Grace of Vernow: An Eldentimber Novelette (The Eldentimber Series)

by Shari L. Tapscott

  Contents

  Dedication

  Copyright

  CHAPTER ONE Observatory

  CHAPTER TWO Scholars & Sketches

  CHAPTER THREE Afternoon Ride

  CHAPTER FOUR Duel

  CHAPTER FIVE Summer's End

  CHAPTER SIX Goodbyes & Beginnings

  Bonus Chapter

  CHAPTER ONE

  Letter to Readers

  About the Author

  To Mom,

  I’ll buy you that car someday. Until then, here’s a novelette for you.

  Copyright © 2015 Shari L. Tapscott

  All rights reserved.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Observatory

  He’s forgotten again.

  With my sketchbook under my arm, I scowl at the prince. Lionel lunges forward, catching his opponent off guard. With a powerful swing of his sword, he knocks the knight to the ground and stands over him, a satisfied smirk on his face. The smile falls when he spots me near the practice yard.

  I clutch the book to my chest and wait for him to come over.

  He speaks with his men for several moments, and then he joins me. “Grace, I must have lost track of time—”

  “It’s fine.”

  For a moment his expression falters, and he reminds me of when he was young. But he’s a boy no longer.

  “Master Rynsten has discovered a comet,” I say.

  Lionel leans forward, interested. “When was this?”

  “He’s been tracking it for several evenings, but he says tonight will be our best chance to view it.”

  I want to ask him to watch it with me, but he should already know.

  “Has he named it?”

  I hesitate. “Comet Averly.”

  He crosses his arms and then nods. “She would have liked that.”

  His mother, Queen Averly of Vernow, died the winter before. She passed of a quick illness that consumed her with fever before it took her life. The physicians and herbalists could do nothing for her. No one has completely recovered from the shock, but her loss was felt most by her son. She understood him in a way the king never has.

  Giving him a moment, I watch two knights duel before I look back. His long, curly hair has escaped its tail. I wish he would cut it. The length doesn’t suit his strong features, and it makes him look even more like his father.

  Lionel rubs the back of his neck. “The Princess of Lauramore is due to arrive any moment. I can’t stargaze tonight.”

  I blink, startled by the way he says it—like all the time we spent watching the sky when we were younger was wasted. It shouldn’t surprise me. He never comes to the library anymore.

  “I didn’t ask you to. I only thought you should know about it.”

  “Grace…” His expression softens. “Maybe I can meet you tomorrow.”

  I raise an eyebrow, and his cheeks turn pink. With his fair complexion, he’s always been quick to blush. It used to irritate him. It probably still does.

  He steps forward. “I promise I won’t forget this time.”

  I let out a slow breath, trying to hide how much it hurts that I slipped from his mind so easily. “All right. When?”

  “The natural sciences wing, just after dusk.”

  I nod. Giving him one last look, I turn away. He resumes sparring with the knights.

  ***

  The tower bells chime the late hour, and I look out the window for at least the twelfth time. Even in the night, the streets below are far from empty.

  But there is no sign of the prince.

  I look away, irritated with myself for thinking he would remember. I spent extra time to braid my hair, too. I pull the tail over my shoulder and examine it in the dim light. The color is neither brown nor blond but somewhere in between. Unremarkable. I sigh and flip it back over my shoulder.

  A patron across the room coughs several times. Reluctantly, I go to him. He sees me and waves me away, clearing his throat even as he smiles to show me he’s fine.

  Keeping my voice low so I don’t further disturb the other scholars in the room, I ask, “May I bring you some water?”

  He shakes his head and touches his throat. “It’s just a tickle.”

  I nod. “All right, but if you need anything, please let me know.”

  The man studies me, still smiling. He’s not old like many of the men who frequent the library’s halls—probably five or six years my senior at most.

  “You’re Master Rynsten’s assistant, aren’t you?” he says.

  I nod. It’s not a conversation I usually like to initiate.

  “You’re a girl.”

  I immediately bristle and cross my arms, readying myself for the lecture.

  He laughs and holds up a placating hand. “I didn’t mean any harm by it.”

  “I’ve been apprenticing the master for seven years.”

  He smiles again. It’s a nice smile—warm and friendly. “How old does that make you?”

  The question takes me off guard. It seems too personal, though I suppose it really isn’t.

  “Nineteen.”

  He only nods in reply, that smile still on his face. I’m about to ask him the area of his studies, but his attention shifts to someone behind me.

  Lionel clears his throat. I turn, feeling irrationally guilty.

  There’s no humor in Lionel’s gaze—not that there ever is. I frown at him. How dare he look at me like that? I waited for him for over an hour.

  “Lionel,” the man says, giving the prince a deferential nod.

  “Javid.”

  I glance back at the young scholar. Who is he that Lionel knows him personally?

  Lionel turns, expecting me to follow him. I hesitate and then look back. “If you need anything…”

  A quick grin spreads across the man’s face. His green eyes shine, making him quite handsome. “I’ll look for you.”

  I nod and then follow the prince, feeling a little off-kilter. Does he mean he’ll look for me should he need something? Or will he simply look for me?

  I trail behind Lionel. We weave through tables and desks and row after row of books. He doesn’t say where he’s leading me, but I know. Resilient little butterflies flutter in my stomach, too hopeful to know their joy is destined to die.

  He stops at the foot of the spiral stairway and motions me ahead—a somewhat chivalrous gesture even if it is a little late for it. I make my way up, my hand trailing on the black iron banister. We reach the top, and I’m grateful to see no one else occupies the observatory tonight.

  I take a seat on the bench, not looking at Lionel. “You were late again.”

  He sits next to me but not close enough we touch. “I’m sorry.”

  I finally look over. “I thought you forgot.”

  There must be something vulnerable in my expression because he softens. “The princess arrived this afternoon.”

  “I thought she was to be here yesterday.”

  Irritation flashes in his eyes. “She’s rarely on time.”

  Despite his foul mood on the subject, a ribbon of jealousy snakes through my belly. “I suppose you’ll become used to it.”

  He meets my eyes and slowly nods. I look away and stand, ending the conversation before it can continue further. The draperies are shut, and I pull the thick, woven tassel to open them. The burgundy material parts, revealing the inky sky. One by one, I snuff out the candles.

  We walk to the balcony’s edge. It’s not difficult to spot the comet. It shines in the sky like a rogue star, its tail stretching out behind it. I wait for my eyes to adjust, and soo
n I can see most of the familiar summer constellations. They are old friends.

  “It’s beautiful,” Lionel murmurs.

  I glance at him and smile in the dark. He stares at the sky, entranced. Warmth spreads through me at the look on his face, the wonder in his gaze. He hasn’t forgotten. That part of him may be repressed, but it’s still there.

  Content, I lean against the railing. “I wish there were a way to see them closer.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I see Lionel turn toward me.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You know.” I meet his eyes. “Like a magnifying glass but for the stars.”

  A small smile tips Lionel’s lips. My heart flutters when he trails his fingers across my arm. It’s so dark tonight, and we’re so far from those scurrying below us.

  “I don’t think something like that will ever come to be,” he says.

  Very slightly, I lean toward his touch. “It might not be possible, but I can still dream.”

  His fingers freeze; his face goes still. I can’t see him well, but I intimately know the expression he wears. He’s pensive. I watch, barely breathing as I wait for him to answer.

  His hand falls away, and he turns back toward the comet.

  The cool night air embraces me. I cross my arms, trying to block the chill, and remind myself I expected nothing else.

  “Dreams are folly.” He grips the balcony’s rail. “You know that.”

  I rub my arms, refusing to answer him.

  His chin jerks over, but his eyes stay on the sky, as if he’s avoiding looking at me. “Are you cold?”

  “A little.”

  He shrugs out of his lightweight, sleeved cloak. I expect him to hand it over, but instead, he steps behind me and places it around my shoulders. The fabric envelopes me, pooling on the ground at my feet. The sleeves fall far past my hands, and I bunch them up on my arms. I’m tall, but Lionel is a giant of a man, towering over even me. His size has always made me feel safe.

  “Thank you,” I murmur.

  His hands settle on my shoulders. “I’m not good with words like you are, Grace.” I tense, waiting, and he continues, “But you must know that if I had a choice…” The words disappear into the night.

  I turn. “If you had a choice, what?”

  He looks at our feet. “I would choose someone I love. But you know that choice isn’t mine.”

  “You must marry Pippa.”

  “Philippa,” he corrects, irritated just to say her name.

  “Why do you hate her so much?” The question is voiced at a whisper, but it seems to echo between us.

  Quietly—so quietly I almost don’t hear him, he answers, “Because she isn’t like you.”

  My heart soars, and the butterflies in my stomach riot with pleasure.

  He steps back, putting distance between us. “But I will marry Philippa because it’s what is expected of me.”

  The poor butterflies crash.

  “You have no say in the matter?” I ask softly.

  I can see him well enough in the dim light to know my question upsets him. He crosses his arms. “It makes no difference. If it’s not Philippa, it will be some other nobleman’s daughter.”

  His point is driven home like an arrow in my heart. I am nothing more than the daughter of a farmer, taken in by Master Rynsten when my family died in the Dragon Wars. I am no one, and I will never marry well.

  He leans forward, intent. “You think I’ve become callous, Grace.” There’s more anger in his voice now. “But you have no idea how the real world works. Stay here where you’re sheltered and secure. Play with your books and your sketches and your star charts—but do not pretend you understand my situation.”

  I step back. “I know the role you play, just as I know mine.” I try to hold my composure, but my voice trembles. “I know it’s smarter to stay with my studies than marry some poor farm boy like my father.” I whip Lionel’s cloak from my shoulders and shove it at him. “I know that love has no place in my future.”

  “Grace—”

  I walk away from him, striving to maintain dignity. I ruin it when I slam the door to the observatory, not caring that I’ve left my future king alone and in the dark.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Scholars & Sketches

  A frog jumps from his lily pad into the water, disappearing from sight. I sigh and set my charcoal across the half-drawn sketch. An ant runs over my knee, and I flick him off my skirts.

  It’s another hot summer day, but it’s cool by the pond. It’s far enough away that few people visit it. The popular large lake and grand fountain in the heart of Vernai, Vernow’s capital city, may only be a short walk from the library, but I would rather take the time to come here.

  I’ve lived in the grandeur of the castle’s shadow my entire life, but sometimes it’s nice to be away from the hustle and bustle of the crowds. It smells cleaner here away from the chaos, fresher. With Vernai being the hub of trade in the lower kingdoms, the fragrance of the streets can be overwhelming. Fish stalls, spice peddlers, livestock vendors, and trolley after trolley of food—everything you can imagine and more graces Vernai’s markets.

  It’s loved by the elite as well. Nobles flock to the city for theater, arts, and music. Many come just to stay at court, to say they are acquainted with the most powerful king in Elden. Scholars, too, travel from all around to study in our library.

  I know I’m fortunate to live here, but sometimes the constant flurry makes me feel oddly lonely. There are so many people—but so few notice me.

  I look down to finish my sketch from memory. It’s not as good as any of Lionel’s, but I’m improving.

  My stomach clenches at the thought of the prince. I haven’t seen him since we quarreled four days ago, and I don’t expect to. I’m sure he’s busy entertaining his lovely princess.

  She is lovely, too. I saw her yesterday in the courtyard while I ran an errand for Master Rynsten. She was laughing at her guard, a stoic young archer who seemed mildly amused with her despite his obvious effort to appear unruffled.

  She glanced over as I passed, graced me with a charming smile, and then went back to teasing her companion. My heart broke a little even though I’ve always known the princess was intended for Lionel.

  “Where’s the frog?”

  I jump so violently, my charcoal stick goes flying into the pond. I leap to my feet, straightening my gown as I rise. With my hand over my frantic heart, I gape at the man from the library.

  An impish smile lights his face. “I’m sorry to give you a scare.” In the sun, his messy, sandy-blond hair shines with copper highlights, and his green eyes twinkle.

  “You didn’t.”

  His smile spreads into a lopsided grin. I watch, wide-eyed, as he wades into the pond. Not yet waterlogged, my charcoal floats on the surface. He plucks it up and turns to me, holding his prize in the air.

  A blush sweeps across my cheeks, and I feel it spreading down my neck. “You’ve ruined your boots.” I can’t meet his eyes as I hold my hand out to accept the dripping charcoal.

  “I’ve rubbed them with lanolin.” He blots the stick with his tunic, leaving a soggy smudge on the fabric. Satisfied it won’t sully me with pond water, he sets it in my hand. “Not much harm done.”

  “Oh,” I say stupidly as I curl my fingers around the stick.

  He cocks his head to the side, his expression teasing. “No matter, it would have been worth it to save such a lovely damsel in distress.”

  I laugh at the absurdity of it and meet his eyes before I quickly look away again.

  He offers his hand. “I’m Javid.”

  I stare at his palm for a moment, and then I place my fingers over his. “Grace.”

  Never breaking eye contact, he kisses my hand. “Do you come here often?” He raises his eyebrows as he proudly delivers the trite line.

  I bite the inside of my cheek so I won’t laugh. It hasn’t escaped my notice that he still has my hand. Reluctantly, I pull my
fingers back.

  He lets me go, his expression constantly flickering between amused and serious. “I haven’t seen anyone here since I arrived in Vernai.”

  “I like it here.”

  “So do I.” Again, his lips tilt in a crooked smile. “Today especially.”

  My cheeks must be on fire by now. We look out over the pond, neither of us speaking.

  After several moments he turns to me. “I didn’t see your horse.”

  “I walked.”

  His brow knits. “That must have taken you—”

  “Several hours.” I rub the charcoal stick between my fingers. “I don’t mind walking. You can take in more of your surroundings.”

  He tilts his head back, studying me—still smiling. “So I’ve heard.”

  I motion to the pond. “What are you doing here?”

  He holds his finger out, asking me to wait, and then walks back to the tree where he’s tied his horse. He rummages in the saddlebags. After a moment, he produces a leather-bound journal.

  He makes the short walk back and offers the book to me, giving it a friendly shake of encouragement when I hesitate. Trying not to laugh again, I accept it and flip the book open.

  “They’re beautiful,” I breathe. I scan the sketches, wishing I could commit them to memory. My fingers hover over a particularly lovely likeness of a liminoa flower. “I thought you were a scholar, but you are an artist.”

  A flash of embarrassment crosses his features, and he shrugs. “I would like to be a scholar, but I find I am easily distracted.”

  “I wish I could draw like this.” I turn another page and marvel at a sunset.

  “Your frog is good.”

  I give him a wry smile.

  He laughs, snatches my sketchbook from my arms, and flips it open. “It shows promise.”

  I grow nervous as he browses through the pages.

  “Now see, you are a diligent student.” He taps a page. “Your nature journal contains notes.” He continues to flip through the sketches. After several nerve-wracking moments, he offers the book back to me. “This one is quite good.”

  It’s a butterfly so common there is not a person in Vernow who doesn’t know its name. Lionel scoffed at me for drawing it. It’s far from the most impressive entry.