Call of Kythshire (Keepers of the Wellsprings Book 1)

by Missy Sheldrake

  “But I have so much to do...” I tap Da on the shoulder as he hammers out a dent from the inside of Mum’s helm, most likely dealt by Dar yesterday. I fight back a scowl as Da leans his cheek down to me for a kiss.

  “We’ll manage,” he says as he holds up the helm and turns it one way and another to check for imperfections. It looks perfect to me, but he sets it down again and strikes it gently with the rounded peen of the hammer. “So I’m forgiven, then?”

  “I suppose,” I say as I hop up to perch on the stone wall along the side of the forge where the coals have cooled to black. Mum bends again to scrub the red from my mail and Da works diligently at the dent I can no longer see. “I wish I could stay here, though.” I take another bite of my apple.

  “Azi. You can’t ignore a royal summons. Not even from the youngest member of the family.” Da is right, I know. I finish my apple and slide from my seat to return to the kitchen where the tiny folded note rests on the table. The purple wax seal is pressed with the little princess’s crest: a tiny winged lady dancing on a daisy. It’s so pretty I hate to break it, so I peel the wax away from the paper carefully and slip the hardened disc into the pocket of my trousers. The note inside is a colorful child’s drawing of a girl with blonde hair in a blue and yellow tunic raising an enormous sword over her head. The sword has been gold leafed, and flakes of it glitter as they drift to the table like snow when I raise it to read the inscription. Written in a page’s impeccable hand, it says:

  Her Royal Highness Princess Margary and Her Royal Highness Princess Sarabel request the presence of Squire Azaeli Hammerfel at court this morning. Please present this invitation to the gateman upon arrival at the palace.

  I find myself walking a little taller as I pass other girls my age who are escorted by their housemaids as they rush here and there along the city streets. My new title of Squire affords me a freedom I’ve never had, and I grin and bob my head at those who greet me as I make my way to the palace. At the portcullis, I hand my invitation to the gateman and when he grants me entry a young page bows to me respectfully. I follow him deep into the palace to an area I haven’t been before, an alcove off a side hall lined with plush, comfortable chairs. I’m asked to stay here, and he rushes off to announce me.

  As I wait, I’m entranced by the artistry of the tapestries on the walls which tell various stories of Cerion’s history and the Plethore family’s rise to the throne. A particularly dark tapestry catches my interest, and I find myself drawn into it. Woven masterfully into the tapestry, an ominous sky looms over a craggy black mountain, pelting the range with sharp white streaks of lightning. Glimpses of creatures lurk in the shadows at its rocky base, barely visible except for a hand here and a boot there. As I move closer, the shapes change and I can make out eyes looking at me and hands reaching toward me.

  I’m so absorbed by the tiny figures I don’t realize someone has come to stand behind me until I feel a hand on my shoulder. I start to turn, but a second hand catches my waist and slides to my hip. The touch is too firm, too assuming. It sends a chill through me, and suddenly I feel vulnerable without my sword.

  “The Fall of Diovicus.” The whisper is hot and breathy in my ear. The hand on my shoulder slides down my back and around to my stomach, holding me. Yet something about the voice is familiar, and my instinct tells me to be still. “The mysteries of Kythshire, so compelling, so...” He brushes my cheek with his, grazes my hair. “Forbidden.” I feel the stubble of his chin on my neck, just where Dacva’s blade had sliced me. A lump rises in my throat as my heart begins to race. Thinking back, I realize this hall, so tucked away, had no posted guards. I wonder if that was on purpose. I don’t like feeling this way, vulnerable. Powerless.

  No, I tell myself. Not powerless. I’m a fighter. I could take him by surprise, throw my elbow up behind me into his chin and smash his jaw. Gouge my heel into his foot and turn and punch his stomach. Run. Scenarios of escape race through my mind and then it clicks. I know who it is, and I know fighting would have serious consequences. Instead I stand rooted in place, carefully masking my shock at his appalling behavior. At attention. Disciplined, just like yesterday in the field.

  As he circles to face me, he slides a finger along the line of the sash tied at my waist. I feel my cheeks go warm with humiliation as I fight to keep my gaze locked ahead. Why is he acting this way? I watch until his rich boots come into view, then his deep purple doublet, the glint of gold at his neck. He strokes my chin and raises it up, and I look into Prince Eron’s face.

  “You did well yesterday,” he whispers as his fingers trace down my throat and along my collar bone. I hold my breath, grateful I listened to my instincts rather than attack him. “Such skill, such grace, such restraint.” I remain stoic, keeping my eyes fixed on the eyes of a dark creature before me, praying he can’t hear my heart pounding. He pulls me closer, his hand on the back of my neck, his face tipped to mine.

  “Azi!” Footsteps patter around the corner and the prince and I jump apart as Margary emerges. Sarabel follows close behind, laughing as her little sister dances around me and takes my hand. Both seem completely oblivious to the tension between Eron and me, and before the prince can do anything to protest, Margy takes my hand and pulls me away. We run together through the winding corridors and into the sunny royal gardens, and by the time the sun brushes my cheeks I’m laughing along with Margy, infected by her bubbly excitement.

  “Come see what we made!” She leads me to a corner of the garden where we stop in the shade of a copse of well-pruned trees. Her nurse settles on a nearby bench and I find myself reminded of the girls accompanied by their maids outside. This time, though, I’m comforted by her watchful eye. Eron wouldn’t approach us here.

  Margary pulls me to the edge of the row of hedges and crouches, careful not to soil her dress. I kneel between her and Sarabel and peek into the hedge. In the space between two gnarled trunks, on a carpet of bright green moss is a tarnished silver jewel box standing on its side. A little path of smooth colorful seashells and pebbles leads up to it, and inside is a tiny bed draped with a canopy of fine lace.

  “What a fine little house,” I say, hoping my cheeks aren’t as red as they feel.

  “It’s a fairy house,” says Margary. She takes a cube of sugar from a fold in her dress and places it carefully on the edge of the box. “They love sweets.”

  “Do they?” I ask, leaning in for a closer look.

  “Oh, yes.” Margy’s brown curls bounce as she nods. “Twig loves sugar cubes, they’re his favorite.” She looks up and around as though expecting something. I turn to Sarabel, who is covering a smile with her hand.

  “Twig?” I ask.

  “Twig is Margy’s special friend.” Sarabel’s nod tells me I should play along. “Perhaps we should give the fairies a little room,” she suggests as she stands and brushes a bit of grass from her cream colored skirt. Margary shakes her head and adjusts the sugar cube. “I thought you wanted Azi to teach you sword fighting?” Sarabel coaxes.

  “After he comes, she can,” she says. “He’s still very shy.” Her tone tells us her answer is final.

  “She and I will take a walk, then,” Sarabel links her arm through mine. “I think he might be frightened with too many of us watching.” Margary nods, her eyes locked on the house with determination.

  “Every day, it’s something new,” Sarabel laughs softly as we stroll away. “Yesterday she wanted to be a knight like you. Today, she invents fairy friends to play with.” We walk together and she guides me deeper into the gardens, where the park grows wild on the other side of the palace wall. Sunlight sparkles through the canopy, casting shadows that dance with the breeze over the carpet of grass below.

  “Do you remember when we were her age?” I ask. “We were just the same.”

  “Except we were the fairies,” Sarabel laughs. “I think I still have the wings we made from Gaethon’s parchment tucked away.”

  “Oh, I had forgotten all about that!” I laugh. �
�He was so furious!” All those years ago, Sara and I had decided we needed proper wings to become fairies. I stole a sheaf of Uncle’s parchment from the table in the guild hall and tore it into pieces that were perfectly wing shaped. Sara had been delighted, and we ran through this very garden holding our wings out and flapping them and pretending to fly. It didn’t occur to us I had sacrificed a particularly difficult bit of my uncle’s research for our game until he found some of the discarded fragments of paper lying about the hall the next day. Uncle had been terrifyingly incensed with me. Thoughts of my uncle and his ruined parchment remind me of Rian and the hastily scrawled note he passed to me earlier. I remember what he wrote and I think of how odd it is to be reminded such an obscure legend as the fairies twice in one day.

  “What do you suppose got her thinking of them?” I ask as we settle on a bench beside the wall. I can barely see Margary in the distance where she continues to kneel at the hedge, seemingly in conversation with her own hand.

  “Eron read to her from a story book that Princess Amei brought from the Isles,” she replies. “It’s a rather old one with stories I’ve never heard before.”

  I press my palms flat against the surface of the bench at the mention of the prince to stop my hands from shaking.

  “Ah.” I manage. I’m not quick enough to hide my discomfort. Sara notices.

  “Azi, did Eron...?” She trails off.

  “No,” I say. I’m not really sure why I feel the need to defend him.

  “Good,” she replies. “He’s been acting so strangely lately.” Margy pops up beside us before I can ask what she means.

  “Twig said he’s not meeting you. Not yet,” she says. “Let’s go battle.”

  Sara grins at me over Margy’s shoulder.

  “All right,” I laugh.

  We spend the rest of the day happily diverted. We explore the gardens and have a picnic lunch under the trees. A page brings us some light training weapons made of wood and I play at swords with Margy. Sarabel even joins in, ignoring the disapproving gaze of their nurse, who obviously believes the princess is too grown to do anything remotely amusing. The sun hangs low in the sky when I’m finally sent on my way with hugs and a gift of a fairy house of my own which Margary has made for me from a dented silver pitcher.

  Chapter Four: Reconciliation of Grudges

  Rian greets me at the corner where the palace street meets the park promenade. His expression is shadowed as he offers me his hand. I take it as I tuck the bundle containing the princess’s gift under my arm, and he leads me into the forest park which stretches between the palace and the guild hall.

  “Why are we avoiding the road?” I ask. He turns slightly and taps his lips with one finger, reminding me of his earlier promise to keep silent. Our meeting at the bedroom wall feels like it was days ago with all that has happened since this morning. I want to tell him about Eron, but his decision to route through the forest distracts me. He quickens his pace and I grip his hand more tightly. When I peer through the passing trees, I catch glimpses of a crowd outside of the main door of our hall and I realize they must have made the proclamation for the quest already. It isn’t unusual for a crowd to gather to hear what the quest will be. My pulse quickens with excitement.

  “Is it Kythshire, like they thought?” I ask, but Rian keeps his silence. I’ll get no answers from him; he’s taking his promise to me very seriously. We manage to go unnoticed as we make a wide berth around those milling by the main doors. Their voices are meshed together, and we’re too far away to make out any details of the conversation. Rian leads me through the back door past the kitchens, where Mouli is shucking beans.

  “Hello, dear,” she says to me with a hint of pity. Before she or I can say anything else, Rian whisks me through to the corridor beyond.

  “Really, Rian! What is going on?” I jog to keep up with him. The hall is just ahead. I can hear the guild talking in hushed voices. When we reach the door, the conversation around the table stops abruptly. Everyone is here: Mya and Elliot, Mum and Dad, Brother Donal, Cort, Bryse, Uncle Gaethon. “What’s going on?” I ask again. Bryse clears his throat and looks away. My father meets my eyes apologetically and picks up a scroll from the table beside a box containing a glittering gold amulet. He hands the scroll to me, and I’m vaguely aware of my mother’s hand on my shoulder as I accept it and read it over. The parchment is so crisp and fresh when I unroll it I have to hold it smoothed onto the flat surface of the table to keep it from curling up again.

  THE KING’S QUEST

  RECONCILIATION OF GRUDGES

  IN HONOR OF THE MARRIAGE OF HIS ROYAL HIGHNESS PRINCE ERON

  TO HER ROYAL HIGHNESS PRINCESS AMEI

  It is the declaration of his Royal Majesty King Tirnon that select members of His Majesty’s Elite shall forge an alliance with select members of Redemption in order to strengthen and honor the kinship of the leading guilds of the Kingdom of Cerion.

  This newly allied company shall travel to Kythshire, where they will return a lost treasure, thereby Reconciling a Grudge trespassed upon its lands by the former King Diovicus before the Age of Peace.

  These members shall include:

  Sir Benen Hammerfel, His Majesty’s Elite

  Sir Lisabella Hammerfel, His Majesty’s Elite

  Lady Mya Eldinae, His Majesty’s Elite

  Elliot Eldinae of the Wood, His Majesty’s Elite

  Sir Darvonax Archomyn, Redemption

  Master Rikstarn Archomyn, Redemption

  Sister Maewyn of the First Order, Redemption

  Squire Hopeful Dacva Archomyn, Redemption

  Let the public announcement decree only that these members shall unite in solidarity to support the Throne of Cerion in a Quest of great risk and honor. The precise manner of the Quest shall be kept secret with the exception of guild members, so as to honor the high secrets of the Land of Kythshire. The new alliance shall make its plans and preparations in anticipation of the farewell procession in two days’ time.

  By Order of the King

  His Royal Majesty

  Tirnon Plethore

  I read it twice, three times, and four. I turn the page over but the back is blank. I read it again with a mix of understanding and disbelief. I’m not on the list. I’m not, and Dacva is. It isn’t supposed to be this way.

  “I don’t understand,” I whisper. This is supposed to be my first quest as a Squire. I should be riding out beside my guild and my family, off to risk myself on an adventure in the name of the king. I have been looking forward to this from the moment I first picked up a sword. I look to my mother and she shakes her head and looks down at the page. One glance at her somber expression is enough to show me she’s just as disappointed to be leaving me behind. “I don’t understand.” I say again but this time my voice is thick with emotion.

  “His Majesty has ordered us to ally with Redemption and travel to Kythshire. We’re to return a lost treasure to them that was stolen by King Diovicus before the Age of Peace starting with the Plethore dynasty. But the fact that we’re being sent to Kythshire is meant to be kept secret from the—“ Mya is interrupted by Bryse.

  “Crack the stone, Mya!” he curses. “She understands that part! Why’s she not on the list? Why are half of us off it for that matter?” Bryse slams the tabletop with his fist, causing half the guild to grab their cups.

  “I’m sure King Tirnon has his reasons,” my father interjects. “It’s not our place to question him. We must trust in His Majesty’s judgment.” We all know he’s right. We don’t need to agree or even understand. Our duty is to trust and to do as we’re bidden.

  “We can use the opportunity to mend our differences,” Mya says. “Perhaps it will help us to understand each other’s motives.”

  “Yes. Perhaps it will carry out as His Majesty hopes, and bring our guilds closer,” Master Gaethon presses his fingertips together thoughtfully. “But I must impress upon all of you who are going on this journey to remain cautious. Do not let down your
guard. And under no circumstances should you cross the border uninvited.”

  “That considered,” Mya rises and reaches for the proclamation, “if anyone who is on the list wishes to decline, I can write out a formal petition to remove you.” She looks up from the page, making eye contact first with my mother, then my father, and then her own husband, Elliot. Each one shakes his or her head in turn. They have a choice, and their choice is to do as the king bids them.

  “The ride to the border of Kythshire is at least a week, so pack accordingly.” Mya ticks down a list.

  “Silent beside me, Rian watches his mother lead the meeting. When he slips his hand into mine and squeezes it, I know what he’s thinking. In two days, we’ll both watch as our parents ride off alongside the only few people in the kingdom we all know can’t be trusted. I’m thankful, at least, he’ll be staying here with me.

  ***

  They left a week ago, and I’ve had little sleep. I kneel at my window, shivering from the damp morning breeze and my mind races constantly. I think about the hungry look in the eyes of Redemption’s members as they waved farewell to the crowds with our blue and gold banners flapping beside their red ones. I worry for my parents as I imagine them sleeping out in a dark forest camp along their journey, with Dar or Dacva sitting guard. I hope they’re not so trusting to allow themselves to sleep while Redemption takes watch.

  When I try to force my musings along another path, my thoughts almost always wander to my encounter with Prince Eron. I feel his rough hands on me and his hot breath in my ear, and that’s usually when I finally give up on the notion of sleep and slip out of bed to find some way to distract myself. This morning, I spend some time setting the Princess’s fairy pitcher on my windowsill and fixing the tiny bed she made from scraps of lace and feathers. When the first glow of dawn finally reaches my room, I stand up, stretch, and cross to the hatch to tap on the wall and wake Rian.