The Tour Part 2

"The bread is baked fresh every morning," William said with the pride of someone who took genuine pleasure in his work. "Cook has a particular talent for it. And the preserves are made from fruit grown in our own gardens."

Our own gardens. The possessive phrasing caught my attention, suggesting these servants saw themselves as part of the estate rather than simply employed by it. That kind of loyalty was either earned through exceptional treatment or enforced through means I preferred not to contemplate.

"Everything is delicious," I said, and meant it despite my circumstances. "Please give my compliments to the cook."

And perhaps, later, I'll find an opportunity to speak with this cook myself. Servants often know more about their employers' secrets than the employers realize.

Louis poured tea with movements that suggested ritual, ceremony, the kind of careful attention that elevated simple tasks into art. "Lord MacAllister is quite particular about hospitality," he said. "He wants to ensure your stay is as comfortable as possible."

My stay. Another careful euphemism that avoided naming what this arrangement actually was. But I was beginning to understand that euphemisms were this castle's preferred currency—a way of conducting ugly business while maintaining the fiction of civilization.

"How long have you been in Lord MacAllister's service?" I asked, testing to see how much information they might volunteer.

The twins exchanged a glance that lasted perhaps half a second—communication in a language of shared expressions and unspoken understanding.

"Since we were children," William said finally. "Our family has served the MacAllisters for generations."

Generations. Which raised interesting questions about Lord MacAllister's apparent age. He looked to be perhaps thirty-five, hardly old enough to have employed multiple generations of the same family. Unless...

Unless he's older than he appears, whispered a voice in my head that I tried to ignore. Unless time works differently in this place, just like everything else.

"How fortunate," I said aloud, "to have found such stable employment. That must be increasingly rare in these changing times."

"Lord MacAllister takes care of those who serve him faithfully," Louis said, and something in his tone suggested layers of meaning I couldn't quite parse.

Takes care of them how? With generosity and comfort? Or with threats and consequences for disloyalty?

After breakfast, they led me through corridors I hadn't seen during my brief journey to the beautiful chambers yesterday. The castle was even larger than I'd realized—a maze of passages that seemed to stretch in impossible directions, rooms that opened onto other rooms in configurations that defied architectural logic.

"The grand hall," William announced, ushering me into a space that took my breath away despite my determination to remain unimpressed.

The ceiling soared into shadows, supported by pillars that looked like they'd been carved from single trees. Tapestries hung from the walls—not museum pieces gathering dust, but vibrant works of art that seemed to move in the flickering light from massive chandeliers. And everywhere, the sense of age and power and secrets that had been accumulating for far longer than any human lifetime.

"It's magnificent," I admitted, craning my neck to take in details that hurt to look at directly. "How old is this castle?"

"Very old," Louis said, which wasn't really an answer. "The MacAllister family has held these lands since... well, since before records were commonly kept."

Since before records were kept. Which could mean centuries. Could mean longer than that, depending on what constituted a record and who had been doing the keeping.

The music room was equally impressive—instruments that ranged from a pianoforte that looked like it belonged in a royal palace to stringed things I couldn't identify, all of them maintained in perfect condition despite their obvious age.

"Do you play?" William asked, noting my interest.

"A little," I said, running my fingers over the piano keys. They responded with notes so pure and clear they seemed to ring in my bones. "Though I suspect I'm terribly out of practice."

And I suspect this piano is worth more than our family home was, before we lost everything.

"Lord MacAllister enjoys music," Louis offered. "Perhaps you might play for him sometime."

Perhaps. As if entertaining my captor was a privilege I should aspire to rather than a service I might be compelled to provide.

The indoor gardens were a revelation—glass conservatories that housed plants from every climate imaginable, all of them thriving in what should have been impossible conditions. Tropical flowers bloomed beside arctic mosses, desert succulents shared space with rainforest ferns, and over it all hung the scent of growing things and rich earth and magic.

Definitely magic, I thought, studying a tree that bore fruit I couldn't identify in colors that shouldn't exist in nature. There's no natural explanation for any of this.

"How does Lord MacAllister maintain such diversity?" I asked, genuinely curious despite myself.

The twins exchanged another of those quick glances, communication I wasn't privy to passing between them in the space of a heartbeat.

"He has many talents," William said finally. "Gardening among them."

Gardening. Such a simple word for what was obviously complex manipulation of natural law.