Autumn had come and gone, its fleeting beauty giving way to the harsher tones of winter. As Egon had instructed, I met with him at the end of every week. At first, our conversations revolved around my thoughts of my mother—or rather, the faint and fading fragments of memory I still carried of her. Over time, though, these 'check-ins' shifted. He began focusing on my health and physical condition, urging me to take on more strenuous tasks instead of the simpler ones like trimming bushes or cleaning the messroom.
"You should be learning how to fight," he had said firmly, and soon after, he arranged lessons for me with the keep's weapons master, Mr. Felzt.
Winter set in quickly. The thick gray clouds of autumn gave way to clear, pale blue skies, and the air neared freezing. Yet, snow refused to fall. The absence of its white blanket left the grass brittle and yellowed, and the trees stood as stark, leafless skeletons, a dull and uninspiring brown.
I had come to know the other children of Widowskeep better during those months. Many of them were exactly as I had suspected—born to lower-class nobles who had affairs with women from the market, hidden here to avoid public scandal. Lily and I grew closer, largely because Miss Tunia always seemed to pair us together for chores. Adam, too, began to open up more, though he and the others still referred to me as the quiet one.
Through it all, I was not allowed to leave the keep. The days stretched on monotonously, bleeding into one another until weeks felt like years, and though winter in Widowskeep was not harsh, it still somehow felt breaking.
Midday during a lost week, after Mr. Felzt had finished drilling me for the day, I pressed my back against a tree in the courtyard and slid down to sit. My chest rose and fell heavily as I caught my breath. The cool air made the sweat clinging to my skin feel even colder than it should have. I always hated the cold—more than most, it seemed. Yet strangely, the heat never bothered me.
"Ouch." Lily knelt beside me, lowering herself to my height, and tapped my wrist gently. "What did that?" she asked, her fingers brushing against the dark bruise forming there.
I winced and pulled my arm away. "Don't touch that," I muttered, glancing to my left as Adam approached.
"Mr. Felzt has been rough lately," I continued, rubbing my wrist absentmindedly. "I can't believe Egon is still making me do these lessons."
"Egon?" Adam repeated and chuckled. "I've never heard anyone call the duke by that name."
Leaning back against the bark of the tree, I shrugged, letting the comment pass. The two of them exchanged a glance before Lily sighed and stood. "The twins wanted to show us something."
"That's never good," I mumbled, but I stood anyway, trailing after the two of them as we rounded the left side of the courtyard. Here, part of the keep's wall jutted outward, creating a natural barrier that shielded us from Miss Tunia's gaze—or for that matter, any other adult.
Achim sat with his back against the stone wall, one hand raking through his short black hair. His eyes were fixed on a long piece of paper spread out on the grass before him. The edges of the parchment were frayed and dirt streaked.
Lily's breath hitched when she saw it. "You guys found it?" she gasped and rushed forward, crouching beside Achim, who startled slightly and shifted back to give her space.
"Uh." I muttered, lowering myself to sit. The grass blades poked uncomfortably at the underside of my legs as I settled in. "What is it?" I asked, glancing between the paper and their eager expressions
"A map," Achim said quietly. He had never warmed up to me, a fact I had noticed but never questioned. His finger pressed into the paper, tracing a small streak of blue. "Here is the Felluvar River... and up here is Meadowsway."
"Meadowsway?" I repeated.
"That's where we are," Lily answered quickly and slid the map closer to herself. "I want to know where Kingskeep is," she muttered excitedly.
Achim pointed to a small dot on the map. "Here."
"They have the most beautiful winter festivals there..." Lily said, her voice softening as a weak smile spread across her face. "Food from all over the Peninsula... important figures... It's the one time of year the royal keep is open to outsiders. Magnificent balls with loud music. Can you imagine that?"
"Then why don't we go?" I asked, the words slipping out before I could think them through. Lily's eyes widened immediately.
"Go?" she whispered sharply. "That would take weeks of walking at best... and besides, Miss Petunia would never allow it."
"What if we left without her knowing?"
"Roderich." Her voice snapped, "We can't do that."
My shoulders slumped, and I pried my gaze away from her, letting it fall to a nearby window of the keep. Dirt clung to the glass in stubborn streaks, and iron bars were fastened firmly on the inside. "Only a thought," I mumbled.
At that, Lily sighed—a long, exaggerated breath, something she seemed to love doing around me. We talked more about the map after that—about how the Felluvar River carved its way between Chaluk and neighboring Saaorn before spilling into the sea. To my surprise, Widowskeep was much closer to the ocean than I had imagined, only a few miles away. Seconds turned to minutes, and though we spoke of other places, Lily's attention always drifted back to Kingskeep. Her fingers lingered on the dot until Miss Tunia eventually found us.
"Longing to leave the keep will only make it worse," she said curtly as she instructed us to gather our belongings and head back inside. That was all she said, but her words stayed with me. Even as we returned to the monotony of daily life, the idea of leaving the keep never left my mind. The thought of seeing the world—of learning how it truly functioned.
In the weeks that followed, Egon left for Messata, a coastal town near the nation's border. In his place came someone I didn't expect to see again: Phillip. He began meeting with me weekly, taking over where Egon had left off.
Though Egon's presence had been demanding, his absence left a strange emptiness. It was as if a thread tying me to something greater had frayed, and I wasn't sure I wanted it to be mended.
Through those meetings, I learned more about Phillip than I had before and spoke of his past as a scholar for his own house, a role he seemed to take pride in. Yet as our conversations deepened, it became painfully clear to both of us that I couldn't read or write.
"How's a boy supposed to make it through life if he can't read?" Phillip spat as he sat me down at a table inside the small, aging library. He was exactly as I remembered him from all those months ago—his breath carrying the stale scent of old ale, his meaty face full of expression, matching his large and overbearing personality.
With his blunt assessment came yet another task added to my growing list of responsibilities. By the end of each night, I was expected to practice reading. How this would help me in life, I didn't yet understand.
Days after passed as slowly as before, and it was a late night towards the end of winter. I sat in bed, staring at the pages Phillip had forced upon me. The shapes of the letters blurred together, almost foreign, and felt like wrestling an invisible beast. Yet, my attention was drawn to the hallway as whispers rose.
Swinging one foot over the edge of the mattress, I let it fall to the floor, the wood beneath creaking softly. I paused, listening for a moment, before rising carefully. The whispers continued, pulling me toward the door, dressed only in a long black tunic. My heart thudded against my ribs as I pressed my ear closer to the door.
"...a boy like Roderich needs other children to grow up well," Miss Tunia exasperated.
"I don't disagree, ma'am," Phillip replied. "But the Duke never wanted 'im here. Kingskeep was always the plan." My hand froze on the doorframe as their voices rose just enough to carry through the wood. "Once his progress proves itself, we'll have the boy moved."
"And if the king does not approve of it?" As Phillip went silent, she scoffed, "What's next, Phillip? Cast him out to fend with the dogs—or worse, send him crawling back to his mother?"
"Better than having his head on a spike for his father's lineage," Phillip growled. His tone was harsh, but after a pause, he seemed to regain control of himself. Calming, he added, "The Duke will return soon for Roderich."
With a sharp click of his boot, Phillip turned and left.
Miss Tunia lingered outside the hallway for a while. My stomach tensed when her hand rested on the knob of my door. I held my breath, but she must have decided against coming in, and eventually walked away, steps fading into the quiet.
I stood there in the darkness for a long time, their words repeating in my mind. Kingskeep. Were they really going to take me there?
Lily had spoken so highly of the place, describing it like something out of a dream. The idea felt unreal—like maybe, just maybe, they had a purpose for me.
Even after overhearing their conversation, days continued to pass, blending into weeks. I vividly remember traders arriving at the keep, forcing me and three other boys to share a small room while the traders occupied our private quarters. Strangely, during that time, I felt safer with them than I ever did alone.
They stuffed us into a cramped room at the end of the third wing hallway. The walls were thinner there, letting the cold seep in at night, and a single window overlooked the city of Meadowsway. It was the first time I had truly seen the place since arriving.
The streets around the keep's base curved in tight cobblestone paths, their stones neatly arranged but worn with age. The buildings were made of dark, rich wooden beams, their sturdy frames sinking slightly into the dirt. Through the pale light of the moon, I could see people moving even in the late hours, walking to and fro. What a day it would be when I was finally able to step out and explore that place myself. Hoping to distract myself, I turned to the boys around me and asked them to talk, as hearing others speak always soothed my nerves.
The boys in the room told me an old folklore—a tale about a ghost that haunted the corridors of Widowskeep. They said the very name of the keep was derived from her. She was a woman who had waited for her husband to return home, standing vigil for days, then weeks, then months, and then, as if time had folded in on itself, days again. When he never came, she died where she tread, her spirit left to linger. The ghost, they said, watched over the children of the keep, pretending they were the babies she could never have.
The story did little to comfort me that night. In fact, it did quite the opposite. Sleep evaded me, and when it finally came, it was restless. The tale stuck with me long after, whispering in the back of my mind with every creak of the floorboards and every shadow cast by the flickering candlelight. And in a way, I felt like a ghost too. Always observant, always in an environment I could not escape. 11Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡc8iqzxUTIE
