of my ancestors.
As the helicopter swept over the Alps, lifting and falling in currents of air, I pressed close to the window, straining to see the panorama of mountains in the distance. There were glaciers and gorges, snow-filled valleys, waves of ice lapping against granite, mountain peaks as high as skyscrapers. At the edge of my vision, a range of frosted cones cut into the sky, forming a barrier between this wild, frozen world and the orderly one we’d left behind. How desolate it all seemed from above, with the endless angularity of crags, the expanses of white so vast and uninhabitable. And yet, I knew there were villages deep in the ice, villages where human beings had been born, had lived and died without ever stepping beyond the shadow of the mountains.
We hit a gust of wind and the helicopter fell. I gasped and grabbed hold of Zimmer, who barked at the pilot to be careful. The pilot steadied the helicopter, and the largest mountain of all filled the windscreen: Mont Blanc. It loomed before us, monstrous in its size, the peak so high it seemed to prop up the sky. Its wide, massive body was brown and clumpy, a mound of sculptor’s clay scored by a knife, so many cuts and grooves jeweled with ice.
We began to descend. Down we slid, through sheets of fog, each filmy plateau revealing the landscape in layers: rock, ice, spruce and cedar trees, snow, and, at last, the outline of a stone structure rising up from the scoop of a valley—Montebianco Castle.
“All this,” Zimmer said, as we hovered over an outcropping of black granite studded with ice, “belongs to you.”
As I gazed down at the vastness and desolation of the valley, a chill went through me. I shivered not from the cold—it was warm enough in the helicopter—but from something else, a swelling fear of what waited below. Some part of me knew, even then, that my inheritance was not the stroke of luck one might imagine it to be.
“There is the family estate,” Zimmer said, pointing to the castle nestled in the palm of the valley, the mountains clutching it like fingers. “And over there is the village of Nevenero.”
If he hadn’t pointed it out, I would have missed Nevenero entirely. There were no lights and no roads that I could see. Not a single car or truck. Just dark houses clustered together like mushrooms on birch bark.
“But there’s nothing but snow,” I said.
“The road to Nevenero is blocked until spring,” he said. “Which is precisely why we are up here.”
The whirling of blades shifted as the pilot angled toward the castle.
“The castle depends entirely upon air transport at this time of year. Food, medical supplies, everything they need is dropped in. I will return for you next week, with the helicopter that brings supplies. The castle has seen better days, but Greta, the housekeeper, has been instructed to make you comfortable.”
As the pilot descended, I got my first real look at Montebianco Castle. It was a perfect square held by four massive towers, one at each corner. Zimmer explained that the original thirteenth-century structure had been a squat, one-story fortress built to defend the family from belligerent rivals, but was razed in the late sixteenth century and rebuilt in the fashions of the period—an elegant castle with a large, Renaissance-style courtyard filled with potted trees, a jewel-box Baroque chapel at one corner, and a series of outbuildings at the other. The towers were topped with conical slate roofs, the windows fitted with blown glass panes, and an ornate ironwork gate blocked the entrance. Nothing remained of the original fortress except the foundation: the perfect square, each corner held in place by a strong, fortified tower. At the top of each tower flew the brilliant flags of the House of Montebianco, bright streaks of yellow and blue flapping in the wind.
The helicopter touched down on the flagstones, and I jumped out. Zimmer handed me my suitcase and gave a terse wave—crisp, impersonal, as if he were sending me on a covert mission. Then the helicopter lifted into a swirl of fog, leaving me alone in a vast, ice-covered courtyard.
Everything was still and silent. Night had come, and banks of fog had fallen to earth, leaving the air heavy, granular, obscuring the mountains in a smudge of smoke. The courtyard was immense and perfectly enclosed. I looked around, searching for the housekeeper. A few lights flickered in the castle’s windows, but no