Once inside the wall they were able to see who had opened it: a tall figure swathed in dark robes. They couldn't see the face, and at first they both thought it was another one of the riders who had been on patrol in the mountain pass. But this figure was different—sunken, somehow, and lacking the raw power of the riders. The man—if it was a man—was silent as he pointed up towards the castle.

Peter found himself overwhelmed with the immensity of the building: it was more majestic, more splendid, than any castle he had seen on earth. Even Windsor Castle (which he had once visited on a school trip) seemed to pale into insignificance alongside this great construction.

As they walked along the path changed to cobbled streets, flanked on either side by a series of low houses. The old stone buildings were covered with climbing plants rising high on each side. Each house had its own brightly colored door, but the paint was fading in places and patches of bare wood showed through where it had splintered off altogether. The doors and shutters were all closed tight, and Julia realized with a shudder that it was as completely silent here in the town as it had been back in the meadow. There were no people out at work—no women hanging laundry, no men whistling as they went about their chores, no children playing in the streets. In a curious impulse Julia reached out and took Peter's hand, holding it tight as they walked.

The cobbled street led slowly uphill, passing through an open gate. They came to a stop in a courtyard—a courtyard as empty as the streets. An immense stone staircase at the opposite end of the square led up to a grand doorway—the entrance to the castle—but both children hesitated.

"It feels a bit haunted," said Julia. Peter nodded and squeezed her hand.

"Everything's felt haunted so far. Come on."

Together they ascended the staircase. When they reached the door, Peter put out his hand and knocked.

For a moment there was complete silence, as if the world was holding its breath. Then they heard a slow creaking and the door swung outwards. With their eyes accustomed to the bright sunlight they could see only darkness indoors, but after a moment they distinguished two figures.

Someone was coming out.

The two figures descended toward them purposefully, swords in their belts. They were dressed in gray robes, their faces hidden by hoods. Julia, who had recently written a well-received school essay on Francis of Assisi, thought they looked like Franciscan monks. (Or were they friars? She was a little vague on that point.) But where were their faces? It was as if the uniform was designed to hide their identities—just like the horsemen back in the meadow and the silent figure at the gate.

Peter was terrified by the sight of the men. If they were men at all. Their robes concealed so much that it was impossible to tell if they were even human. But he watched as the figures bowed, gestured towards them, and stood to the side, allowing them to pass into the castle. Peter glanced at Julia and she at him, and together they passed through the open doorway into a great, vaulted antechamber. It was dimly lit, and they both stumbled on a low stone step as they entered. But as their eyes adjusted they could make out guards and courtiers standing at attention along the columned walls. And at the far end, three thrones were set on a raised platform.

Peter heard a sharp intake of breath beside him, and he nearly stumbled again when he saw what had startled Julia. On the thrones sat three hooded figures, and where their faces ought to have been there were masks, gilded and embellished with mysterious symbols. They were like the animal gods of ancient peoples, he thought. The central figure wore the mask of a wolf, and the other two the masks of a leopard and jackal.

Julia shivered, remembering Gaius's story in the garden. The Jackal, the Leopard, and the Wolf—the three lords who had overthrown Marcus. She stared, transfixed, at the masks' dark, empty slits from behind which she knew eyes were watching her. A shiver shot down her spine, leaving a tingling of anxiety behind.

They regarded each other for a long moment, and then one of the courtiers, swathed in a wine-red robe, marched to the center of the chamber and turned toward Peter and Julia. They were not surprised to find themselves staring at an oval darkness enclosed by a hood. The courtier gave a menacing snarl.

"You stand in the presence of the three Lords of Aedyn. Declare your business. Who are you? Why are you here?"

Peter was tongue-tied. He didn't imagine that it would be at all helpful to splutter "My name is Peter and I want to go home," but what other answer was there? He was searching for a way to explain that didn't make him sound like a fool when Julia finally spoke up.

She too had been frightened, and unable to think of any explanation for their presence in Aedyn beyond "A ghost called us here to overthrow you, sir." She couldn't take her eyes from those hideous masks. But then, all at once, she remembered her father—remembered him pacing back and forth in her mother's parlor and practicing his grand speeches. She moved forward two paces, bowed, and spoke in a deep, confident voice that she did not recognize as her own.

"My lords, I am Julia of Londinium, the emissary of the Emperor of Albion, a great and powerful land beyond the boundless western sea. This is Lord Peter, my trusted counselor and advisor. We bear greetings from our great Emperor, who asks that we might discuss matters of mutual interest and concern."

She bowed, and the lord with the mask of a wolf nodded.

"Albion," he said. "It must be a long distance indeed if your travels have been so…disagreeable." He motioned pointedly at the torn and dirty rags that compromised Peter and Julia's clothes.

"A shipwreck," Julia said hastily. "I apologize for appearing before you in this manner. We were"—she glanced at her brother—"the only survivors." The lords murmured their understanding.

Peter watched Julia in utter astonishment. Was this really his sister? Where did she learn to speak like that? Couldn't she just have asked them the way to the mystic portal that led back to Oxford? He watched anxiously as the three Lords of Aedyn conferred together. There appeared to be some sort of disagreement taking place, and he was tempted to run for his life. Yet he knew that the doors to the great chamber had been closed after they had entered. They had no option other than to wait.

After a few moments, the lord with the mask of a wolf turned toward them and beckoned to them to approach. Peter, watching Julia out of the corner of his eye, stepped forward alongside her and bowed before the thrones. Then the lord spoke in a low, hissing voice which chilled his blood.

"Lady Julia, you and Lord Peter are most welcome here in Aedyn. I am the Wolf, the great lord of this country, and these—" he gestured grandly to the other lords—"are my colleagues, the Jackal and the Leopard. Together, we rule this island." There was a hint of a pause in which Julia imagined that he might, underneath his mask, be giving a venomous smile.

"We have long believed that there was some great land beyond the seas, but we did not know its name, nor its location. We will learn more of your land, and we can discuss how we might be of help to each other in this difficult world. You will join us tomorrow in the Great Hall, when we can speak more fully and frankly. In the meantime," he raised his voice and spread his arms, "you are our guests. All we have will be at your disposal throughout your time in Aedyn." The Wolf looked to the side and nodded almost imperceptibly at someone in the shadows, then returned to his throne. The audience was over.

Julia murmured her thanks and bowed, relieved beyond measure. She and Peter turned and walked away, feeling almost as if they had escaped. When they reached the back of the great hall, another courtier dressed in red robes greeted them and led them out by a side door. His face, they were almost startled to see, was unmasked. He was not an old man but he was no longer young, and his eyes were not kind.

"I am Anaximander," he told them, "the Lord Chamberlain of Aedyn, and I give you greetings. You will be taken to your chambers by two slaves, where you will be provided with food and water for bathing and," he said, looking pointedly at the torn and muddy cloth in which they were dressed, "some decent clothing."

Anaximander gestured toward two faceless figures dressed in black robes and hoods. "If you need anything, ask them, and they will provide it."

"Thank you, Anaximander." Julia smiled and bowed her head politely. "Might I ask the names of these servants?"

"Slaves don't have names," he said dismissively. "Please don't trouble yourselves about such trivial matters. Rest, and enjoy Aedyn's hospitality." Julia saw that he was smiling—a smile she didn't quite trust.

"Thank you, Anaximander. We will look forward to our meeting with the Lords of Aedyn tomorrow."

After a further exchange of bows Julia and Peter were led away by the two slaves, who guided them silently through the corridors of the castle. They ascended a marble staircase and were shown into a set of rooms with a magnificent view of the island's central plain. Food and drink was already laid out for them there, and after the slaves had departed with low bows, they picked at the meal tentatively. Peter was the first to break the silence.

"Julia, what on earth is going on? Why did you say we were emissaries? Why didn't you ask them about getting home?"

"Because…" Gaius's warning came into her mind. Peter couldn't know everything—not yet. He couldn't know that the lords would most likely have them killed if they didn't make themselves seem important. "Because I think there's work for us to do here, and we won't be able to get home until we've done it."

Peter was more than a little annoyed by this answer, but his frustration was forgotten when the two silent slaves reappeared, each carrying bottles of perfumes and oils. They were ushered into rooms with tubs full of steaming water and invited to soak as long as they desired, and in such a situation perhaps they can both be forgiven for forgetting about their plight and the meeting the next day.

And so Peter and Julia rested in their chambers, unaware that their fate was being decided far below.

The three Lords of Aedyn were, at that very moment, sitting around a table, the remnants of dinner on the plates before them and wine still in their glasses. The Wolf had his glass in his hand, swirling the contents around and around as he considered. The others were silent—their arguments had been made, and it was left to the Wolf to make the final decision. Finally, he spoke, the echoes of his hissing rasp lingering within the room.

"We will meet these fair strangers tomorrow. If we cannot use them, we will destroy them. Let us hope that they sleep well," he said, smiling beneath his mask. "It may be their last night alive."

Continue to Chapter Seven.