ICO: Castle in the Mist Read online

  It was strange when she thought about it. Did the queen not keep her inside the castle, saying that her exceptional beauty was dangerous? Why then did she give Yorda only white to wear, saying that it enhanced her beauty?

  The queen herself wore only white. The handmaidens around them dressed in undyed tunics with long sleeves, their hems and sashes of a color that reminded Yorda of the sea. The ministers and other officials working within the castle also wore predominantly white, with perhaps a splash of blue or brown. Though the colors might be fitting for a castle made of brick and copper facing the sea, Yorda found it lacking in gaiety.

  At last, the day came when the girls put their plan into action and found it almost disappointingly easy. Yorda ran down the stairs, hid among the bushes in the courtyard, and then made her way from the west tower, careful not to let the guards see her. From there she proceeded from the middle courtyard to the front courtyard and into the crowd. Among the throngs of people, in her full, flowered skirt and apron, with a wide-brimmed hat on her head, no one would recognize the princess. She pretended to ask directions from the handmaiden’s lover, who took her to the front gate, and finally she reached the long stone bridge across the water. The handmaiden’s mother waited secretly on the far side, having received a letter that explained the plan.

  Yet when she had crossed only halfway over the bridge, Yorda heard a voice in her mind.

  Enough of this foolishness. Come back.

  Yorda jerked to a stop and looked around. The bridge was full of people rushing to get into the gates to hear the minister’s speech. There were many going in her direction too, attendants who had seen the guild leaders to the front gate and were now returning to take care of the horses. There was no reason why she should have stood out in the crowd. In fact, when she stopped suddenly, it disturbed the flow of foot traffic around her, and she nearly stepped on the feet of a nearby steward.

  Come back, Yorda. You must not leave the castle. Have you forgotten my warning?

  But it was no trick of the wind or the crying of seabirds. It was the queen’s voice.

  I know where you are, my daughter. I know what you plan. All is clear to me. You cannot defy me. Now return.

  A hand to her breast, Yorda felt a sudden chill against her cheek.

  Please, Mother, she pleaded in silence, allow me just this once. I want to see what it’s like outside the castle. I’ll come back as soon as I’ve seen. Please, Mother. Please.

  Yorda!

  The Queen’s voice was as cold as a winter’s dawn and as unwavering as the rocky crags far below the bridge.

  If you do not return this instant, I will destroy the very bridge upon which you walk. I need only lift a finger. You will have no choice but to return. And who knows how many of our people will fall with the crumbling bridge into the waves below. Is that what you want?

  Men and women walked past Yorda, chatting busily, smiles on their faces. The stone bridge across the inlet was a part of the scenery, as though it had been there since the beginning of the world. As solid as the ground, a road across the water.

  Yet it had been made by human hands. Or perhaps the queen herself had built it with magic. Either way, it could be shattered, and if it was, the life it held would be swallowed by the sea. Even the calm sea on a sunny day was stronger than a mere person, and the sea was very wide and very deep.

  Staggering, Yorda turned, heading back toward the main gate. Soon she was running. She thought that if she hesitated even just a moment, her mother would take that as a sign of protest and destroy the bridge.

  When she reached the entrance to the west tower to return to her room, the guard in the doorway stepped into her path. Yorda reached up and removed her hat. The guard’s eyes open so wide it seemed they might fall out of his head.

  “Princess Yorda?”

  “My mother has summoned me,” Yorda explained in a tiny voice. She ducked past the guard, frozen in place, running toward her own chambers where her handmaiden greeted her in surprise, embracing her as she ran in the door. But before Yorda could explain what had happened, two guards appeared at the entrance to her chambers.

  They had come for the handmaiden. At the request of the queen, she was to appear in the audience chamber at once. Their faces were the blank masks of men who carried out orders without question or sympathy.

  Yorda stood helpless, watching them lead her handmaiden away. She was sure that the girl’s lover was being similarly apprehended at that very moment.

  What have I done? Yorda threw herself on her bed, weeping. A short while later, another handmaiden arrived to help Yorda change her clothes. The handmaiden’s eyes were clouded, and her lips trembled.

  Midday came and went, but by the time the sun had begun to set, Yorda still had not been summoned by the queen. The members of the merchants’ guild had left some time ago, and the front gates were closed. Two guards stood by the entrance to her chamber.

  Yorda had tried asking them several times already to let her see her mother, but her pleas fell on deaf ears. By orders of the queen, they told her in voices devoid of warmth, the princess was to remain in her chambers.

  When Yorda looked in their eyes, she could tell that the guards were frightened.

  Dusk fell as Yorda ate her supper alone in her room. This was normal. Of the three rooms that made up her chambers, she had chosen the smallest with the least adornment, the powder room, in which to dine. The room originally appointed for meals was far too large and always felt cold with its thick stone walls and high ceiling.

  No matter how warm her food, it chilled the moment it was brought into the chamber. And the table, as large as her canopied bed, could hold any number of dishes and still look empty. She never liked it.

  When her father, the king, had been well, the three of them would take their meals in the royal dining hall. The dining hall was vast, with adornments of cold silver and gold on the ceiling and walls, but her father’s smile would banish the chill in a moment. Her mother in those days had been far kinder.

  Yorda's father had passed away when she was only six—already ten years past. Though the memories were still clear in her mind, they became more distant with each passing day.

  Her father’s passing had changed her mother. As it changed the castle.

  Wracked by sadness and trembling with unease, Yorda found she could not eat. She only nibbled at the food on the trays and platters her handmaidens brought her one after another, then she bade them depart, and sat in a chair next to the window in her powder room, lighting a single candle and looking out to face the deepening night.

  From this height, even with the front gate closed, she could see a part of the stone bridge the queen had threatened to destroy under the light of the full moon. The bridge looked pale over the dark sea below, as though it was not truly a bridge, but a phantom created by a trick of the moonlight, and if she blinked, it might disappear altogether.

  Yorda strained her eyes, looking for the white spray of the waves where they collided with the columns of the bridge, sighing with relief when she spotted it. It was no phantom. The bridge remained. No one had plummeted into the sea. Yorda had obeyed the queen’s wishes, returning to the castle, her tail tucked in behind her.

  What would have happened, she wondered, if she had not heeded the queen? What if she had talked back to her?

  You can’t destroy a bridge that size with just a finger. You lie. You’re lying, trying to threaten me! If you can do such a thing, I’d like to see you try!

  Yorda planted both elbows on the elegantly carved table, wrapped her hands around her face, and closed her eyes. Behind her eyelids she could see the stone bridge crumbling and hear the screams of the people as they dropped into the waves.

  If she had resisted, she knew her mother would have destroyed the bridge without hesitation. It was within her power.

  The queen possessed a power that surpassed human comprehension. Yorda had yet to see it with her own eyes, but it was well known. Eve
n Master Suhal attested to it. She had heard the Minister of Coin and the Minister of Rites—even the captain of the knights charged with protecting the queen—say that Her Majesty possessed a power greater than all the knightly order taken together. If any greedy neighboring country thought to take part of their rich land, if they tried to invade, before the knights could even ride, Her Majesty would vanquish the invading force with a single breath.

  If one heard only the words, it came across as simple flattery and nothing more. Yet when he spoke of these things, Yorda had seen a chilling fear in the knight captain’s eyes. Master Suhal had told her to study that fear and remember it well.

  Princess, he told her, lowering his head, your mother is truly powerful.

  Yorda wondered how old she had been. She had a feeling it was after her father’s passing, when unease had begun to spread through the castle. Master Suhal had tried to calm her fears, but Yorda watched the scholar’s eyes too, and she saw that they were dark and shadowed.

  As the memories stirred Yorda’s heart, the candle flame flickered.

  She wondered if she would sleep that night having not been scolded by her mother. That wouldn’t do. She needed to get down on her knees and plead for forgiveness for the kind handmaiden and her lover. She had to beg for them. It was I who wanted to go outside. They were just following my orders.

  Then came a gentle knocking at the door.

  Yorda looked around and saw the thick, ebony wood door of her powder room open. The chief handmaiden stepped soundlessly inside. Her face and her hair were the same shade of gray. It was not merely from age, but from something that seemed to have drained the life from her and the color with it. Yorda did not dislike this emaciated old handmaiden so much as she feared her. It was not that the woman herself was frightening; she was loyalty personified, always obsequious and reverent in her service, and seemed, more than anyone else in the castle, to deeply fear Yorda’s mother. That was what frightened Yorda.

  Do you know something that I do not? Yorda thought the question every time she looked at the chief handmaiden’s face.

  “Princess Yorda,” the woman said in a whisper. The spring of her voice had dried up long before, when the handmaiden had decided, of her own will, to speak only when absolutely necessary. “Her Majesty requests your presence.”

  Even though she had been waiting for just those words, Yorda felt her heart seize with fright.

  “Very well. I’ll go at once.”

  Yorda stood up from the table. Her hands and her knees were trembling. Not wishing the chief handmaiden to see, she turned her back.

  “You should wear a robe,” the handmaiden said. “It is very chilly out at night.”

  Yorda turned. “We’re going outside?”

  “By Her Majesty’s request,” the chief handmaiden said, bowing her head.

  Yorda removed a long hooded robe from her wardrobe and put it on. The stars outside her window winked in the sky, watching as she followed the handmaiden, her hooded head hanging low.

  [4]

  THE CHIEF HANDMAIDEN led her not to the queen’s quarters but directly to the courtyard in front of the castle. The guards on night watch stood as still as statues watching them pass soundlessly down the corridor.

  Out in the courtyard, their way was lit by torches burning atop pedestals as tall as a building. One here, two there; few were needed in the light of the full moon. When the sun was at its zenith, it seemed as though the torches supported the very vault of heaven, but at night they burned low beneath the dark sky. The darkness surrounding the castle was deep and silent.

  Occasionally, she would spot the flame of a torch crossing the courtyard. Patrolmen on their rounds held them aloft. The chief handmaiden led her across the square, taking the stone staircase that led to the central west building and following the long curving arc of the walkway there. Yorda was afraid. The rooms and facilities along this walkway were not familiar to members of the royal house. Even though this castle was Yorda’s entire world, she had only infrequently been to the east tower. She possessed only cursory knowledge of its rooms and layout.

  The chief handmaiden carried no torch to avoid drawing undue attention. Within the walls of the castle and in the courtyards, the scattered sconces provided ample illumination, but in this place there was nothing of the sort. Even the gentle light of the full moon was blocked by the high walls. The chief handmaiden moved with the quick ease of familiarity, occasionally glancing back to make certain Yorda still followed.

  “Where are we going?” Yorda asked. The chief handmaiden did not respond. But when they reached another staircase, she stopped. The hem of her skirts swayed and came to rest.

  “Go down these stairs. Her Majesty awaits you below.”

  The handmaiden withdrew to the side of the passage, bowing stiffly at her waist. Yorda did not move.

  “What business did my mother say she had with me here?”

  After a short while, the handmaiden replied, her head hanging low. “I’m sorry, but I cannot answer your question. Please go ahead. Her Majesty will tell you herself, I am sure.”

  Yorda took one step forward. She followed with another, then turned to lean over the handmaiden. “You tremble,” she said to the nape of the old woman’s neck.

  The handmaiden’s neatly bound hair seemed to twitch. In the gloom, Yorda could spot countless white lines running through her hair. She was getting very old.

  “Are you frightened? I am too.”

  The handmaiden said nothing and did not move.

  “Today,” Yorda continued, “I went against my mother’s word. I come fully expecting to be punished. But why does that merit such fear?” Yorda leaned closer. “I want you to come with me. I don’t want to go alone. I am not frightened of my mother’s anger. I’m scared to walk alone at night. I’m scared of the dark.”

  That was a lie. The chief handmaiden knew it as well as Yorda. Yet she did not move.

  “Then I order you,” Yorda said, her voice trembling. “Come with me.”

  Still bent at the waist, the chief handmaiden spoke to the stones of the passageway. “Her Majesty awaits you, Princess Yorda. Please go down the stairs.”

  Apparently, only her mother could give orders in this castle. Yorda walked toward the staircase, eyes on the floor. She could hear her footsteps echoing quietly. She lifted her hands and pulled on her hood against the cool night air that blew up the staircase.

  When Yorda’s footfalls had receded into the distance, the chief handmaiden fell to her knees on the spot. Entwining her fingers together, she began to pray. It was not the prayer to the Creator that she knew by rote, it being required of her every day in the castle. It was an old prayer, one she had learned as a child in her homeland far from this place—a prayer to ward off evil.

  When she reached the bottom of the stairs and went out into the small courtyard she found there, the full moon—blocked by the walls of the castle until now—appeared in the corner of the sky, looking down on her with concern. Yorda recognized at once where the chief handmaiden had brought her—she was in a graveyard.

  Those of royal blood were never buried within the castle walls. In the far distant mountains, a solemn graveyard had been hewn from the rock face of a cliff for the royal graves. Here in this small graveyard rested those few servants whose loyalty was such that they were recognized for giving their lives to the castle. Of course, these were guard captains and high ministers. No handmaiden, not even a chief, would ever be suffered to lie here.

  Yorda stood a moment in the moonlight before looking for her mother. The courtyard was surrounded on all four sides by castle buildings and stone walls. Nine gravestones white as bone, washed by the wind and the rain, stood in three rows. The grass was cropped short, and walking on it made her feel like she was gliding across black velvet.

  The queen was nowhere to be seen, though under the moonlight her elegant white robes should have been obvious.

  Yorda looked up at the night sky and the
moon framed by the buildings around her and took deep, quiet breaths. The silvery white robe she wore was woven from priceless silks, and when it caught the slightest amount of light, it sparkled as though coated with silver dust. In this place of death, only Yorda was alive, and the dim glow of her robe only heightened the contrast.

  She isn’t here. Why has my mother summoned me to this place?

  Even as she wondered, she felt herself relax, and when her eyes fell from the full moon back down to the earth, she saw a dark figure standing before her. It was the very absence of light, lacquer black, and it stood directly in the center of the nine gravestones. So complete was the darkness that at first, Yorda had trouble believing there was a person there at all. It was like all the darkness of night had gathered in one place—a stagnating pool of dark mist, so dense it did not even let the light of the full moon inside.

  “Yorda,” the pool of darkness called to her . The queen’s voice. My mother’s voice.

  As it spoke, the pool of darkness took the form of the queen, dressed all in black. Layer upon layer of delicate lace made up the long sleeves of her dress, and when they fluttered in the wind they seemed to melt into the night.

  Yorda wondered what had happened to her mother’s usual white gown. Struck more by suspicion than surprise, Yorda stepped back. Am I seeing things? Could that really be my mother? Or has some creature of the night taken her form to trick me?

  “Approach, Yorda.”

  The queen raised her hand and beckoned Yorda closer. Wrapped in darkness, her face and hand stood out clearly. As the moon shone in the night sky above, so her mother’s face shone white in the graveyard.

  Yorda walked carefully so as not to trip on the hem of her long robe. Now she was sure the figure was her mother. She could smell a familiar perfume in the air.