Two Queens (Seven Heavens Book 1)

by Holden, Ryan

  It wouldn't work. He kept on thinking of the loose brick in the chimney. What did Paris hide there? He had to find out. Would he really put the ring there? Orion laughed at himself. To think he could take the ring and escape as easy as that. But it would be something.

  He felt anger and then pleasure. He wondered at this. Did he wish to hurt Paris, even if nothing came of it? Yes. Even if he remained enslaved, if he never saw his sister again, he wanted to hurt that malevolent thief in whatever way he could.

  A thought of his father came to him, the one who could see Riley and his men in the light of day and consent to serve them. His father would be disappointed.

  He brushed the thought aside. It wouldn't be hurting him to find out. He could decide once he found out what was there—money to hide for later use, a secret perhaps.

  He hid his secret, his precious sheaf of papers, under a torn piece of carpet. He walked about in nervous energy, peeping out of the doorway. He couldn't see where the steward was. He waited.

  Soon he heard horses. He drew back from the door as Paris strode by, now in different attire, with the funniest looking hat on and a coat, dark blue, that fell to his feet in two strips. It made Orion think of a blue-jay and he choked a laugh. The steward bowed him out, promising anew to find the key.

  Orion took his chance. He slipped up the hall and darted into the next room. It wasn't much but it took him out of sight of the front rooms. He waited, hoping the steward would not check his room. Please, please, he whispered in the darkness.

  He heard a door shut and papers rustle. The steward must be in the room opposite. Orion imagined his fingers getting mushed apple all over them as he searched for the lost key and quietly walked up the hall.

  Within moments he stood outside the door. He feared it would open noisily but it did not. Luck was with him. He walked into the room and, seeing the chair still in its place, climbed up on it. Now where are you? He felt the bricks, forgetting which one Paris had replaced. He was about to dismount his chair and refresh his first glimpse when he felt one move.

  He wiggled it with his fingers. It scraped and he stopped immediately. Don't be so scared, the steward can't hear me this far away. He jiggled it some more and started pulling it out. It felt lighter than it should. His excitement rose.

  It caught like a poorly crafted drawer. He tugged harder and it came free. He shuddered, catching his balance on top of the chair. He took a long breath and lowered the brick. He could hardly believe his eyes.

  Adara perked up her ears. “...is where I left her.” Cora's voice.

  “What were you doing there?” an angry man's voice said. She guessed Evandor but wasn't sure. She hadn't heard that tone before.

  “I took her to the mirror over the mantel in the Wood Room. I was just showing her what she looked like.”

  “The Wood Room?” the man exclaimed.

  Almost the moment he said it Adara saw Evandor step through the doorway. She stood up. “Please, sir, I'm sorry.” she stopped speaking. What was he angry about? Trespassing? Attempted theft?

  “Oh you're alright.” Relief flooded his face. “My dear girl, if only you knew,” he walked toward her, arms lifted in embrace.

  She cringed.

  He paled and bit his lip. “No, I'm sorry. Let me take the necklace off and put it where it belongs. Then we'll get you back to your room.”

  Adara blushed, embarrassed at having mistaken him. Did he think she thought him such a man?

  Cora copied his tone. “Yes, and a hot bath and a nice cup of tea. You'll be fine in a moment.”

  Adara turned around and held her hair out of the way.

  “Let me,” Cora said. Adara felt her fingers fiddle with the chain. “Now where is the clasp?”

  “You may not be able to find it,” Evandor said in a low voice. Cora gave a little shriek and dropped the chain. She backed away. “No, no, the chain's perfectly harmless.”

  Adara felt large fingers touch her neck. She shuddered from the strain of trying not to. A mere second was all it took: he had the chain by one end and showed it to her. “All fixed now. Cora, please heat some water for Miss Adara's bath.”

  With a “Yes'm” she rushed away.

  Adara would have found being alone with Evandor awkward but for the urgent look on his face. One that said he had information for her, and her alone.

  “I see you understand more of this then Cora does. She's a good sort but quite superstitious.” He set the chain back where it came from. “Long ago I played in these rooms. I found out the hard way, like you, that there is strong enchantment here.”

  “But you said it was harmless?”

  “I said the chain was harmless. It is these rooms. The year before me the tutor had a student who left shrouded in mystery. Not much was known why or wherefore. He had only been here a few months before his return, away to Kyriopolis, whereas most spent years, such was the privilege of Hermes' tutelage. Ah, and so I fall into spreading the same gossip I abhor in others. Anyways, when I asked Hermes, in all innocence, he said nothing but gave me such a look that I dare not question further.

  “Some months after this I was playing with... some of my friends.” He looked at Adara with another of his strange looks. “It was then I found out what you did, with just a silver shekel.”

  “Here? Cora said this house was only recently purchased.”

  “And so it was. Before that it was my tutor's house.”

  “Oh.” She paused. “Did you figure out the secret? How did you unbind the chain?”

  “There's no magic to that. Nearest I can tell, only the rightful owner can take gold or silver out of these rooms. Anyone else, however innocent, finds themselves trapped like you.”

  She nodded.

  “Well, I'm sorry for the prank it's been. Allow me to escort you out, though I'm sure you'll have no trouble now.” He smiled shyly and they walked out.

  It was his mother's ring. He half choked as he sucked in air and shivers ran down his spine. A sob started. He picked it up and, hardly daring to look away from it, placed it in his pocket and got down. No, he must replace the brick. They mustn't miss it.

  He froze. There were footsteps outside the door. It was the steward, he had no doubt. They crossed and recrossed. He found he had been holding his breath and slowly exhaled. He forced himself to take small breaths. What if he did open the door?

  He looked at the brick in his hands. Suddenly it felt heavy, slippery, wrong. Panic struck and he couldn't move. The footsteps walked further up the hallway. He sighed. Quickly he jumped back on the chair and put the brick back. He jumped back off the chair and strode to the door. He looked back. The brick looked out of place, as if he hadn't pushed it all the way in. He made himself turn away.

  His hand clasped the ring in his pocket. Even in the few short seconds he feared he'd lost it. But it was still there. He had found the ring!

  He heard footsteps again.

  He stole over to the corner where the open door would shield him. The footsteps slowed down. They stopped at the door. He held his breath. The footsteps started again, continuing back. He stepped forward and almost fell over: his leg had fallen asleep.

  He massaged his thigh with his free hand and stepped in place. Listening at the door he waited. Where was the steward? When should he leave? Indecision gripped him.

  Finally he shook himself. That thinking would lead him nowhere. He eased the door open and looked. Nothing. He shut the door behind him and crept down, breathing hard.

  The tension was too much. He jumped into the first open doorway he found and sat in the dark. He wondered why so many rooms? Why did Paris keep this place yet not use it? What purpose did he have for the Ring if he had not sold it?

  His fingers rested on the smooth band. It felt so real. His mother had handed it to him several times. Every single time he felt like he would drop it despite his fingers working as they should. Now it was ten times worse.

  Come on, can't stay here all night. The sooner a
way the more time to complete the escape. Again he hesitated. Then he thought through his fear. The steward was just one man. Paris was gone. There were no others nearer than the stable, wherever that would be. He was a man, yes, but one who lived indoors. Orion had wrestled kardja. Why did he fear him?

  He had an idea. Solve two problems in one. He put the ring on. He felt another fear, the fear of the ring never coming off of his fourth finger, and felt the urge to pull it off again to test it. Another distraction. He clenched his hand into a fist. Once his mother had told him when he did accidentally drop the ring that the stone was too strong to break. That was one less thing to fear

  He peered down the hall. Still nothing. No light came from the far side so, hope against hope, the steward had closed the door. He crept towards light, towards hope, towards freedom.

  The door was open. He slid up to its edge and, hardly daring to breath, took a quick glance. He didn't see the steward. Somehow that made the fear worse. He leaped across the doorway and, throwing caution to the wind, ran around the corner to the same door Paris had exited not a half hour before.

  His mad flight ended as soon as it began. A large wooden door studded in iron stood before him. He forgot that it was so huge. He looked for the clasp and found it.

  Was there a lock? He hoped only on the outside. He pulled the pin and it squeaked, too noisily for his comfort. But it opened: taking his ringed hand from his pocket he grabbed the handle and pulled.

  The door didn't move. He braced his feet against the wall and slowly pulled. Still no good. He jerked with all of his heart's despair.

  The door jumped open. He saw the lights of Avallonë at night. For the first time he thought it beautiful. He ran forward, eyes steering him towards the one friendliest thing he saw, the row of trees heading down the broad avenue.

  Perhaps he would sleep in one tonight, until the city gates opened at dawn. Not here, though, further away, he thought as he ran.

  “There he is!” a voice called. Orion turned in horror and the next moment a dark shadow closed in. There was a flash of light and Orion saw no more.

  Twenty-one

  The next morning Adara awoke to a dark room. The shadows of forgotten dreams disturbed her. She sat up and let her head clear. Voices sounded faintly in the distance. Her eyes noticed bright light edging the curtains and she realized where she was. Rising she padded over to the window and drew back the curtains.

  Warm light engulfed her from a sun well above rooftops. Her eyes shut immediately but she could still see the sun as if it were pasted under her eyelids. She turned back, striving to wake up and adjust to the new light. What would Evandor think of the sloth of his reluctant purchase?

  As if to confirm her fears, there was a light knock on the door. She hastened to it and opened it, still blinking. Cora stood there, her face all smiles. “They came! They came!”

  Adara was confused. Who was to come? Orion? The Queen? Her mind jumped from one answer to the next. No, both wrong. She sighed and wondered again where Orion was. Why'd she think the Queen would come? Court. Royal dress. Dresses.

  That must be it! Cora was looking at her with concern. Adara smiled. “That's wonderful,” she said, immediately wondering if that word was too strong for matters of the wardrobe.

  Cora didn't seem to think so. She nodded and pushed Adara back in the room, saying she would be back with the items. Now Adara was really confused. Why not bring them with her the first time? It was hard work trying to get used to the doings of a great house, no matter how few or congenial its occupants.

  Soon Cora was back and laying new dresses in front of Adara faster than she could look at them. “Do you like this one? Oh, see how the sleeves were done here, with the lace? Try this one, I'm sure no one else could where it better.” And with many other words Cora showed Adara her new warddrobe.

  Adara was too overcome to say anything. Too much. Too many words. Cloth that was too smooth and slipped between your fingers—but oh, how soft! Too many dresses. This must have been a grievous expense! She felt guilty for not taking more pleasure in them, for wasting the master's money.

  Adara just nodded and smiled and eventually Cora selected the dress she would try on first. It was not what Adara would have chosen—it felt strange to be wearing something with pockets and frills and folds she knew not where—but it would have taken her the whole day to decide.

  Cora helped her into it. Adara was surprised with how happy she felt. She turned back and forth in front of the tall mirror—which after yesterday's adventure Evandor had confirmed was not enchanted in the least—and watched how the gathered brocade caught the light.

  “Come on, come on. There's more than mirrors for you today.”

  “What?” she asked.

  Cora eagerly dragged her out of the room without an answer.

  Outside the door and down the hall she went, Cora giggling ahead of her. Suddenly she found herself at the top of the stairs. All was quiet.

  Downstairs she saw Evandor where he sat with a hand on one of his dogs. He rose and looked at her. She flushed, all thoughts of mirrors thrown out of her mind.

  “Go on,” Cora urged from around the corner.

  Taking a deep breath she walked down the stairs. With so much cloth she couldn't see her foot as it stepped forward. She didn't know where to look. One step at a time. She had traversed the stairs much faster earlier. At last she stood in front of Evandor.

  There was only one thing that prevented her from completely losing her composure. It was the dog. His breath was the only sound besides the swish of her dress. His very alive and very doggy form was the only thing that didn't seem to mind being looked at: all the furniture seemed so hard and cold. As for him—there was that strange look again.

  “Thank you for the clothes,” she said. The words sounded like an old grate being opened.

  “You're most welcome.” He, too, looked a little discomfited. “Please, sit down.”

  She sat.

  “I'm sorry. I am a poor host,” he began.

  She breathed in to interject.

  He raised his hand. “No, I mean in conversation. I trust Cora has taken care to your satisfaction.”

  She nodded.

  “At times like this someone of my quality might compliment you as to your dress, but,” he noted her look, “given the—ah—unique situation we find ourselves in that may be too forward. I, at the least, always have found the giving of compliments the hardest when they are most felt.”

  She glanced at his face then immediately back to her hands, not wishing to incite further expression of his feelings. But how could one say that? She focused on the ridges of her fingertips and listened.

  “So, perhaps something a little uncouth may serve at present. You are no lady of Avallonë, a fixture of court, but a foreigner of less than thirty days' acquaintance. More is allowed in such conversations, I'm told.”

  Adara looked back at the dog. Was this to be her new life? Surviving insufferably awkward, meaningless sentences in the presence of those one didn't care for? Her tender heart chided herself. He had been good to her. She continued listening.

  He wet his lips. “In such a situation, the gentleman might ask the lady, where her home was? Or who her father was? Or, would she stay long in town?”

  “Would the lady answer?”

  He looked scared, as if having forgotten that she could speak. “Yes,” his lips said, but no sound came out.

  “Those are hard questions.”

  His face paled.

  “I have no home but a brother. My father I do not remember. As to the third question, the gentleman asking has more knowledge of that than the... lady.”

  Now he blushed. He petted his dog and looked around the room. “Sometimes I wish I didn't grow up. Things were simpler then.”

  A clock chimed the eleventh hour in the background. When it stopped Evandor continued. “I found life hard but rewarding. Hermes was an excellent tutor.” He stopped.

  Ada
ra gulped. “What did he teach you?”

  “Everything! History, rhetoric, and arithmetic, of course. But with him there would be politics and ethics, philosophy and speechcraft, astronomy and navigation.” His voice boomed then fell quiet.

  “I fear I understood but little. Even now some chance words come back to mind and I feel as if twenty years I have spent not knowing what he meant.”

  “Whatever happened to him?”

  His face darkened. “What makes you ask that?”

  “I'm sorry.” She saw his loyalty masked by deep pain and the last bit of discomfort drifted away. “I thought, that since you own his house now...”

  “You're a clever girl, did you know that? Just like...”

  “Just like what?”

  He started as if awakened. “Just like a girl should be. Too many see nothing but the latest fashion or the newest crop of young men. Of course mere cleverness isn't superior in itself, it depends on how it's used. The dream is to see through the faces in which we wall ourselves and to hear the very heartbeat, oh, how wonderful and how horrible would that be! There would be no masks, no lies, no shadow but the glaring light of truth. I often fear I could not stand it and thank the darkness.”

  She was silent. Was this how Hermes spoke? A few words of easily grasped meaning then a flight into air so rare that few could breathe? She was glad for Theo's prattling; else she could hardly understand the words themselves.

  “No. The world is gray and will remain so. Is this one a friend? Is that one an enemy? I wish there was an answer. Like us,” he said lightly. “I wish us to be friends. But how could you trust one who bought you against your wish?” He laughed a hard laugh but there was horror in his eyes.