“Why’d she do it?”
“She loved a man who didn’t love her back. Just had his baby too. Only the guy said she was lying. She couldn’t keep her job as a chambermaid with a child, didn’t have any family, no way to take care of the baby, so as the legend goes she placed the infant on the father’s bunk, then climbed the tower and jumped to her death. They say her ghost haunts that tower and in the fall, when it’s cold but not yet snowed, she puts her lantern on the window ledge whenever someone in the castle is going to die. They also say that if you go up there when she’s there, she thinks you’re the lover who betrayed her and will push you out of the window to get her revenge.”
“What happened to the baby?”
Mauvin laughed. “It’s just a story.”
“Although a woman did fall from that tower once,” Alric said.
“Who?”
“Nora always called her Rose.”
They got back late because Alric had tied Mauvin’s number of frogs, and the prince wanted to beat his friend. They only gave up after both he and Mauvin fell into the pond while making desperate attempts to catch a rare red-spotted frog. As they were completely soaked, the call of a warm fire was more alluring than the title of Frog King.
Overhead the clouds raced across the face of the full moon as if it were a light underwater and the surface was gliding past. A storm was coming, and as with all storms, Reuben felt uneasy. Guards had been looking for the prince, and the gates were opened before they reached them. Wet, cold, and tired, the three boys left Reuben without a parting good night. They disappeared into the castle keep, leaving Reuben the task of putting all four horses to bed.
The wind shook the boards of the stable and spooked the animals as he pulled the saddles off and brushed them down. Reuben, who had only soaked his feet, was not terribly tired. He was used to harder days than frog hunting. More importantly he wanted to put off seeing his father. Richard Hilfred knew everything that went on at the castle and would have learned of his son going off with the prince and the young Pickering lords. If Reuben came back late enough, his father might be asleep. To this end, Reuben took his time brushing and feeding the horses before stepping back out into the empty courtyard.
The wind had blown out several torches around the ward. The one at the well was out, as were the two near the front doors to the keep. The others were being whipped viciously. A distinct howling could be heard on the wind as it blew between the buildings, kicking up whirlwinds of leaves. The branches of the old oak, now nearly bare, were clacking against each other. The door to the woodshed alternated between creaking and slapping, and the chains on the well’s windlass were jingling as the bucket rocked.
Looking up, Reuben saw it—a light in the top window of the high tower.
He stared. Over the course of the last month, he’d seen a light in that tower twice, and each time someone had died. First old Chancellor Wainwright, then Clare Braga, who died in a horrible fire at the estate the king had just awarded to her husband. Reuben shuddered just thinking about it. Burning must be the worst way to die. Cuts and bruises didn’t bother him, but he touched a hot kettle once and the pain was unbearable for days. His father had slapped him just to stop his complaining.
And then there was that story the prince had told. A chambermaid, a woman named Rose, who had killed herself. Could she be …? According to his father, his mother had died in childbirth. But the prince’s story explained so much, like why his father rarely spoke of his mother and his ill temper around Reuben’s birthday. But he wondered if he just wanted it to be true. Then his mother’s death wouldn’t be his fault and the light might be his mother returning to tell him he was innocent of a crime he had blamed himself for all those years.
Reuben took three steps toward the castle, his neck craned, his eyes focused on the window, wondering if he could catch sight of his mother’s ghostly image. The light flickered as a shape moved between it and the window. Reuben held his breath, waiting, watching as the wind blew his hair.
The light went out.
He continued to stand before the front doors of the castle, looking up, but nothing happened. Did this mean there had been another death? Who could it be? Was it someone in the castle or far away? Having waited for more than two weeks for the light to reappear, now that it had, the moment felt empty. There was no bloodcurdling scream or a body falling to the courtyard. The night was like any other. Then, just as he was about to turn and head for the barracks, a shadow slipped out the window.
If not for the moonlight bathing that side of the tower, and the fact that he was staring, he would not have seen her—a woman in a wind-whipped dress.
Reuben held his breath, staring in shock. Is that her?
The woman’s hands clung to the ledge while her feet felt for a toehold. She found it and dropped carefully to the decorative cornice below. There she cowered.
She set the lantern on the window ledge, then jumped. On windy nights you can hear the scream she let out as she fell … and the splat when she landed.
Reuben heard only the sound of crying.
Who is it and what is she doing? Is this the ghost? Is it my…
Slowly the woman inched around the side of the tower, toward where a small dormer roof extended. Hanging once more, she reached out with her feet and touched the spine of the dormer below and inched down farther. Then she slipped.
Reuben gasped in horror as he watched her fall.
She slid down the side of the peak and with a scream dropped onto the spire of the Winsome Tower. She clawed at the clay tiles as she continued to skid.
Reuben took a step closer as if to help, but there was nothing he could do.
As she reached the edge, her toes caught the lip. The woman lay on her stomach, pressed against the spire, crying in terror.
Reuben stared, one of his hands covering his mouth. He waited to see what she would do next, but the woman didn’t move. She lay there, panting and whimpering.
“There’s a wide balcony beneath you,” Reuben called up, not certain if he was speaking to a woman or a ghost. Her surviving the fall and catching hold of the roofline made her seem more than human. The hard part was done—assuming she wasn’t intent on suicide. Reuben saw how it was possible to make the rest of the trip. He waited, but the woman did not move.
“You’re safe—well, sort of. Just drop and you’ll be okay, as long as you don’t land badly.”
“I can’t!” the woman cried, though most of her voice was stolen by the wind. “I don’t want to die.”
What is she talking about? She just climbed out a tower window!
“Trust me. Just scoot off the roof you are on and lower yourself as best you can. Even if you fall, you’ll be okay. There’s a terrace right below you.”
It took several minutes before he saw her move. She inched down, not daring to look. Her legs dangled, searching for something to support herself but finding only air. The strength of her arms gave out and she fell again, screaming once more.
While not how he would have tried getting down, it worked nonetheless. The drop was longer than it looked from where Reuben stood and she disappeared behind the balcony’s wall. He feared she might have hurt herself until he saw her head appear.
“Are you all right?”
The head nodded.
“Follow the wall to your left. You’ll find stairs.”
She vanished from his view.
A light returned to the tower window and Reuben looked up with anticipation, but no one else came out.