The Doll's House Chapter 10.

Chapter 10.

 

The Doll’s House.

 

They left the office together, Smike trailing behind until the guards at the Hall of Remembrance barred his way. Sachel gave a sharp nod, and the men stepped aside.

The hall was quiet, cool, and dimly lit by high windows. Stone flags lined the floor, each etched with a name. Banners hung from iron rods, faded, frayed, but still proud. At the far end, beneath a portrait of Lord Fenrick, stood the model.

It was larger than Sophrayni expected, almost waist‑high, carved in exquisite detail. The shutters were open. The front door stood ajar. And though no one had touched it in decades, a faint scent of lavender lingered in the air.

Maeve stopped beside her. “There it is. The last memory of the Kingsman’s house.”

Sophrayni stepped closer. The air around it felt… taut. As if something waited.

She didn’t need to use her sensing spell. The strength of the magic hit her like a wave. She staggered back.

Captain Smike caught her elbow, steadying her.

“I said, no spell‑casting,” Lord Sachel snapped.

Maeve shushed him. “Is there something there?”

Sophrayni nodded. “That model”, she inclined her head to Sachel, honouring his dislike of the word doll’s house, “has a spell on it. A very powerful one.”

“Can it be removed?” Maeve asked.

Before Sophrayni could answer, Sachel shook his head. “The law here is strict. Any user of magic may receive the harshest punishment. You have already broken that law. I’m not sure we can allow you to break it again.”

“I’ve done no spell‑casting,” Sophrayni said calmly. “Just as you can feel hot and cold, witches can feel magic. And there is a tremendous amount of it in that model.”

Smike raised a warning hand. “And if you think you could put a witch as powerful as Sophrayni on trial without this whole town disappearing, you’d better think again.”

“But if Lord Fenrick and his family are locked inside that model,” Maeve said, “surely we must get them out, even if it means using magic?”

Sachel shook his head. “The law is clear. She”, he pointed at Sophrayni, “may not use magic in New Cruxton.”

Sophrayni didn’t flinch. “Before we speak of what can be done, there’s something you need to understand. Ten years ago, the Witch of the Dark Forest found me and trained me as her successor. On our journey, we met a girl, Naeve, who had just been released from a hundred‑years‑and‑a‑day spell. She is now the wife of Prince Beldan, heir to the throne.”

“We were invited to the wedding,” Maeve said. “But he wouldn’t let me go.”

“We have nothing to do with that family after what they did to us,” Sachel snapped. “But what does this have to do with us now?”

Sophrayni’s voice softened. “Naeve was a hundred years out of her own time. Her family was gone. Everyone she knew, even her home, was changed beyond recognition. The world was different. And even now, she struggles to find her place in it.”

She turned to the model. “It’s been a hundred years since Lord Fenrick and his family were taken. If they are still inside that model, then they are frozen in a world that no longer exists. Think of what they would return to. Do we have the right to bring them back?”

A long, heavy silence followed.

“They were taken unjustly,” Maeve said at last. “That much is clear.”

“But what they return to may be worse than what they left,” Sophrayni said. “Their home is gone. Their titles, their town, their way of life. Even the laws have changed.”

Sachel folded his arms. “And yet they are still ours. Lord Fenrick was the last true Kingsman. If he lives, then I am nothing but a placeholder.”

Smike snorted. “You said it, not me.”

Maeve ignored them. “What would happen if the spell is broken?”

“I don’t know,” Sophrayni admitted. “They might reappear as they were. Or changed by the magic. Or not return at all. It could be a cruel trick Magalan left behind.”

“And if they do return, and cannot bear what they find?” Sachel asked quietly.

“Then we must help them,” Maeve said. “Not punish. Not hide. Help.”

Sophrayni nodded. “But first, we must decide whether to try.”

She turned to Sachel. “Breaking this spell does not involve casting new magic.”

Sachel frowned. “How can that be?”

“Imagine a glass dome that can only be shattered from the inside,” Sophrayni said. “Inside is a hammer tied to a piece of twine that leads out. If the twine is pulled in exactly the right way, the hammer strikes the glass. The spell Magalan placed is like that. The magic is already there. Undoing it is not casting a new spell, it’s triggering the old one’s release.”

Maeve leaned forward. “So, it’s more like unlocking a door than building a new one?”

“Exactly,” said Sophrayni. “And it would not be me breaking the spell. But I believe I know how it can be done.”

She turned to Maeve. “Do you have children?”

Maeve blinked. “Yes. Three, a son and two daughters. Why?”

“How old?”

“Gellin is twelve, Beth is ten, and little Amy is six. Why?”

“The spell must be broken by a child,” Sophrayni said.

“Why a child?”

“Because Magalan’s spell was built around innocence. In her diary she wrote:

‘One placed a doll in every room.
Another took them out, one by one, saying: “You’re free.”
They laughed. I did not. They can stay there until then.’

“The spell responds to a child at play. A child who moves dolls in and out of the rooms. That action breaks the spell.”

Sachel’s voice sharpened. “So now you want one of my children to break the law?”

“No,” Sophrayni said. “Because no law is broken. The child wouldn’t be casting magic, just pulling the twine.”

She met his eyes. “You are the Acting Kingsman. The law says you speak for the town. So, I ask plainly: do you want them back?”

Sachel stared at the model. For the first time, grief softened his face.

“I want to know,” he said. “If they’re still in there. And if they are… yes. I want them back. My title is Acting Lord Sachel. All who came before me held that title. We were keeping the seat warm for Lord Fenrick. But the law is the law.”

He hesitated. “I want them back, but only if they are unchanged. As our history remembers them. Is there any way to know before we release them?”

“No,” Sophrayni said gently. “Not even magic can measure the heart.”

Maeve’s gaze stayed on the model. “And if they have changed? If they are older, or frightened, or no longer the people our history remembers, do they deserve to be left there?”

Sachel didn’t answer.

“You said it yourself,” Maeve went on. “We were only ever acting. If they return and they are broken, we help them. If they are bitter, we forgive them. If they are lost, we guide them. That is what it means to lead.”

Sophrayni’s eyes met Maeve’s with quiet gratitude.

“And if they’re dangerous?” Smike asked.

“Then we deal with that too,” Maeve said. “But we don’t let fear decide.”

Sachel looked at her, then at the model. “You always did make things harder.”

“No,” Maeve said. “I make them honest.”

“Then fetch the children,” Sachel said.

Maeve soon returned with three puzzled‑looking children.

“Do not be afraid,” Sophrayni said gently.

Gellin sniffed. “I’m not afraid of anything.”

“Nor me,” Beth added.

Amy sucked her thumb.

“What must they do?” Maeve asked.

Sophrayni knelt. “Gellin, you must take each doll and move it to another room. As if you were playing.”

Gellin nodded, already curious.

“Then,” Sophrayni continued, “Beth must take the dolls out, one by one, and place them on the floor. As she picks each one up, she must say, ‘You’re free.’”

“That’s all?” Beth asked solemnly.

“That’s all,” Sophrayni said. “No magic. Just play. But play with care.”

Gellin picked up a doll and moved it from one room to another. Then another. And another.

When he finished, Beth picked up the first doll, a tiny figure in a painted blue coat, and whispered, “You’re free.”

She placed it gently on the stone floor.

Then another. “You’re free.”

And another. “You’re free.”

On the final doll, the air shifted. A low hum rose from the model, like wind through a keyhole. The shutters rattled. The front door creaked wider.

Then, light. A soft, golden shimmer spilled from the windows, carrying the scent of lavender and old wood.

When it faded, four figures stood in the hall: a man, a woman, and two children. Blinking. Whole.

Lord Sachel fell to his knees. Maeve covered her mouth.

Sophrayni said nothing. She only watched, her eyes shining, as the past stepped gently into the present.

Lord Fenrick was the first to move. He rushed to his wife and children, sword drawn, ready to fight.

Captain Smike stepped forward and saluted.
“Captain Smike of the King’s Foresters. Beg to report, sir, that the situation is under control.”

“The witch?” Lord Fenrick demanded, eyes scanning the hall.

“Long gone, sir,” said Captain Smike.

Puzzled, Lord Fenrick looked around. “This is not my house. What is going on?”

Sachel stepped forward. “Colonel Sachel, at your service,” he said. “If you’ll come with me to the office, I can explain.”

Lord Fenrick sheathed his sword. “And my family?”

Maeve curtsied. “I’ll look after them,” she said. “A nice hot drink and a clean‑up will do them the world of good.”

Amy took her thumb out of her mouth and walked up to the little girl, who stood clutching her mother’s dress. “My name’s Amy. What’s yours? Cor, your face is dirty.”

A few moments later, Sophrayni and Smike were the only ones left in the hall.

“What now?” Smike asked quietly.

“Home,” said Sophrayni. “Home.”