak once stuffed full of medicinal herbs. Xander frowned at the curious thing. He wasn’t aware of Sir Douglas’s interest in medieval times, but then there was a lot he didn’t know about this side of the border.
The argument grew louder still on the other side of the door, and Sir Douglas’s voice became clear.
“The plague could spread further than we can control. It’s too dangerous. Our people—”
His words turned into a scream, an agonizing sound of terror and pain.
Asada stood, hackles raised, and bared his teeth as the scream trailed off. Xander clutched the table, eyes wide as he stood looking at the door. He wanted to go in there, he wanted to help, but something stopped him, something cold and dark that pierced his heart with a lance of shadow. He didn’t want to face what lay behind that door.
A broken voice stuttered, faint through the door, “I’m sorry, my lord. Please …”
The scream came again.
Xander fled, Asada on his heels as they ran for the safety of the lower halls.
Even as he reached his room and barred the door, Xander knew that something had sensed his presence, something knew what he had seen and heard, something was out there waiting for him.
He sat on the floor, his back against the wooden door. He put his arms around Asada’s neck and buried his face in the lion’s mane once more. Tears welled in his eyes as he wished he could take back the decisions he’d made. How had he ended up here? Was there any way he could fix this terrible mistake?