Page 129 of A Sin So Pure

“Sprites?” I ask.

“Creepy little bastards that run the castle in our stead.” Silas shivers before stalking towards a footpath next to the cabin. “Come. The others will follow.”

I toss a glance back at the idling cars behind us. The other Sins and their Seconds are slow to get out, stretching and groaning from the ride. Wrath is the only one who is quick to leave his group. He strides after Silas with his signature pissed-off frown.

I jerk my head towards the path, a silent command to Josie and Leo. Grabbing Imogen’s hand, I follow.

It’s a short walk to the edge of the water. When we break through the tree line, then the thin shimmering shadow-veil, there’s about twenty feet of rocky beach scattered with fallen logs and boulders. Waves crash against the shoreline, the sound peaceful.

My breath puffs around my face, and I know that if we dipped a toe in the lake, it would be freezing. The winter chill in the air is deeper here than in the city, being closer to the mountains. In the distance, I can barely make out snowy peaks below the clouds.

Silas stands before a white marble pillar, shaped into a lectern of sorts; it’s out of place against the dark gray and brown-toned pebbles of the beach. Shadows weave through Silas’s fingers, flattening into the familiar shape of a knife. We watch on as he pricks the pad of his thumb, blood welling to the surface, and swipes it across the top of the pillar.

His shadow knife dissipates, and the distinct tingling of magic shifts the air around us. The clouds above blow away in an unnatural breeze, and the water stills into a mirror-like pane.The earth trembles, rocking us, and Imogen’s hand squeezes mine to steady herself.

The water parts, and a pristine marble bridge rises from the depths. It leads across the lake, and there, a mile offshore, stands Casimir in all its mythical glory. A stunning castle that makes up the entirety of the island. Its name is interchangeable for the building and the land.

My mother had read me children’s stories about it, but the memories are faded; more snapshots of her leaning over my bed with a book in hand than anything else. It wasn’t until Silas told me his plan that I did more research into the ancient castle we’d be visiting.

It was the home of the first Fae Queen—the blood of whom runs partly through Silas and partly through the Seelie Queen. The first Fae Queen’s children were the original sires of the Unseelie and Seelie lines. While they fought over who would rule over Faerie, cleaving the realm into two as a result, they always came together once a year to honor their mother on the Solstice. And thus started a tradition that has since become a bloody meeting between the Courts.

No one speaks as Silas steps onto the bridge and begins the trek across the water. He doesn’t wave us on or command us to follow, leaving us to stare in our awestruck stupor.

“We aren’t here to gawk. Stop staring and get moving,” Wrath says, breaking our trance before following Silas across the bridge.

Imogen lets go of my hand as we cross the bridge. It’s only wide enough to fit us single file, so I take the lead of the four of us.

Waves crash against the walls of the bridge as we walk, and about halfway across, the water turns from a winter gray to a summer blue. I unbutton my coat as sweat beads on my neck,the air turning thick and hot. The sun casts waves of heat on us, and soon we’re all shucking off our jackets.

When we reach the end of the bridge, the beach is not the same pebbles and rocks and seaweed as on our side of the lake. Instead, the castle sits on golden, red-speckled sand. Massive marble towers spiral above us. Swirling carvings serve as molding for the windows and archways, inlaid with pink stone that contrasts the white main structure. The architecture is detailed and precise, a masterpiece of stonemasonry.

There’s only one door into the castle, which is already propped open—the aged mahogany reddish in hue, complimenting the pink carvings around it.

We step through the doorway and into a lush garden full of wildflowers and buzzing bees. Floral notes float through the air and ivy crawls up pillars that line the garden, hints of shaded hallways peeking between them.

Silas stops in the center of the brush; he stares up at the castle spires with his hands on his hips, quiet and contemplative.

It isn’t lost on me that the last time he was here, he lost his parents.

Slowly he turns, a plotting grin plastered across his face.

“The land that bends season, gifting us a taste of spring in winter,” he says. “Welcome to Casimir.”

“I’ve assigned you all specific floors, but you can pick whichever rooms you wish for yourselves. Simply choose a room and thesprites will know where to bring your bags. The keys will appear when you open the door.”

Silas drones on with directions on how to access the stairwells and other rules about the castle. Food will be delivered to our rooms, and tomorrow, we have a welcome luncheon with the Seelie. After that, an agenda will be issued listing out the rest of the weekend’s festivities.

“Unfortunately, the sprites coordinate all the events, so don’t blame me if you’re unhappy. Tomorrow morning is a welcome luncheon, tomorrow night the Seelie host a revelry, and the day after that is the Solstice Ball,” he says. “Now get some rest. And don’t wander. The doors to the common areas will block entry to our sister Court’s half of the castle, and vice versa, but this castle’s magic has a mind of its own. Don’t tempt it.”

With that, Silas turns and strides into the castle, leaving us to our own devices. Where he’s off to, I don’t know, but Wrath follows him, a dutiful shadow. But with no reason for us to follow them, we make our way to our rooms.

It’s not hard to navigate to the seventh level; each floor has a landing within the spiral staircase with the number carved into the marble archway. The pale stone is sunlit with rainbows that filter in from the stained-glass windows lining the curved walls.

When we reach the seventh landing, the staircase continues on, while we fork off down the single hall. Josie and Leo lead the pack while I linger towards the back, letting them choose first.

“I call the end cap,” Leo calls, rushing to the farthest room, leaving us all in a puff of dust. “I don’t want to hear them fucking. Sorry, Josie!”

His laughter dies out as the door at the end of the hall slams shut.

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