“Shocking.”
It becomes clear as the fight progresses that Javid’s good. In fact, he’s very good. Better than Lionel expected. Lionel is mighty; Javid is fast. But now they’re both tiring.
Pippa turns to Archer. “Who will win?”
Archer studies them, his eyes sharp. “Lionel.”
I wait, hoping he’s wrong. Javid blocks a swing and staggers back. Lionel, seeing his chance, raises his sword high for the final blow. Javid recovers more quickly than the prince expects. He lunges forward, lifts the point of his sword, and holds it just under Lionel’s jaw.
Lionel’s arm drops to his side. The crowd falls silent.
“Do you want to change the rules or should I draw blood?” Javid asks, still breathing hard.
Lionel smiles and strikes Javid in the leg with the side of his blade. Javid hisses and then slowly lowers his sword.
“I win,” Lionel says.
The crowd watches, their eyes shifting between the two men.
“That was a cheap shot!”
Startled by my outburst, all eyes turn to me. I step forward, too agitated to care that I just yelled at the Prince of Vernow.
Lionel rolls his eyes. “Grace—”
“It’s fine,” Javid says, cutting him off. “I had my chance. I know the game.”
Javid turns to Lionel and extends his hand. Lionel stares at it, glances at me, and then finally accepts. It’s a show—all of it. There’s no goodwill between them.
Javid turns to me and offers his arm again. When I accept it, he looks at Lionel and pulls me close. “Congratulations on your win.” With his meaning clear, he leads me away from the courtyard.
***
I dunk a cloth in warm, herbal water. “You shouldn’t have provoked him like that.”
Javid groans as I dab the cloth over his shallow wound. “My mouth gets the best of me at times.”
I smile. “You’re lucky. It could have been much worse than this.” I rub the salve in, and he groans again. I raise an eyebrow. “I think you’re overreacting a bit. You barely made a sound when he struck you.”
“I had appearances to keep.”
Unable to help myself, I laugh. I stand up to put the salve and bandages away in the small cupboard where I keep the library’s meager medical supplies. We’re in a room barely larger than a closet, but this is what Javid insisted on.
Still seated, with his leg extended, he tilts his head up. “You’re taking pleasure in my misery.”
His hair is messy around his face, and I have the strong urge to push it back. I imagine the way it would feel between my fingers, the way he’d look at me if I were to move that close.
I shake my head, clearing my mind of the thought. “We should have taken you to a physician.”
He softly flicks my arm. “I liked having you patch me up.”
“Why didn’t you end it when you had the chance?”
“Because you would have been angry with me.”
I cross my arms. “That’s absurd. I don’t necessarily like the rules, but I know what they are. And besides, it was Lionel’s choice. He would have deserved it.”
Javid stands, and when he does, it seems like he takes up half the tiny room. “Are you disappointed I didn’t?”
I clasp my hands in front of me, unsure what to do with them. “No.”
“Because I’m rather happy with the way it’s turned out.” He steps forward, taking another quarter of the room with him.
I step backwards just to bump into the wall.
“Actually,” he says, stepping close enough I can smell the clean scent that clings to his tunic. “The only real loss is my trousers.” He motions to the cut in the leg.
“You can always buy new ones.”
He shakes his head, his face mock-disheartened. “These are from Ptarma. The cloth here doesn’t compare.”
“I’m sorry for your loss,” I breathe.
A smirk tips his lips. “Thank you for understanding.”
He’s so close, but he’s not touching me. My heart races, ready to burst. I’ve never felt like this. Not even with Lionel. The thought is staggering.
Giving in to impulse, I brush the hair away from his face. He catches my hand and slowly traces the inside tip of my ring finger to my palm. I shiver, the sensation so beautiful I’m afraid I will melt to the floor.
He lifts my hand to his lips and presses a kiss to the inside of my wrist. “Thank you.”
I nod, unable to breathe. He smiles, knowing exactly what he’s done to me, and then he tucks my hand against his arm and escorts me out of the room.
***
I write quickly, trying to keep up with Master Rynsten as he dictates the notes on his comet study. He paces the hall as he speaks, occasionally rubbing his neck. We’ve been at this for hours, and my hand is cramping. Still, I don’t mind. His observations are fascinating, and I listen eagerly as I jot his thoughts down.
He turns to me and rolls his shoulders. “I think that’s enough for today, Grace.”
“I don’t mind if you have more.”
He shakes his head. “I am tired. You must be exhausted.”
I set my quill down and stretch my fingers. “My hand is a little sore,” I admit.
“Have you cataloged the book shipment from Triblue?”
“I have.”
He nods, satisfied. “Take the rest of the day off. You may work on your nature journal, if you’d like. You haven’t mentioned it in weeks.”
I haven’t done any entries since my half-finished frog.
“I’ve recorded the same things over and over again,” I say. “Just once I wish I would spot something new, something different.”
The master takes a chair near me. “It’s by recording our observations season after season, year after year, that we truly come to understand the world around us.”
I look down and clasp my hands in my lap. “I didn’t mean to complain. You’ve been very kind to give me time to study.”
“That doesn’t mean it’s not natural to long for something new.”
I glance back at him. Though not family, the man is dear to me. “Did you travel when you were young, Master Rynsten?”
“I did. But—”
“I am a girl.”
He smiles, as he usually does when the conversation comes up. “I’ve already defied several conventions with you, Grace. I don’t think it’s wise for you to take off on an adventure.”
“Thank you for letting me apprentice under you,” I say. “Most wouldn’t have.”
“I had no choice. I couldn’t keep you out of the library.”
Lionel walks into the hall and scans the room as if looking for someone. I want to sink into the floor, hoping it’s not me he’s seeking out. Unfortunately, he strides in my direction once he spots me.
“I need to speak with Grace.” His words are curt, leaving no room for objections.
Master Rynsten frowns but doesn’t argue. “I was just taking my leave.” He stands, moving slowly, stiff with old age.
I stay seated, waiting for Lionel to state his business.
“Come with me, Grace.” He extends his arm, waiting for me.
Though I don’t want to go with him, I take it. “Where are we going?”
“To the gardens.”
I stop. “I’m tired, Lionel. I don’t think I’m up for a walk.”
Irritated, he turns to me and leans in. “Would you let me apologize to you?”
Pulling my arm free, I look up at him. “Go ahead.”
He glances around the hall. “Not here.”
I walk past him, heading toward the observatory. He follows. When we reach the tower, we find two scholars have chosen the location for a visit. I pause at the door and then turn to find somewhere else.
Lionel walks past me. “Excuse us.” He nods to the door.
The men get the point, say their dutiful, royal greetings, and then leave us.
Lionel turns to me. When he sees
the look on my face, he sighs. “This was your idea.”
Instead of answering, I sit on the bench and wait for him to begin. He doesn’t take the spot next to me, as I assume he will, but kneels on the floor at my feet. The action takes me by surprise, and it leaves me feeling out of balance. Lionel would be the first to state that a prince should never, never kneel in front of a librarian.
He takes my hands, turning them over in his larger ones, and stares at them for some time before he begins. “The things I said to you…”
I want to pull my hands back. It feels wrong to let him touch me like this.
He meets my eyes. “I shouldn’t have said them.”
I wonder if he realizes he didn’t actually apologize, only admit he shouldn’t have voiced his thoughts out loud.
“All right.”
His eyes flash with irritation. I’m afraid he was expecting me to weep for joy.
“What do you want me to say?” I demand.
He looks back at our hands. “That you forgive me.”
Do I forgive him? I can; I do. But that won’t change how his words affected me. I’m not sure I will ever feel the same way about him. I don’t want to.
A thought hits me, making me angry and weary at the same time. “This is because of Javid.”
“You shouldn’t be around him.”
I pull my hands back. “Why?”
He stands. “It’s giving people the wrong impression.”
“What impression would that be?”
“What is the one reason a man of noble blood would wish to spend time with the orphan daughter of a farmer?”
I suck in a breath and then rise to my feet. “I don’t know, Your Royal Highness. Why don’t you tell me?”
He blanches, his face turning red. “You know it’s never been like that between us.”
“Then why do you assume Javid’s attentions are impure?”
“Because I’ve seen the way he looks at you.”
I move past him to the balcony and look down at the bustling streets. “You’re jealous.”
“Of course I’m jealous.” He sets his hand on my shoulder and turns me back. “The thought of his hands on you drives me mad.”
“That’s a large amount of emotion wasted on a ‘nuisance you don’t have time for’,” I snap and then instantly regret my words. I shouldn’t have said it. It was intentionally cruel.
Lionel flinches back, his hand dropping from my shoulder. “I didn’t mean it, Grace.” His voice has lost all its anger. He sounds helpless, actually sorry. “Father said our friendship was clouding my judgment—that you were intentionally using me to claw your way to power.”
“How could you believe that?” I whisper.
He shakes his head. “I don’t know.”
A sparrow lands on the rail, and I watch it, wishing this conversation had never taken place.
“I forgive you,” I finally say, just wanting to bring this to an end.
His eyes soften, and he steps forward, reaching out for me.
I step away. “You are going to marry Pippa. I do not want to be the reason you can’t find happiness with her.”
“You know how I feel about her—and you know how I feel about you.”
I give him a halfhearted shrug. “It doesn’t matter. You are the future king, and—as you said—I am the orphan daughter of a farmer.” I soften my words with a small smile. “You were right. It’s best we let our friendship ebb. You meant everything to me when I was young—and I will always care for you—but we’ve grown apart.”
He steps forward, attempting to touch me again. “I won’t accept that.”
I stop his hand before he can set it on my arm. “You don’t have a choice.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Summer's End
I peer into the branches above me, wondering if I can spot the bird camouflaged by the leaves.
Javid finds it and points between the branches. “Purple-winged Nuthatch.”
I sigh, having hoped it would have been something more interesting.
We rest in the shade of a cluster of trees by the pond’s edge. The scraps from our picnic lunch are luring in ants, but Javid doesn’t seem to care. He’s sprawled out in the grass, his hands pillowed under his head as he stares up at the tree. I sit next to him, my blank journal in my lap.
A soft, cool breeze blows over the pond, and I close my eyes, enjoying the sounds of late summer. It’s as perfect an afternoon as I could hope for.
“I have to leave soon, Grace.”
I open my eyes. “Is there a dinner tonight?”
He shifts, sitting up on his elbow. I pluck a stray leaf from his shoulder and twirl it between my fingers. He stills my hand. I drop the leaf, and he threads his fingers through mine. His green eyes are serious, and there’s no smile on his face. Dread builds in my stomach.
“The summer is nearing its end. I have to go back to Ptarma.”
I try to pull my hand back, but he holds firm. He rubs my palm with his thumb, and for a moment I pretend he hasn’t spoken at all.
“When?” I finally ask.
He sits up, moving close to me. “A week.”
So soon. Pippa and Archer will return to Lauramore only a few days after that.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I whisper.
He finds a strand of my hair and winds it between his fingers. “I didn’t know how to. I didn’t want to think about it.”
I nod, but I can’t meet his eyes.
“You would like Ptarma.” His voice is quiet. “I wish—”
I place my fingers over his lips, surprising him. I’m not sure what he was planning to say, but I know it will hurt worse than the silence. Slowly, I lower my hand and move forward. He’s still—still enough I wonder if he thinks he’ll spook me if he moves. I press a soft kiss to his lips and then pull back.
“Oh, Grace,” he breathes.
His hand strays from my hair to my neck, and he pulls me closer, his lips claiming mine. His kiss is gentle and slow, as if we have all the time in the world. I could die happy at the sweetness of it, at the beautiful rightness of the moment.
He ends the kiss and rests his forehead against mine. “How am I supposed to let you go?”
I have no answer for that. What I had hoped would bring us closure has lit a fire in my heart, making me want to keep him closer, not say goodbye.
***
I wake, bleary-eyed. The candle has snuffed itself out, and the room is still pitch black. The pounding sounds on the door again.
The library is locked at night. No patrons may linger past mid-night, and I can’t imagine Master Rynsten would wake me at this hour. That only leaves one person. A person who has access to the keys.
“Lionel?”
“Open the door, Grace,” he calls from the other side.
Blindly, I feel for my dressing gown. Once it’s pulled on, I let him in. Fortunately, Lionel has a candle with him. He sets it on a table under the window and then shuts the door. I’m about to protest his presence in my room, but as soon as the latch is set, he pulls me toward him.
At first I think he means to attack me, but his arms only wrap around my back in an embrace. I stay frozen, shocked and nervous.
“I can’t do it, Grace.”
I try to pull back, but he holds me firm. “Do what?”
“This.” He leans back so he can look into my eyes. “Live without you. Be without you.”
Worried I will provoke him into another fit of anger like the one I witnessed in the stable, I manage to move away only slightly. “What are you saying?”
“In the morning, I will tell Father I’m marrying you.”
The floor might as well have come out from under my feet. I gape at him, my mouth working like I’m a fish out of water. “You can’t do that.”
He narrows his eyes. “Will I or will I not be King of Vernow—the most powerful of Elden’s kingdoms?”
“Yes, but—”
“It is my right to ha
ve whatever I want—and I want you.” His eyes have taken on a feverish glint. “I’ll make you my queen.”
I tremble, truly accepting for the first time that there may be nothing left of the boy I once loved. The man before me is a shell of him, a molded version of his father, power-hungry and selfish.
The room is locked. No one knows he is here, and Master Rynsten is too deaf to hear my screams should it come to that.
And like Lionel has just pointed out, he will be King of Vernow. Who will care what he does to the girl apprenticing an old scholar in the library?
“What made you change your mind?” I ask, keeping my voice calm and quiet.
His eyes flash. “Javid can’t have you. The thought of it makes me ill. You are mine, Grace.”
I nod slowly. “Speak with your father. Send word as soon as you have an answer.”
He fists his hands in my hair and leans in.
“Wait,” I say, stopping him. “This isn’t proper.” I motion to my darkened chambers. “What if someone were to find out? They would think me a harlot.”
If there’s any way to get through to Lionel, it’s with propriety.
He pauses. “You are right.” With a low growl, he steps back. “Soon it won’t matter.”
My knees go weak with relief, but I hide it from him.
He goes to the door. “I will send you news immediately.”
I nod. Only once the door is closed do I feel safe. I lock the bolt behind him and stagger back to my bed.
***
I read the note and then give the messenger a questioning look. “Are you sure it’s from the king?”
He quirks an eyebrow. “I’m positive.”
“Not the prince?”
“No.”
I nod. “All right.”
I thank him for the message with a copper coin, and he goes on his way. I scan the note again. I’m expected for an audience by the next bell. I must hurry.
My gowns are all fairly simple. Nothing seems right. I settle on a navy blue brocade that I rarely wear because the fabric is rough against my skin. Once dressed, I brush out my hair, pull it half up, and tie it with a ribbon. It falls down my shoulders, sleek and long. I’ve never given my hair much thought, but now I wonder if the way I wear it makes me look like a foolish young girl.
It doesn’t matter. I don’t know why the king is summoning me, but it won’t be for a friendly afternoon chat.
Grace of Vernow: An Eldentimber Novelette (The Eldentimber Series) Page 4
