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At barely twenty, even Zelda's bones ached. The brisk spring wind cut through her coat and made her hands stiff with cold. She took turns curling them inside her leather gloves, holding the reins with one hand as her ram plodded on.

She missed trees. The grassy hills were broken with jagged rocks and shrubs, and the blue sky was speckled with clouds, but not a goblin was in sight.

“She wanted to leave, we left,” Uncle Tank grumbled. “She didn't have to flee so far though. It just made the return trip that much longer.”

“She” was Zelda's mother, long dead. She had fled from her cheating husband, who was also now dead.

Before he died, Zelda's father sent his soldiers to fetch his daughter from her hidey-hole. She was his only legitimate heir. He had remarried but had no legitimate children, and his widow had moved back to her hometown.

Now Zelda was all that remained.

Only the true bloodline could take control of the castle. It was the family legacy, and he was determined to see it live on... even if he had waited until the very last minute to retrieve her.

Probably he had been hoping for a son.

Unfortunately, the search took months. She'd been far away, living quietly, but they found her anyway.

She glanced at the black-clad guards. They had arrived at her uncle's home and had not taken “no” for an answer. She was coming back to serve as Lady of the castle. She was required.

Late that afternoon, they rode up yet another hill and saw a ruined castle.

“It's a lot smaller than I expected,” Zelda said, pulling her coat tighter. The wind had picked up and it stripped all the heat from her bones. The castle didn't look very inviting. It was more of a two-story broken-down tower than a castle. The stories she'd heard made it seem more grand.

Still, it had to be better than sleeping in a tiny tent.

“It shrank when Lord Zxa, your father, died,” the grizzled old captain explained grimly. He said everything in the gloomiest way possible, like a little black rain cloud of death.

She blinked, startled. “Shrank?”

“You've heard of the Goblin City, right? It's like that, but powered by the legitimate Lords and Ladies. It changes shape.” He wiggled his fingers at the castle, trying to illustrate the magic.

“I see.” She'd heard stories about the magic, but she hadn't thought the castle would literally fall to ruin without a keeper.

She frowned at it, slightly concerned. Would it really change shape for her? That was hard to imagine, but she didn't think these soldiers had come to fetch her on a whim.

Unfortunately, the closer they rode, the worse the castle looked. The only encouraging thing was a trickle of smoke coming from a chimney, which hopefully meant heat and food.

A soldier came up and reported grimly, “We've been followed.” All the soldiers became alert, hands on weapons.

“Move smart now!” the sergeant barked. The battle rams broke into a jog.

Zelda saw a head pop up over the rocks. It was a silver-black beast the size of a medium dog but with bigger fangs. In a moment, there was another. And another.

“Run!” the sergeant yelled, sword drawn. The guards surrounded Zelda and raced for the gates.

Chirping eerily, a swarm of beasts popped out of the grass and chased them. They snapped at the rams, trying to hamstring them.

The goblins chopped at them, but the beasts had superior numbers. They were almost at the castle, but the swarm swelled like an ocean wave.

There were too many! Discipline broke, and it was every goblin for themselves, save one.

“Ride! I’ll cover you,” Tank roared. His sword was bloody. Zelda yanked her reins and kicked her ram into a run for the castle.

They got close enough to hit it with a rock when Zelda's ram staggered and went down. She was launched from the saddle and managed to land in a roll that sped her toward the castle wall. Staggering to her feet, she raced for the castle door.

As she ran under its shadow, she passed through something that felt like jellied broth. Startled, she staggered and sent a panicked glance behind her.

The beasts bounced off the barrier, but the remaining soldiers and Tank’s rams thundered through as if it were nothing.

A ward, she realized. The castle was protected by a ward!

Realizing she was in danger of being trampled, she dashed for the weathered door. The knocker was oddly shaped and glowing, but she didn't have time to worry about that. She grabbed it and got the shock of her life.

Lightning shot into her fingertips and traveled out through her feet, temporarily paralyzing her and leaving scorched footprints on the ground. Her hair stood on end and smoked with electric fire. Pain lit her nerves on fire and she shivered with vengeful power.

The castle had found her at last, and it was mad.

She had heard stories, speculation that the castle was alive. Now she had no doubt. Anger, frustration, and impatience pounded at her, courtesy of the castle, followed by grumpiness, then satisfaction. Belatedly, a note of concern.

The door opened and admitted her into the courtyard. It felt like the stones moved under her feet, tilting her away from the doorway.

Zelda staggered to the side and face-planted on the stone. Her slack arms caught some of her weight, but her cheek and nose smacked the stone pavers.

“Secure the castle!” Uncle Tank roared, and then pointed at an old goblin who had come to see what the fuss was about. “You! Help her up.”

Zelda whimpered as the old goblin hauled her to her feet. She wanted to throw up, and she'd wet herself, just a little. Everything hurt.

The old goblin stared at her. “Lady Zelda?” he said uncertainly. They'd never met, but he'd probably been expecting her.

Zelda grunted. It was fortunate that she had moved out of the doorway because the rest of her party tumbled in after her. Some still had battle rams, some didn't. Her uncle remained mounted and his sword was wet with black blood.

The door slammed shut behind them.

The sergeant was missing, so Uncle Tank took command. He used to be in charge of the army here, and the soldiers instinctively obeyed as he ordered them to secure the castle.

“How hurt are you?” Uncle Tank demanded of Zelda.

Zelda stared at him blankly for a moment, and then ran for the nearest outhouse as her guts tried to escape all exits at once.

She was doing badly, actually. This was not an auspicious beginning.

It was hardly a triumphant entrance. Men were busy seeing to the wounded and the remaining battle rams. Zelda was hustled inside by the flustered old goblin, out of the wind.

“The wild things have gotten out of control around here; not surprising with only ten men to hold the fort.

Rations are short, and as you can see, the castle isn't what it was.” The old goblin was the steward, one of the last of the castle folk.

Her dramatic entrance had rattled him, and now he was babbling.

He was also the one who had sent the soldiers to fetch her, as her father had instructed.

She had expected a stern goblin, one who would try to rule her. Instead, the steward seemed glum, defeated. He'd seen the glory days of the castle, and now here was the returned daughter, the promised savior, and the castle had nearly killed her.

The “castle” consisted of a cottage-sized space with a small kitchen at one end and an office at the other. A door led off the sitting room, revealing a bedroom. There didn’t seem to be a second story, or at least there was no way to access it.

It was starting to look like they would have to sleep either on the floor there or in the barracks with the soldiers.

Did they have rats here?

“I didn't know when to expect you,” the steward said uneasily.

“I would have sent to the village for food, but the beasts are stirred up.

I had some bread this morning... but I ate it.

There's some butter left, though.” They looked at the small pot of butter on the table.

He lifted the lid to peer doubtfully inside.

She saw crumbs littering the smidgen of butter.

“I have an onion somewhere. Maybe we can fry it in butter?” the old steward suggested hopefully.

Zelda hated onions. She wilted a little, before forcing her spine straight. It was food and she was starving. They had eaten all their rations on the way here, and she couldn't afford to be picky.

“Do you have any water?” she croaked. She was thirsty and needed to wash up so she could inspect her scrapes and bruises to see what needed salve. The last thing she needed in this backwater hellhole was an infected cut.

“Er...” He looked around his dirty kitchen, searching in vain for a clean cup.

Zelda opened her mouth to say it was fine, she could wash a cup, and then realized the man probably had no idea where to find any soap. She sank into a kitchen chair, momentarily defeated. She was tired. She needed a minute to come to terms with the situation. She would rally soon.

A cup rose out of the table. It was full of cold, clear water. Zelda stared at it, dazed. The castle had provided water. She didn't bother wondering about it. It tasted great and it refilled itself as soon as she was done.

The steward turned with a dirty cup in his hand and realized what had happened.

“The castle...served you?” He stared, slack-jawed, as a wooden bowl of mushrooms appeared on the table.

A bowl of eggs followed, and then a series of other bowls in rapid succession: herbs, vegetables still covered in dirt, grain of some kind.

The kitchen stove flared to life. The sink filled with hot, soapy water, and a wet rag whizzed over the dishes and counter.

There was a clatter as pans arranged themselves, cutting boards came out, and knives started chopping. The kitchen was running itself.

A soldier burst in, breathless. “The castle is flinging rocks at the briar wolves!”

A leg of battle ram appeared on the table, already skinned.

The soldier continued, shouting from the open door, “There's meat from the battle rams hanging in the yard! Animal skins are tacked around the castle walls, being scraped by rocks! There are baskets of wool!”

A grinding creak startled them. Stones moved, forming a passage under a stone stairway that hadn't existed before.

Uncle Tank strode in and assessed the situation. “I see it's started.” He didn't seem surprised.

Zelda's head whirled. She grabbed the table, dizzy. Her uncle gripped her arm to steady her. “It's the castle. It's waking up. Your magic is powering it.”

This was the first time she'd ever had access to magic like this. Without the castle, she was just an ordinary goblin.

Unfortunately, it felt like someone was vigorously whisking her brains. If this kept up, she wouldn't be surprised if they foamed out her ears.

The activity finally stopped. The dizziness slowly subsided and she could lift her head to view the castle's new arrangement.

The room under the new stairs was a comfortable bedroom, clearly for her uncle. It already had his belongings in there, previously packed in his saddle bags.

The room on top of the stairs had a glowing door knob.

She looked at it warily, in no hurry to investigate.

“Well? Go and look at it. It's clearly the lady of the castle's room. You don't need me for that, and I'm not in the mood for stairs,” her uncle said.

She stared at him in disbelief. “The last fancy door knob I touched tried to kill me!”

“You're still alive to complain about it, so it didn't try too hard,” Uncle Tank said, completely unsympathetic. “That, and it's cooking food for you. It expects you to be alive to eat it.”

Okay, that was logical, but she didn't rush up there immediately. A little caution never hurt, but this needed to be done. Also, her instincts told her that yes, this was her room.

She took a deep breath and marched up the stairs. This was her legacy, and this was her castle. It was time to take charge.