"I am half inclined to think we are all ghosts...it is not only what we have inherited from our fathers and mothers that exists again in us, but all sorts of old dead ideas and all kinds of old dead beliefs and things of that kind. They are not actually alive in us, but there they are dormant all the same, and we can never be rid of them... There must be ghosts all over the world. They must be as countless as the grains of the sands, it seems to me. And we are so miserably afraid of the light, all of us." - Henrik Ibsen

After prince Pa'Drig and Lord Donado take their leave of us, Faolan and Elorhim return to the Order and another maid is left in charge of showing Aedan and me to our rooms. It seems that the castle has an unending number of maids, and even more gold-and-rose clad guards with embroidered Ardam Crests dotted along its hallways.

The hallways the maid leads us through are void of windows, with strategically placed ligtglobes to provide a cool blue light to the corridors. The dwarves, inventors of the globes, had needed a way to provide an undying light to their mines as due to some cruel cosmic joke we had received the better eyesight. Ironically, though they barely ever leave their underground cities, they had been blessed with skin so tough that they never get sunburnt. I wonder how the ligtglobes are powered, as I read that they are tuned to light up by touch. I must remember to ask our new friend.

"Is it possible that my sister and I have adjacent rooms? We have never been separated by more than one wall."

"It is not custom for ladies and lords to sleep in the same wing if they are unmarried, " the maid stutters.

"We are brother and sister, and I would be very grateful if you could ask the prince or whoever you must, to organise it. I refuse to sleep more than fifteen metres from Laelia."

The girl curtsies nervously. "Yes, your highness."

Sometimes I forget how intimidating Aedan can be if he wants to. He hides his strong personality behind either a weak exterior or Faolan. Aedan, also the blood of kings, chooses to downplay himself in order for Faolan to appear stronger. My brother's humility is, in fact, one of his most redeeming qualities.

The maid leaves us in the ominous hallway - so different from what we are used to. Our marble cities with their open spaces are not a place to display our wealth. We rather choose to hoard it up and display the items we can, by wearing it.

Thick tapestries and invaluable paintings fill every inch of the corridor. Aedan and I study them in silence. Some are landscapes from Ardam, with a few that I recognise as some of its key cities, and others are, what I assume to be, family portraits. This wing seems to be devoted to the current king's lineage, as row upon row of inky-haired monarchs stares at us from their aureate frames.

The maid returns after a long enough while that allowed Aedan and I to debate the Ardam curse and curses in general. "Your Majesties, would you please follow me?" She leads us down similar corridors.

After noticing the only empty space on the walls and a solitary portrait of First King Ardam Vaubadon, I realise that the canvases on the walls now include more family members than the only-father-and-son depictions from the previous corridor. Stern looking men and sombre ladies with russet, vermillion and carrot-top hair have joined the ranks. Occasional caramel, strawberry and beach blonde family members brighten the paintings.

"This corridor is empty, but these are the only rooms suiting your desire. No-one has occupied them in a very long time."

"Why?" The maid shifting uncomfortably stirs my interest, which is amplified by the nervous twitch of her jaw.

Aedan also notices her skittishness. "Please tell us, if you would."

She shuffles around, like a doe about to bolt off: "There is a superstition among the staff of the palace that this corridor is haunted by a ghost."

"Whose ghost?"

"Nobody knows. It has always been that way for as long as I have known."

Aedan nudges me before I can nudge him. We have to find out more about this ghost, not that we believe in them. Even though humans are such a superstitious bunch, no elf believes in ghosts. It doesn't make any logical sense at all. When you die, you are dead, and you remain dead in this realm. There is no coming back to this world once you passed beyond the stars and moon.

The maid leads us to the second last room in the corridor. The sturdy wooden door looks to be centuries old. She turns to Aedan. "Your Highness, this is the room where you can sleep. The princess will sleep in the room to the left of this room."

The room is furnished with royal blue upholstery, navy linen and dark wood. Clouds of dust hang in the air as the staff must have cleaned the room just now while we were waiting for the maid. The coloured glass panes of the windows have been left open and allow a stuffy breeze to waft the stale air away.

"We cleaned the rooms, but we could do so properly tomorrow if you would be prepared to sleep in the other ones for only tonight."

"Thank you, but we'd rather sleep here tonight." Aedan is resolute to keep us together.

She bobs again and indicates to a bell just to the left of the bed.

"Your Highness, should you require any assistance or anything at all, you can just ring the bell and someone will be here shortly." She turns to me: "Would you please follow me, my lady?"

She leads me to the room next door. As is the case with Aedan's room, it has been cleaned recently, but the years of disuse is still tangible in the air.

"For exactly how long have these rooms been empty?"

"This one has been empty for the longest time. I don't think it has been used since the Second War." She abruptly cuts off any further questions I might have: "Your Highness, please ring the bell if you require anything or any assistance at all."

Not the matter - I'll ask Pa'Drig about the rooms. He is bound to know more than the maid. "Thank you."

She starts to leave.

"What is your name?"

She panics and falls over her words: "Please don't report me, your highness."

My turn to stutter in surprise: "Why on earth would I report you? You have only given my brother and me the finest service."

Her eyes return to normal size. She does the annoying genuflexion again. "I am Pala."

"Thank you, kind Pala, for your service."

This time I want to physically hold her upright as she gives me her hundredth curtsy before she retreats from the room.

Aedan walks into my room after Pala disappears down the corridor. "I'm not sure I like this castle too much."

"But, Rabbit, we might get to see a ghost."

"Mm-hmm, as if," he says as he docks down on my bed. "I won't be able to sleep at all. That room makes me feel like I'm trapped beneath Mount Alachna."

"You are welcome to stay awake, but I'm quite tired and I'll be able to sleep in this room, even if it's the colour of watermelons and fish, and reminds me of a beast's innards - not that I've ever been swallowed by one."

"Faolan will annihilate us the moment he gets the opportunity."

"There is nothing we can do."

Aedan stands up and gives me a hug before he exits the room. The door closes with a soft thud behind him.

I lie down on the bed. I am tired, but the day has been too exciting. There is no doubt that tomorrow would be an even longer day, as the Prince has all the energy of a young buck.

My room doesn't feel as stuffy as Aedan's, yet my windows are closed. I stand up and head toward the magenta curtains. Pulling them apart I notice my windows have been barred shut - either to keep something out or to keep someone inside. I'll ask the prince if the rotting planks can be removed.

Where in ArBrae does the fresher air come from?

After making my way back to my bedside table, I take the candle from it. It takes me a moment to figure out how to light it. Fire is, after all, a foreign thing to an elf. It is curious that the room doesn't have a ligtglobe - except if they were only obtained after this room fell into disuse.

I walk around searchingly for the draft. The candle suddenly flickers in my direction. The fresh air is coming in from a space between two bricks. I place my hand on the space and feel the wall groaning. I jump back in surprise as the wall disappears, leaving a gaping hole just big enough for me to squeeze through.

A secret passage! I should go call Aedan before exploring it, but I am afraid that the passage will disappear - I do not know the magic it functions by. At least the Six-Fingers and his men didn't take the dagger strapped to my thigh. I hope daggers are effective against ghosts. I almost chuckle as I step into the unknown.

My feet sink into a thick carpet of dust. Cobwebs stretch between the narrow walls and from the roof to the ceiling of the passageway. I unsheathe my dagger. With the candle in one hand and my dagger cutting through the cobwebs in the other, I make my way through the tunnel. Every few metres I stop to tear the sticky webs from my dagger.

Perhaps the so-called ghost of the castle is due to people moving around in the walls, but I immediately dismiss the theory as the tunnel seems to be in disuse. I pass the first branch of the tunnel. Not fearing to get lost as my sense of direction and memory are of high quality, but still being cautious, I carve a 1 into the wall next to the entrance to the branch before veering off into the tunnel. I carve my way forwards through spiderwebs and bifurcations.

The tunnel ends abruptly as my dagger makes contact with the stone wall. There is no door handle or other indication as to how to open the passageway. That is disappointing; to have walked all the way here to arrive at a dead end.

Finally, I slam my fists against the wall in frustration. The wall disappears abruptly and I fall to the ground, too slow to brace my unexpected fall. Landing on the hard rock floor, my candle tumbles away from me and then dies.

Excellent.

Now I won't be able to see - not as well as with the candle. Elves are supposed to have excellent sight in the dark. It's just another thing that I can't do as well as Aedan or anyone else. Sure I can see, but I prefer using an alternative light source.

Luckily the candle didn't set my hair or clothes on fire during the fall.

I push myself up, careful to avoid touching the floor with my scraped knees. They will be tender tomorrow and the day after.

The cramped space I landed in could only be one thing. Stretching my hand out to confirm my suspicions, it encloses the soft shape of something hanging on the wall: a cloak closet. I make my way to the door and listen intently with my ear against it. Not hearing any voices, I push the door open.