by Kate Kelley
Walking through the middle of the hall, she spotted a vacated table and took a seat. She felt every bit the outsider that she was. She wasn’t sure how to get a servant to notice her. In fact, she didn’t see any servants at all, and she thought of walking straight into the kitchen to serve herself. None of the important-looking people even glanced her way. Her eyes flitted around the room until she noticed a plump older woman dressed in a gray cotton gown and apron making her way with a platter of delicious looking food. Her gray hair was loosely piled on her head and an ivory bonnet was fitted and pinned on top. When she arrived at her table she nodded greeting, busily setting down and arranging her meal.
“Good Mornin’ deary. We have sweet buns and fresh fruit and cream this today as well as the breakfast ham. Do ye take tea or ale with yer meal, then?”
“Tea, please.” Pleasantly surprised, her mouth was salivating at the array of morsels in front of her. The maid nodded and poured the liquid into a thick mug. Steam rose from the cup and the herbal scent tinged the back of her throat. Lyra liked this rosy-cheeked maid. She felt trustworthy.
“Thank you kindly, ma'am.” The maid seemed to suddenly notice her fully, her small brown eyes washing over her face and hair. She looked around Lyra quickly as if expecting to see someone.
“You’re a newcomer. Have’n ya no waitin’ maid, miss?”
“No, I haven’t,” she admitted. She realized the maid was probably shocked that she wasn’t as rich as to afford a waiting maid.
“Blast! Excuse my language, miss.” She pinched her thin lips together and shook her head, “This palace don’ remember how to host properly anymore. I’ll fix this, dontcha worry, miss.” She winked at Lyra before bustling off again. Lyra inwardly shrugged, not caring if she had a lady’s maid or not. She dug into her meal, the buttery, yeasty flavor of the buns warming her tongue, the apples and pears refreshing her parched throat. She bit a large chunk of ham off, not minding that she looked like a heathen. Her body responded happily. She felt her energy returning. A quick sip of tea nearly burned her tongue but she didn’t mind.
A thin wisp of a girl with mousy brown hair and brown plain dress appeared to her left. Lyra jumped in surprise.
“Sorry, miss. I am to be your lady’s maid for the rest of your stay..if that be to your liking.’” The girl was painfully shy, her cheeks burning as she blurted the words.
“That’s lovely, thank you. What is your name?” The girl scrunched her eyes closed as if someone had rapped her on the head.
“My apologies, miss. I meant to tell you my name. It’s Poppilotta, miss.” The girl wrung her hands.
Lyra shook her head, pity overtaking her heart. “I’m Lyra. Poppi, have a seat. Join me.” She gestured to the food. The girl sat quickly but her eyes were wide.
“Oh, I couldn’t miss. It isn’t fitting. I ate in the servants quarters. Thank you, miss.” Lyra studied the girl in front of her. On second glance, Lyra noticed that she wasn’t a girl after all. It was an easy mistake to make, given her slight frame and tentative demeanor. But something in her eyes, and the strong bones of her face told Lyra she was a young woman. She was beautiful, too. She couldn’t have been more than twenty years old. Twenty-one, perhaps. Her accent revealed she was educated, even though she worked in service. Lyra concluded she must have been educated at a school.
Lyra ate until she was full to the brim, finishing her meal with two cups of tea. Poppi stared at her until Lyra realized she was being unladylike again. She wasn’t used to eating with other people.
“Poppi, do you happen to know where the library is?”
Poppi’s eyes lit up and she nodded. “I do, miss.”
Lyra stood. “Thank you. Then I must not keep the King waiting.”
Poppi’s face paled and her brown eyes widened at the mention of the King. She hurried in front of Lyra, leading the way. They wound through many doors and hallways until they reached a quiet corridor, their footsteps echoing along the marble floor until they reached a set of dark, doors with a heavy metal bar locked across it.
Lyra scowled and they looked at each other. “What is this for?” Lyra asked.
Poppi shook her head, “I’ve never seen it here before.” The girls started when a deep voice spoke behind them.
“It’s a lock bar. To keep people out.” Turning swiftly, they saw the King approaching, face grim and form towering over their heads. Poppi dropped to her knees and bowed low. The King passed without a glance at either of them. He came up to the door, his wide back blocking his manipulations. A booming click and metal-on-metal friction echoed through the corridor and the doors were swinging open.
Poppi was still on the floor.
Lyra turned to her before entering the library. “Thank you, Poppi.” Poppi hesitated before standing slowly, curtsying, and taking her leave.
The library was huge--much larger than the one in her village. Books lined every space on the twenty-foot high walls. The shelves were dark cherry and the walls were a deep ruby red. The vaulted ceiling was painted with depictions of the old gods. A rolling ladder was affixed to the tops of the highest shelves to help maneuver through and reach the higher shelves. The floor was made up of dark cherry wooden panels, polished until they shone in the morning sun shining through arched windows on the upper walls. Lyra spun in circles, taking in the magnitude of the room. She heard a throat clearing behind her. She had almost forgotten he was there.
“It is magnificent. Your reaction is expected, though I forget its grandure from time to time,” he said lightly. Lyra forced herself to look at him. His clothes were much the same as yesterday except his cloak was missing. He wore no cravat, coat, or robes. He was entirely too underdressed--for a King. Her eyes roamed over his impossibly wide shoulders and chest, contained within his dark blue shirt. The v at his neck revealed tanned, smooth skin. Normally long sleeves were tugged up to just under his elbows, stretching across his forearms. The shirt was untucked, falling around trim hips. Tight black breeches were stuffed into fine black leather boots. He was pure, dark male. She swallowed and met his gaze. His eyes were shielded behind a wayward lock of dark hair.
“We will convene in a private room,” he declared. Lyra followed his lead, the soft fall of their boots on cushioned thick carpet the only sound. They quickly reached a side door fitted with a crystal knob, opening to a cozy room with a few shelves of books, and a medium table fitted accented with cushioned chairs. A roaring fire was at the head of the room, a couple large pillows on the bear fur in front of it.
The lavishness never ends.
The room was very toasty, and the smallness of it didn’t help. Lyra fanned herself with her hand.
“Wine, to cool yourself?” The King gestured to a bar with various spirits that lined the wall underneath the modest sized window. Despite the sun shining in, shadows still filled the room. Seating herself at the table, she took the glass of blood red wine he offered her. Avoiding his gaze, she took a healthy sip and set it down. It was cold. She wondered how they cooled it.
She noticed he sat to her left instead of across from her and she could almost feel his body heat against her side. Taking another sip, she fanned herself again with her other hand and stared at the hand clutching his glass, swirling the dark honey-colored liquid. She guessed it was some type of liquor.
“How, uh, how did you sleep?” He broke the silence. His deep voice never failed to lift a reaction from her--a physical one. The King was speaking to me, casually. Glancing fleetingly his way, she replied, “Well,” she replied, “Which surprised me, after..my accident.” Mentally, she chastised herself for mentioning the incident again.
Gods, I’m stupid. I couldn't have just replied ‘fine.’
She didn't know why she seemed to speak so much in his presence. Her nerves were stretched taut. She wanted nothing more than to leave. He lifted the drink to his mouth again. Upon setting it down he replied, “I’m glad.”
“What will I be learning today?” She asked, cu
tting to the matter at hand.
“Well, I’m glad you are ready to begin.” He pulled a thick, leather bound book toward him, one that had been already placed in the center of the table. Lyra took another gulp of wine, eyeing the volume. It intimidated her, this ancient book. Like Edwin's books, they always did. She felt the tingle of the wine on her lips and frowned into her empty glass.
“I never take spirits normally. It's expensive. And it requires’’ a social life.” Warmth spread through her belly and down to her toes.
“Another?” he asked, one eyebrow quirked. He rose without waiting for a reply and returned with the glass tankard and poured more of the liquid into her glass.
“This is one of the most comprehensive volumes written on magic and the land. It is basic, but thorough. Let’s begin by reading this chapter.” The King watched as Lyra’s gaze drifted down to the book. Her goblet was empty but her face was in the book now, scanning the gold-leafed page, her mouth slightly open in wonder.
Auras and Earth: The Entwinement
As many know, Auras are entwined in the land, the ground we walk upon and the things that grow up from within. In the nourishment we consume from the land, in the peace we keep with the creatures of the forest and of the air and the sea, the cycle of seasons. The balance is delicate, and must be maintained from the bottom up. Servants and gentlefolk alike must obey the law of the Land, the flow stemming from Gem and the Royal family, extending from Gaia.
The Royal Throne is rooted in the Old Gods, namely Gaia. The Throne itself is not able to be physically altered or moved, deeply enmeshed in the land as it is. Some believe it was grown from Gaia’s seed when the Old Gods created the Earth.
The Gods wash and cleanse impurities from the earth, but the Terra Royalty keeps the earth and the very Aura itself pure and whole. Terra, Ursa, Gem.
Magic users must keep their tie to the land through feeling, practicing their magic, and visiting their elders. Most people carry magic within them, but as they aren't true mages, they can’t perform magic. These mages are known as dormant.
There are three types of mages, as listed below:
Fighter Mage: Animal like strength and speed, innate sense of battle and combat, strategy.
Ground Mage: healer/gardener(herbs, foods, potions)
Mind Mage: Discernment of truth; more powerful mages can read minds and see the past or future.
Royal Mage: All of the above, physical strength, power over the skies, and access to other realms.
Lyra sat the book down, her head full to bursting with new information. It wasn’t just the amount of information--she was a teacher, and reading was part of her day to day. But the type of information dizzied her. Magic was real. And it had been here a long time. It was part of the history of Terra. In fact, it was part of the land itself. The importance of the royal family dawned on her.
Lyra glanced sideways at Terrin.
“Are you a magic user? You have--”
“Royal mage.” It was a matter-of-fact answer.
Lyra took a deep breath. “Of course. And what exactly can you do?”
“I have a mixture of all the abilities. Mind, Ground, Fighter. As a royal, I also have a fluid connection to the earth. I can draw strength from the land and use magic. I can heal quickly and grow life, affect the weather...”
Terrin’s face swayed for a moment before her eyes. Change the weather? A giggle escaped her lips and she clamped her hand over her mouth. Terrin’s eyebrows dove low over his eyes.
Maybe I shouldn’t have had that second glass of wine.
“What do you find humorous?”
Lyra forced her face to a neutral expression before replying.
“Nothing, your grace. I just...I’m not used to drinking such...fine wine.”
Terrin eyes betrayed a smidge of humor, but his mouth remained relaxed.
“Have you guessed what your magic is?” His voice was low and patient.
“You truly think I have an Aura?” She shook her head, staring at the table in front of her.
“Not just that you carry Aura, but that you are a true mage. I wouldn’t call that episode in the throne room anything else but magic.” His tone was light, but serious. After a few seconds of silence, he gave her the answer.
“You are a mind mage, like your brother. A powerful one, I believe.” He stared into her eyes, searched her face for a reaction.
Lyra closed her eyes tight. Nothing made sense.
Five days ago I was safe in Edwin’s arms, I was busy teaching children, and picking fruit and now I’m sitting in an intimate room with the King of Terra, discussing my supposed magical abilities.
“Lyra, did anyone ever talk to you about magic before? Did Alec ever...mention his abilities?”
“Never. He never told me anything.” Thanks to you. She bit down on the last retort.
Terrin’s eyes roamed her face before answering.
“He's a mind mage too. A powerful one. And I suspect you are just now coming into your own power. You've passed twenty-five years, yes?”
Lyra flinched. For some reason it stung that he could tell that she was a spinster. “My birthday is tomorrow,” was her clipped response. Heat flooded her face and she pretended to examine her nails.
“And I do have a beau,” she blurted. The remark slipped out and she silently cursed her tongue. For some reason she hadn’t been able to keep her emotions in check since she got here. But she was also feeling the full effects of the wine now.
Terrin raised a bored eyebrow at her. “The only reason I ask is that magic takes time to develop. Usually it manifests more quickly in men. In women, we have seen a more powerful growth of magic after the 25th year.”
“So for Alec, his magic came around his fourteenth birthday? That's when you took him away from us.”
“Yes, that's correct.” Terrin looked away, bemused.
“So, we're the only mind mages in the land?”
Terrin shook his head. “There are a handful more. I keep them in Gem, nearby.”
Lyra breathed deeply to steady the bubbling rage.
“But you said Alec was..the most powerful one?”
Terrin glanced sharply at her.
“He was--is--my best mage.”
Lyra shook her head, at a loss. “Why do you need my help? It’s obvious I have no idea what I'm doing.”
He contemplated her. “You're powerful as well. It runs through your veins; I can feel it. Alec even hinted at the possibility of your magic being powerful. That vision you had in the throne room was proof. That normally takes years to master. As a fledgling, you're extraordinary.” His eyes were roaming her face again, as if trying to find where she kept her power hidden. Embarrassed, Lyra glanced away, her face flushing again.
A tense moment later, he spoke again, quietly.
“I feel you're the key to finding my sister--and your brother.”
“And how long will that take? A year? More?”
He lowered his eyes. “I can't know that. But we were close, before--”
Lyra shook her head slowly, as if ridding herself of his explanations.
“I won't be here for long. I won't be here, doing your bidding, for gods know how long. You have experienced--mages--to help you. I--I have a life back home!”
A smirk washed over Terrin’s face. “Oh, yes, the beau.”
“Yes! As much as it may shock you, I have someone who is waiting for me, and I'm not going to let you enslave me here to serve your every whim, leaving him home to only wonder whether I’m alive or dead!” Adrenaline rushed through Lyra's limbs and she jumped up from her chair, suddenly desperate to leave the small, warm room. Her hand was on the handle of the door when her arm was suddenly seized, spinning her until her back slammed against the door. Terrin moved at lightning speed, boxing her in with arms on either side of her head.
“You don't have a choice.” His voice was deep, a wisp of electricity passing through it. His slate gray eyes bore into hers as a muscle
bunched in his jaw.
Lyra gasped. “I knew you couldn't be trusted. I knew this would end badly.” She couldn’t keep the scorn out of her of tone. Hatred coursed through her veins, an uncontrollable roil through her entire body. Thunder rumbled in the distance.
Lyra took a deep breath, contemplating her next move. When she did, she breathed in his scent, a mixture of wet earth and mint. The smell of him was like a bolt through her body, and she didn't quite understand her reaction. A shudder racked through her and her jaw relaxed. Visions of smoky mountains and summer rain danced in her head. The heat emanating from his body warmed her own skin through her thin dress, causing a layer of goosebumps to wash her skin, and hardening her nipples.
She fixated on the base of his throat, and noticed his pulse was coming fast. Her eyes moved up his neck, to his strong jaw, before finally resting again on his penetrating stare. She was surprised to see that his gaze was unfocused, almost glazed over, and were fixating on her mouth. She involuntarily parted her lips. Terrin’s jaw ticked and he flicked his eyes back up to hers.
Lyra swore his body moved a fraction closer to her own. She itched to bring her hands to his body, feel the muscular shoulders, the rough stubble on his jaw, the velvet glide of his lips under her thumb.
Terrin pushed away from the door, backing up a couple paces. Shuddering an exhale, she clenched her hands tightly, feeling the acute absence of his warmth.
What is wrong with me?
When he spoke, his voice was a tightly constrained growl. “We”ll meet again tomorrow morning. Throne room. We're going to need a third mage to control the environment. Your magic is unharnessed, immature. Your...emotions are too strong.”
She almost growled in return. “I told you, I'm not to be ordered about as if I have no choice of my own--”
