Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Acknowledgments
Also by Jessica Day George
For Baby Roo, who has been my companion during every moment of writing this book
Chapter
1
There are a lot of things that can hatch out of an egg. A chicken, for example. Or a dragon. And when the egg in question is the size of a pumpkin, and almost as orange, not to mention burning hot, you know that you’re far more likely to get a dragon than a chicken. So when Celie found the egg—large, orange, and too hot to touch—lying in a nest of oddly vine-like moss in the new tower, she was convinced that it held a baby dragon. Where it had come from and what would happen when it hatched were two questions that she wasn’t sure she wanted answered.
It was a Wednesday, so Celie didn’t expect to find any new rooms in Castle Glower. The youngest of the Glower children, Princess Cecelia—Celie, to nearly everyone— knew the Castle better than any person living there, and thought she knew what to expect from it. The day before had been exciting enough, with the room with the bouncy floor being moved to the opposite end of the Castle, and a long room filled with exotic armor appearing just off the portrait gallery. One no longer had to climb through a fireplace to get to the bouncy room, though the door was inconveniently located in her father, King Glower’s, study. And the Armor Gallery, as it had already been dubbed, was in the perfect place for such a thing, though the maids were nearly in revolt at the idea of having to clean and polish so many strangely shaped items.
As she left breakfast and went up the spiraling stairs to the schoolroom for her lessons, Celie wasn’t thinking of finding anything more interesting that day. She was mostly hoping that she would be able to get a look at some of the new armor after her lessons. Her eldest brother, Bran, newly home from the College of Wizardry and now instated as the Royal Wizard, had assured the maids that they would not have to clean the Armor Gallery, because he didn’t want anyone to touch the contents. At least some of the weapons had proved to have magic powers, and he wanted to figure out what everything did and how dangerous it was first. But Celie was sure he’d at least let her look at some of it, if she could get out of her lessons before dinner.
The schoolroom wasn’t at the top of the spiral staircase.
Celie looked around. She was in a long corridor that she had never seen before.
She flipped open the leather satchel slung over her shoulder and pulled out her atlas, a detailed set of maps that she had been working on for years. At last she was nearly done with it, and had already talked to some of the Castle scribes about making copies for her family, but she wanted to get the latest changes in first. It helped that the Castle had not taken away any rooms in at least a month, though it had added a few rather interesting ones (including a second, smaller kitchen and the Armor Gallery), and moved several others. Celie’s room seemed to be permanently fixed on the eastern side of the main hall, but Bran’s room was now right next to it, and Lilah’s was just beyond that, which made Lilah pout: she had previously been on an upper level with fantastic views from both windows.
Celie flipped through her collection of maps, but couldn’t find anything that resembled this corridor. There were no doors along it, and the schoolroom was just gone, as was the old nursery. No one had used the nursery in years, of course, but they had stored their old toys and outgrown clothes in it. Celie found that map and crossed out the nursery, then put a question mark beside the schoolroom before hurrying along the corridor. She needed to find the schoolroom, both to correct her maps and to get to her lessons before Master Humphries had a fit.
At the end of the corridor was a wide flight of shallow steps. Celie could feel chill air moving down the stairs, as if a window at the top had been left open. Like many of the stairs in the Castle, these were oddly proportioned. Celie almost needed to take two steps on each riser, but they were only a few inches high, and it was awkward. Fortunately there were only eight of them, and then she was stepping through a stone arch into a circular room with no roof.
The pale late-winter sun was shining down into the open room, and Celie stumbled as she walked forward, staring up at the thin wisps of clouds. The floor of the room sloped toward the middle like a bowl. In the middle of the bowl was a nest of moss and twigs, and in the middle of the nest was a gleaming orange egg. It was the same orange as a ripe pumpkin, and just as big as one. Celie gaped at it.
“Is that really an egg?”
Icy wind whipped through the uncovered windows and carried her words away. She took some careful steps forward and leaned over. She reached out a hand, wanting to knock on the shell. She imagined it would be cold and very hard, petrified from years of sitting in an open room.
But it wasn’t cold. It was hot, almost too hot to touch comfortably.
Celie snatched her hand back and ran for the door. She hurried out the archway and down the shallow steps. In the corridor leading to the staircase there were several enormous tapestries, but she didn’t stop to look at the details. She went back down the spiral steps and lurched to a confused halt on the next landing down.
Directly across from her was the schoolroom, just as it always was. But for as long as she could remember, the schoolroom had been at the top of the spiral stairs, not halfway down. Hadn’t it?
“Princess Cecelia!” Master Humphries came to the door of the schoolroom, looking impatient. “Where have you been? You are a quarter of an hour late!”
“I went up the stairs, but there’s a new corridor there,” Celie said. She pointed upward.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Master Humphries said, frowning. “Please come in, Your Highness. It is better that we begin late than not at all.”
“But I think I should tell my brother,” Celie said. “There’s an egg—”
“An egg?” Master Humphries raised his eyebrows. “I am sure that Prince Bran can find eggs in the kitchen, if he is so inclined, for breakfast,” her tutor said curtly.
“No, up there,” Celie said, pointing again.
“There is nothing up there, Your Highness,” Master Humphries said. He sighed. “Please do not use the Castle as an excuse. You of all people should be able to find your way around the Castle’s vagaries in a timely fashion.”
“But look!” Celie pointed more emphatically, looking up herself.
There was nothing above her but a smooth, gray stone ceiling. She felt a moment of dizziness as she discovered that she was now standing on the top step of the spiral staircase. The rest of the steps she had just come down, and the corridor above where she had found the tower and the egg, were gone.
“There was a new corridor,” Celie said faintly. “And a tower with no ceiling. A nest. And an egg.”
“But, Your Highness,” Master Humphries said, taking her by the arm to lead her into the schoolroom, “it’s Wednesday.”
Chapter
2
A week later, and still Bran wouldn’t let anyone touch the armor or weapons in the new gallery. One of the footmen had tried to h
elp Bran move a suit of armor to a table for easier study, and the breastplate had sent a jolt of lightning through his hands that made them numb for hours afterward. That was when Bran had declared that until he was done inspecting everything, no one was allowed in the gallery unsupervised.
“Which breastplate was it?” Rolf said with great interest.
The younger of the Glower princes, he was the heir to the throne, as the Castle had decided on his tenth birthday. Despite his growing responsibilities, he was always up for some fun, and Celie was hoping he would find a secret way into the Armor Gallery and let her come as well.
“Never you mind,” Bran said.
“What does that lance do?” Celie said.
She had her hands behind her back, and was leaning as close to a long golden lance as she dared.
“It shocks little girls who breathe on it,” Bran said crossly.
Celie leaped back, but then she made a face at Bran. “Mean!”
“I’m here because Father sent me to ask you if you need anything,” Rolf said importantly. “And also because I’m really hoping you’ll give me first crack at any magical swords or helmets of invisibility.” He rubbed his hands together eagerly.
“Yes, I need something, and no, you cannot have a magical sword,” Bran said, making some notes in his notebook.
“What do you need?” Celie asked as she wandered over to look at a rack that held armor made of tiny overlapping wooden scales.
“I need Pogue Parry from the village, and to not be worrying that you’ll touch something,” Bran said. He sighed. “I’m not trying to be a bear, Cel,” he said kindly. “But some of these things could probably kill you with a single touch.”
Rolf whistled and put his hands behind his back.
“I just have one question,” Celie said. “Well, two now: What do you need Pogue for, and are dragons real?”
Pogue had been invaluable when their parents and Bran had gone missing the summer before, but he was also an incorrigible flirt. When he wasn’t being saucy with the village girls or fighting duels with their jilted suitors, he was often hanging around the castle, teasing Lilah.
“Pogue’s a journeyman blacksmith,” Bran reminded her. “I thought he could help me figure out if some of these things were forged by hand or made by magical means. And no, dragons aren’t real.”
“They’ve never been real? In the past, perhaps, and then they died off?”
“No,” Bran said absently, squinting at some strange marks etched on the breastplate he was studying. “They’re only legends. Always have been.”
“So what kind of animal would lay an egg the size of a pumpkin?” Celie asked.
“That’s three questions,” Rolf pointed out.
“Is that a riddle?” Bran asked at the same time. “Nothing lays an egg that large. Not even the rocs in Grath.”
“Rocks?” Rolf looked faintly alarmed. “The rocks lay eggs in Grath?”
“Rocs. No k,” Bran clarified. “They’re enormous, predatory birds. Ask Lulath about them; just make sure you send for Pogue first!”
Bran turned his back on Celie and Rolf, making it clear that he was going to ignore them while he continued his wizardly business. Rolf took Celie’s elbow and they edged out of the gallery, being careful not to touch anything. Out in the corridor, Rolf breathed a sigh of relief.
“That’s so odd,” he said. “That whole gallery, just full of foreign weapons and armor …” He shook his head. “It looked like fun at first, but now I don’t know what to think about it. Have you added it to your maps yet?”
“No,” Celie said. “There’s just so much lately …”
She didn’t want to tell him that after her lessons, when she’d planned to sketch the Armor Gallery, she’d been trying to find a new corridor instead. One that could only be reached by a spiral staircase, and ended in a tower that contained a single giant egg. She had failed to find the corridor, and it had happened so fast, and had disappeared so swiftly, that she was half-convinced that it had all been in her imagination.
“Father was telling some of the councilors about your atlas,” Rolf said. “I know he’d love to have a copy made, to show off. It could really come in useful for people who are visiting the Castle.”
Celie felt herself blushing. “It’s not done yet,” she protested. She’d wanted to make a gift of it to the family, but she wasn’t sure how she felt about councilors and strangers looking at her sketches and notes.
“Well, I don’t know if it will ever be done,” Rolf said as they made their way to the front hall. “I mean, there’s new rooms every week. And then things get moved around. But it’s always going to be that way. You should let Father see it.” Rolf snorted. “I know that the new Emissary to Foreign Lands would like a copy. He keeps getting lost. I found him wandering around the passages that lead to the laundry the other day, apparently looking for the council’s private study.” He shook his head.
“Do you think he’s … a good person?” Celie had not spent a lot of time with the new Emissary, and since the old Emissary had tried to have her parents killed, she was more than a little uncertain of his replacement.
“Oh, he’s fine,” Rolf said, offhand. They were in the main hall now.
“I’m going to go to the village and find Pogue,” Rolf said. “Coming?”
“I have to change and then help Mother and Lilah,” Celie said. “Lilah and I are supposed to get more new gowns. And apparently it’s rude to go to a gown fitting in an old gown.” She held up her sleeves, which were admittedly too short, but she liked that, as it made it easier to sketch. She saw an ink spot on her cuff and licked it to see if it would go away.
“I don’t understand that sort of thing at all,” Rolf admitted. “If it has no visible stains and I can lace it up, I’ll wear it.” He made a face. “I’d better get going, then, or Mother will have me trying on new tunics.”
They went their separate ways. Celie found a gown that wasn’t too small, or too fancy, and even brushed her hair and found matching stockings. Halfway to the seamstresses’ quarters, she remembered the history of Sleyne that she was supposed to be reading for Master Humphries. She would probably spend a great deal of time sitting and waiting on Lilah and her mother, and decided that she might as well get some of the reading done. She made her way to the spiral staircase that led to the schoolroom and went up.
And up. And up. And found herself in the empty corridor once more. She hurried along it, and there was the shallow set of steps that led to the tower. And there in the tower was the egg.
She gingerly put her hand on the shell. It was still very hot, though it didn’t burn her this time. When she touched it, it rocked back and forth as though excited. Celie gave the egg a little pat and then backed out of the tower again, heart pounding. She didn’t care what Bran said: there could be a dragon in an egg that big. And even if it wasn’t, if it was a roc, that was still amazing and scary at the same time. She needed to get Bran to look at it. And maybe Lulath. He might have seen a roc’s egg before.
“I’ll be right back,” Celie called toward the egg.
She picked up her skirts and ran to the spiral staircase, wanting to find Bran or even Master Humphries before the tower disappeared again. Halfway down the spiral stairs she found the landing for the schoolroom again and burst out, calling for Master Humphries. He wasn’t there, and when she turned around to keep going down to find Bran, she saw with a sinking heart that the spiral stairs didn’t go any higher.
“I’m not imagining it,” Celie said, feeling her fingertips, which were still warm. “There is a tower, and there is an egg in it!”
But would she ever find it again? And what was inside the egg?
Chapter
3
Celie found the roofless tower again. In fact, in the following days, she found it nearly every morning, and every time she had a free moment. She had no more than to think of the egg before her feet were carrying her to the spiral staircase and th
e Castle was leading her upward.
It had been a very cold winter, and another snowstorm had left several inches of snow in the roofless tower, which Celie had swept away with a borrowed broom. She’d also borrowed some heavy horse blankets and an oilcloth from the stables and carefully covered the egg with them.
And so she fell into a pattern. Every morning she’d get up early and hurry to dress and eat breakfast, in order to spend some time with the egg before her lessons. When she got to the tower, she’d shake the frost or sometimes snow off the oilcloth and uncover the egg. It was still always hot, and she would prod it carefully with a gloved hand. It always rocked in reply, and then she would talk to it. She sang to it, too, and even read her lessons to it. She brought up some cushions to sit on and some dried fruits and biscuits to munch while she sat with it.
She thought several times of telling her family, and even tried to lead Rolf up to the tower one day. But whenever someone was with her, the spiral staircase ended just outside the schoolroom. It was as clear as if it had been written on the stones of the Castle itself: the egg was just for her.
Besides which, everyone in the Castle seemed to be very busy. Bran and Pogue were locked in the Armor Gallery every day, making strange noises and occasionally eerie lights and puffs of smoke as they tested the armor and weapons. Rolf had a great many duties, like attending their father, King Glower, at audiences and meetings with the Council. King Glower had insisted on Rolf doing this since the summer before, when their father had been assumed dead and Rolf had briefly become king. And their sister, Lilah, was busy flirting with both the Grathian prince Lulath and Pogue, which was hardly new or unusual, but still very time-consuming for her, and (in Celie’s opinion) irritating.
Then late one Wednesday afternoon, the egg hatched.
Celie had been sitting with her back against the blanket-swathed egg, sketching the new stables that had appeared the day before. The egg had rocked, and rocked again, tipping up onto one end so that it knocked most of the blankets off. Celie scrambled to her feet, tossing aside her half-finished map and pencils.