Wulfyddia (The Tattersall Trilogy Book 1) by Steele Alexandra Page A

of the market and
the cries of the vendors drifted across the Chasm and lent a little life to the
tower that loomed still and silent. Seabirds circled overhead, calling a
raucous accompaniment to the harsh murmur of the Castle ravens, which roosted
in great numbers on the towers and turrets of the castle, though they avoided
the Haligorn.
    Justine
lived for clear days. When the rain came down in torrents people retreated
indoors, and the steady stream of traffic on the other side of the Chasm died
down to a trickle and finally ceased altogether. Then she was left to read her
books by candlelight, or stand by the window and watch the world darken as if
it were the end of days. Those days were hard; she had to fight her way through
the loneliness and the slow, creeping despair that was always at her back. She
had been a prisoner, in one sense or another, most of her life.
    All thanks
to Cicely, her deranged older sister. The one who saw things. At first, Cicely
had been the Queen’s favorite, a spoiled little prodigy. Then, on Justine’s
second birthday, Cicely had received a vision of Justine. Whatever Cicely had
foreseen, she’d gone straight to the Queen with the news, and Tryphena had
forbidden her from telling another soul. Cicely had withdrawn from public life,
isolating herself like a mad seeress. As if it wasn’t enough to have one hermit
in the family, Tryphena had also locked Justine away, without explanation,
seemingly without pity. Justine had grown up in a remote wing of the castle,
cared for by hired nurses and sequestered away from everyone, including her
parents and many sisters. Even then, the Queen and her wretched manservant had
done their utmost to make her as miserable as possible. Any nurse Justine grew
too fond of was immediately dismissed and replaced by an unfamiliar face. When
she had thought that the isolation couldn’t possibly get any crueler, her
grandmother had removed her from the Castle, and relegated her to the Haligorn,
a different complex entirely.
    She’d
had a view of the Haligorn from her last room, and Justine remembered thinking
what a lonely building it had seemed, so dark and distant from the clamor of
the castle. The Chasm had particularly captured her imagination. No one had
ever been to the bottom and back; though attempts had been made. Most
expeditions vanished without a single survivor ever returning to the surface.
The few who had made it back had all been certifiably insane upon their return,
and the Castle commoners had certainly dreamed up some truly outlandish rumors
regarding the creatures that lived within the Chasm, and the ghosts that
haunted it. Justine had once believed every rumor. Now she wasn’t so sure.
    She had
only been in the Haligorn a few weeks, but the Chasm, once a source of mystery
and terror, was now as familiar to her as the palms of her own hands. Whatever
darkness lurked within it had never emerged, at least not in her view. Now, the
most interesting thing about it was the road that ran alongside it, and Justine
loved to watch the people walk by. Today was particularly busy. Some of the
travelers were likely refugees, fleeing homes flooded by the rising lake that
Mrs. Tattersall had told her about. The murmurs of war with Blaxton likely
weren’t helping either, adding to panic and bringing families farther east,
away from the threatened border.
    Justine
didn’t especially care what brought the people wandering past the Chasm; all
that mattered to her was that they walked where she could see them. She was
desperate for people, she hungered for people the way others craved food and
water, air and light.
    Today
one in particular caught her gaze. A single figure stood at the Chasm, charcoal
gray robes fluttering in the faint breeze as he stood and stared. It wasn’t an
unusual place for people to stop, but usually they were staring into the Chasm.
This man was staring at the Castle, and something about his figure, taunt with
repressed energy, with