Uriah discovered that three onions could look remarkably judgmental.
They sat in a wooden bowl at the center of Greykeep’s kitchen, surrounded by dust, cracked dishes, and the remains of shelves that had surrendered to gravity years ago. Beside them rested half a sack of oats and the mysterious jar Mary had mentioned.
Melody held the jar up to the light.
Something green slid down the inside of the glass.
“No,” Uriah said.
“I have not opened it yet.”
“You are not going to.”
“It might be edible.”
“It might be alive.”
Melody frowned at the jar. “Perhaps it is just...very fresh.”
Mary took it from her and placed it carefully on the farthest counter.
“We shall consider it an emergency provision.”
“If the emergency is that we need to frighten someone,” Uriah said.
Melody laughed.
Mary tried not to.
Uriah leaned against the preparation table and studied their remaining food. His first meal in another world appeared likely to consist of oat porridge with onion. He had eaten stranger combinations near the end of a difficult month, but he had expected royal meals to involve more options.
“So,” he said, “how far away is the nearest market?”
Mary’s amusement disappeared.
“Two days on foot.”
“That is not ideal.”
“There is a village closer,” Melody said. “We saw its chimneys from the balcony.”
“Lowfield,” Mary explained. “It lies about three miles east of the castle.”
Uriah remembered the cluster of homes beneath the trees. “Do they have food?”
“They are farmers, so I would expect so.”
“Can we buy some?”
Mary glanced at the bowl.
“With what?”
“Right. Four gold coins.”
“Three,” Melody corrected.
Uriah turned toward her. “What happened to the fourth?”
“We bought flour last month.”
“How much flour?”
Melody pointed toward an empty sack hanging beside the cold oven.
Uriah stared at it.
“That was one gold coin?”
“Prices have risen since Harwick’s men took control of the western road,” Mary said. “They charge merchants for passage. Those costs are passed to everyone else.”
“So Harwick is already making life difficult, even when he is not sending men to steal castles.”
“Yes.”
Uriah looked at the onions again.
Being a king had sounded much more impressive before he learned about the pantry.
“We need an inventory,” he said.
Mary’s ears lifted. “Of the food?”
“Of everything. Food, tools, beds, weapons, firewood, anything useful. We need to know what we have before deciding what to do next.”
Mary nodded approvingly. “That is sensible.”
“Please sound more surprised.”
“I did not mean—”
“I am joking.”
“Oh.”
Melody opened a drawer. Its front came off in her hand.
She looked at it, then at Uriah.
“Add that to the repair list,” he said.
They began in the kitchen.
One oven was usable if they ignored the cracks around its base. A second had partially collapsed. The third contained a bird’s nest, though the birds appeared to have departed before the roof began leaking.
They found two iron cooking pots, one copper pan, several knives, a dented kettle, and enough plates to serve twenty people. Only seven plates were unbroken.
There was no fresh meat, fruit, cheese, or milk.
There was, however, an impressive quantity of salt.
“Why do we have so much salt?” Uriah asked.
“The former cook believed in preparation,” Mary said.
“For the apocalypse?”
“Who puts salt on their lips?”
“...never mind.”
Uriah lifted the lid of a wooden barrel. “At least we can preserve food once we find some.”
They continued into the cellar.
The underground chamber was cool, dry, and almost completely empty. Shelves lined its stone walls. Hooks hung from ceiling beams, and several enormous barrels occupied one corner.
Uriah tapped one.
“Hollow.”
Melody opened the lid and peered inside. “Very hollow.”
“Was this cellar ever full?”
Mary nodded. “Years ago. Before Harwick began blocking deliveries.”
Uriah walked between the empty shelves. The cellar was large enough to store food for hundreds of people. That raised a question he had been avoiding since receiving the deed.
“How many people used to live here?”
“In the castle itself?” Mary asked.
“Yes.”
“Nearly four hundred at its height.”
He stopped.
“Four hundred?”
“There were servants, guards, officials, craftspeople, visiting dignitaries, and their attendants.”
“And now there are three of us.”
“Yes.”
The silence felt larger inside the empty cellar.
Uriah ran a hand over one of the shelves. Dust coated his fingertips.
“What happened to everyone?”
“Some left when the castle could no longer pay them. Some moved to nearby villages. A few joined Harwick because he offered steady wages.”
“And the others?”
Mary lowered her eyes. “Harwick’s men killed those who refused to surrender the deed.”
Uriah closed his hand.
Power stirred in response to his anger. A faint blue spark crossed his knuckles before he forced himself to breathe.
“Did Harwick order it?”
“We do not know,” Mary said. “The men claimed to serve him. He never punished them.”
That answered enough.
Uriah had met people in his first life who avoided responsibility by refusing to give direct orders. They created conditions, rewarded cruelty, and pretended surprise when someone was hurt.
“Then we assume he approved until he proves otherwise.”
Melody’s expression hardened. “He will not prove otherwise.”
“Maybe not.”
Uriah looked around the cellar again. “But I want facts. If we accuse him of something, we should be able to show how we know.”
Mary studied him.
“What?”
“Most rulers do not worry about proving accusations.”
“I do not intend to be most rulers. I would like to be the best King I can be.”
They left the cellar and moved through the castle.
Mary carried a ledger she had found in a small office. The book’s pages were yellowed but usable. She wrote while Uriah and Melody inspected each chamber.
The armory contained thirty-one serviceable swords, twelve spears, six shields, two bows, and one suit of armor sized for a person nearly seven feet tall.
Melody stood beside it.
“I want to meet whoever wore that.”
“I am not sure I do,” Uriah said.
“Perhaps they were friendly.”
“They needed shoulder plates wider than you are tall.”
“That does not mean they were unfriendly.”
“No. The spikes on the helmet suggest that.”
Most of the remaining weapons had rusted. Uriah picked up a damaged sword, concentrated, and felt something answer beneath the corrosion.
The rust flaked away.
A crack along the blade sealed itself with a faint silver glow.
Mary stopped writing.
Melody stared.
Uriah turned the restored weapon in his hand. “Interesting.”
“You repaired it,” Mary whispered.
“I think so.”
He tested the edge against a rotten piece of wood. The blade cut through cleanly.
“Can you do that with the others?” Melody asked.
“Probably.”
Her eyes moved toward the racks of damaged weapons.
“Do not get excited,” Uriah said.
“I am not excited.”
Her ears stood completely upright.
“You are extremely excited.”
“I am responsibly interested.”
Mary lowered the ledger. “If you can restore the armory, Greykeep will be much easier to defend.”
“Against fifty men?”
“Against however many Harwick sends after the fifty.”
Uriah looked toward the narrow window.
“Good point.”
He placed both hands on the nearest weapon rack.
Magic moved through him.
It did not feel like casting fire or calling lightning. Those powers gathered quickly, like opening a door against a strong wind. Repair magic was quieter. Uriah sensed the shape each object had once possessed and the damage separating it from that shape.
Rust became clean iron. Splintered shafts straightened. Leather grips tightened around hilts. The rack itself groaned as its joints sealed.
A dull ache formed behind Uriah’s eyes.
He released the magic.
Half the armory had been restored.
Mary hurried toward him. “Are you hurt?”
“No. Just a bit tired.”
“You should sit down.”
“I am fine.”
“You swayed.”
“I did not.”
Melody nodded. “You did.”
Uriah sat on a bench before they could make the decision for him.
That was useful information. He had power, but it was not unlimited. Repairing half a room full of items had tired him more than frightening five armed men.
“Write that down,” he told Mary.
“What?”
“Magic has a cost. Larger repairs or many repairs at once use more energy.”
Mary added a note to the ledger.
“We should test your limits carefully.”
“Agreed.”
Melody picked up a restored sword.
“Can we test this carefully?”
“Later.”
She returned it to the rack with visible reluctance.
The castle’s living quarters presented a different problem. Many rooms were structurally sound, but the furniture had rotted. Mattresses had molded. Blankets had been eaten by moths, and several windows no longer contained glass.
The library was in better condition.
Thousands of books filled shelves reaching nearly to the ceiling. Dust lay over them, but the roof above the central chamber remained intact. Colored light passed through tall stained-glass windows depicting a crowned figure surrounded by people of many races.
Uriah approached the nearest shelf.
The titles were written in an unfamiliar script.
He could read them anyway.
A History of the Western Provinces.
Agricultural Practices of the Elowen Valley.
Principles of Defensive Enchantment.
A Brief and Entirely Accurate Account of Dwarven Table Manners.
He pulled out the last book.
“Entirely accurate?”
Mary tilted her head. “Is something wrong?”
“Any book that insists it is entirely accurate is probably not accurate.”
He opened it.
Someone had written a message on the first page.
The author has never eaten with a dwarf.
Uriah smiled. “I knew it.”
Mary looked over his shoulder and laughed.
The sound startled him.
Until then, Mary had always appeared composed. Even when afraid, she held herself carefully, as though someone might be judging how a proper attendant responded to danger.
Her laughter changed her face.
Uriah returned the book to its shelf.
“How long have you lived here?” he asked.
Mary’s smile faded.
“All my life.”
“In the castle?”
“Yes. My mother served as housekeeper. Her mother served before her.”
“Were they here when Harwick’s men attacked?”
Mary’s hand tightened around the ledger.
“My mother was.”
Uriah waited, giving her room to decide whether she wanted to continue.
“She hid Melody and me in a storage passage,” Mary said. “She told us not to make a sound. When the fighting ended, she did not come back.”
“I am sorry.”
“She believed the king would return.” Mary looked toward the stained-glass window. “Even at the end.”
Uriah followed her gaze to the crowned figure.
He did not know what made someone a true king. The deed had recognized him. Aurelia had chosen him. Mary and Melody had accepted him with a faith he had done nothing to earn.
None of that made him feel royal.
It made him feel responsible.
“I cannot promise that no one will ever hurt us again,” he said.
Mary looked at him.
“But I can promise that you will never have to hide alone while other people decide what happens to your home.”
Her eyes shone, though she did not cry.
“Thank you.”
Melody stood near the next shelf, suddenly fascinated by a book she was holding upside down.
Uriah pretended not to notice.
They finished the inventory shortly after noon.
The results were not encouraging.
Greykeep had three residents, three gold coins, enough food for perhaps two days, one functioning kitchen oven, thirty rooms that could be made livable, a reliable well with a broken winch, a partially restored armory, and more repairs than Mary could fit into a single ledger.
It also possessed twelve thousand acres of land.
Uriah sat at a long table in the great hall while Mary spread the deed and an old map before him.
The territory formed an irregular shape around the castle. It included forest, fields, a section of river, three abandoned quarries, and the village of Lowfield.
“Wait,” Uriah said. “The village is on my land?”
“Legally, yes.”
“Do the people there know that?”
“They know Greykeep once protected them. Harwick has collected their taxes for years.”
“Did he provide anything in return?”
Mary shook her head. “His soldiers occasionally pass through.”
“That is not the same as protection.”
“No.”
Uriah traced the road west with one finger. “And the land beyond this boundary?”
“Most of it belonged to Greykeep before Harwick claimed it.”
“How much?”
“Nearly forty thousand additional acres.”
He leaned back.
“I arrived yesterday, and I already have a border dispute.”
“A kingdom usually has several.”
“We are not a kingdom.”
Mary and Melody exchanged a glance.
“What was that?” Uriah asked.
“Nothing,” Mary said.
“That was not a nothing glance.”
Melody pointed at the deed. “It calls you sovereign.”
“It calls me the rightful sovereign of the estate.”
“And the goddess called you a king,” Melody added.
“I do not remember her using that exact word.”
“She told us a king would come.”
Uriah looked at Mary.
Mary nodded. “A true king.”
He rubbed his forehead.
“My kingdom. Seriously?”
Melody smiled. “It is a very nice kingdom.”
“The roof leaks.”
“Only in most places.”
“We have three onions.”
“Two,” Melody said.
Uriah slowly turned toward her.
She was eating one.
“Where did you get that?”
“From the bowl.”
“That was one-third of our food.”
“I was hungry.”
Mary closed her eyes.
Uriah tried to look stern. Melody’s ears lowered, and guilt appeared on her face.
He lasted three seconds before laughing.
“Fine. But we are going to Lowfield before you eat the rest of the treasury.
They prepared to leave.
Mary packed the deed, map, and ledger into a leather satchel. Melody took a short sword from the restored armory. Uriah carried both the sword Aurelia had gifted him, as well as the rune-marked hammer he swore should have a longer handle.
“I’m gonna need some gloves for this hammer, maybe some iron gauntlets or something...”
At the castle gate, he stopped.
The road sloped gently toward distant fields. Grass grew between its stones, and weeds crowded the ditches. Birds called from the forest. Greykeep loomed behind them, wounded but no longer entirely abandoned.
Uriah placed one hand against the gatehouse wall.
The stone was cracked. He closed his eyes and reached for the shape it had once possessed.
Magic entered the wall.
The entire gatehouse answered.
A deep rumble passed through the ground. Loose stones lifted from the weeds. Blocks slid into empty spaces. Cracks sealed in lines of silver light. Rust fell from the hinges, and the warped gates straightened.
The ache behind Uriah’s eyes returned immediately, thought it was lesser than before.
He pulled his hand away.
Only part of the gatehouse had been repaired, but it stood straighter than before.
Mary stared upward. “Why did you do that?”
“I wanted the front door to close while we were gone.”
“That was a great deal of magic for a door.”
“It seemed important.”
“It is important,” Melody said. “Doors are how castles decide who is inside and who is outside.”
Uriah looked at her.
“That is unexpectedly thoughtful.”
“I think about doors often.”
“Why?”
“My family used to guard one.”
That was a perfectly reasonable answer.
Together, they pulled the restored gates closed. Uriah turned the enormous key Mary had given him.
The lock clicked.
For the first time in years, Greykeep’s front gate was secure.
They had walked less than half a mile when Uriah noticed smoke rising beyond the eastern hill.
Not the thin gray trails he had seen above Lowfield’s chimneys.
This smoke was black.
Mary saw it next.
“That is near the village.”
Melody’s hand moved to her sword.
A bell began ringing in the distance.
Once.
Twice.
Then over and over in frantic alarm.
Uriah broke into a run.
Mary and Melody followed.
They reached the top of the hill and saw Lowfield below them. A barn near the village’s western edge was burning. People formed a line from a well, passing buckets toward the flames.
Between the barn and the village stood six riders wearing Harwick’s colors.
One of them held a torch.
Even from the hill, Uriah could hear him shouting.
“Let this remind you what happens when taxes are withheld!”
Uriah drew his sword.
Lightning flickered along the blade.
He had wanted to visit Lowfield to buy dinner.
Instead, it appeared his first duty as king had arrived before lunch.
“Mary,” he said, “help organize the bucket line.”
She nodded.
“Melody, get the animals and people away from the barn.”
Her sword cleared its sheath.
“What are you going to do?”
Uriah looked at the burning building, the frightened villagers, and the riders wearing Harwick’s colors.
He tightened his grip.
“I am going to introduce myself.”
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