The Ryn (Eyes of E'veria)

by Serena Chase

  Rose clutched the arms of her chair, feeling as if the bottom had just dropped out of the world through her stomach.

  “Drinius was with the King and Queen at Holiday Palace when your mother’s pains began,” Alaine continued. “He had just assigned a fresh patrol and was on his way to join Gladiel in guarding the royal chambers when he discovered a lone Cobeld had breached the palace. They fought and Drinius inflicted a mortal wound, but the Cobeld was slow to die. Its final words revealed the curse it had delivered, through a hair of its beard dropped in the very cup that was bound for your mother’s lips. Drinius tried to reach Daithia in time to warn her, but—”

  Alaine’s voice caught on a shard of memory. A moment later she took a deep, shaking breath and continued. “The labor was unexpectedly fast for the birth of her first child and you were already delivered and being cleaned and swaddled by the physician when the cup reached Daithia’s hands.” She took a breath. “Daithia saw the hair before she took her first sip. When she reached in the cup to remove it, her skin touched the hair of the Cobeld’s beard and she received the curse.”

  Rose swallowed. Her mind spun. If Queen Daithia was her mother, that meant . . .

  When she spoke, her words came out as if lamed by a punch to the gut. “She died.”

  “Yes, but not right away as the rumors have claimed.” Alaine took another breath. “Cobeld curses are specific in their intent. Daithia was supposed to have ingested the curse through the tea. In that way, the Cobeld intended for her to pass it to the child within her womb, allowing one cursed hair of his beard to kill both the Queen and the heir. In that specificity, the curse was foiled. She didn’t drink the tea, but the curse touched her, and for Daithia, the end result was the same. She did not die instantly, but she did die. You survived because the curse never touched you.”

  Tears rolled down Alaine’s cheeks as if from a bottomless fount.

  But what should I be feeling? Rose wondered. Grief? Wonder? Relief? Numbed by shock, she could lay claim to no emotion of her own but sympathy—and that for her aunt’s distress.

  Alaine wiped her eyes. “King Jarryn gave orders and within a matter of hours you were aboard a ship on your way to me. Your father believed that the only way to keep you safe was to make the Cobelds believe you perished from the curse. To accomplish that, he hid you away. But that decision has had its own consequences.”

  Rose blinked. “What do you mean?”

  “Other than the grief you’ve both suffered from being apart? The Cobelds target young women with red hair. And it weighs heavily on your father’s heart.”

  “But it’s not his—” She paused to swallow. “He’s not the one who wrote that poem, is he?”

  “No,” Julien spoke up. “Lady Anya recorded the prophecy. The Cobelds fear the King will remarry and they don’t want to take a chance on another red-haired queen, and eventually, an heir.”

  Rose’s mind swirled. There was too much about this conversation she wasn’t yet able to digest.

  “You have waited a long time to know the truth,” Alaine said softly. “And I must admit that it is a relief to finally tell it. All that’s left,” she said slowly, “is for you to accept who you are.”

  All her life, Rose had longed to know who her father was, but now that she had been told, could she believe it?

  “It’s true.” Alaine nodded. “Your father is King Jarryn. Your mother was Queen Daithia.” She paused for a breath. “And you, my precious girl, are Princess Rynnaia E’veri.”

  Rose sat as if frozen, staring at her aunt, weighing this new information against her known history.

  It was absurd, wasn’t it? Yet it made perfect sense.

  The taste of truth was entirely new to her experience. A fresh feeling sizzled through her blood, like that of a waif on the verge of starvation, who for years had been given only food enough to sustain life, but was now seated at a banquet.

  “Rynnaia,” she whispered. “My name is Rynnaia . . . E’veri?”

  An explosion of color and light stole her vision. It coursed through her blood, unlocking something in her mind that had teased her senses, unknown, for the whole of her life. She felt its release as surely as she knew it had been waiting within her all along.

  Vibrant color overwhelmed her thoughts. Deep patterns washed over her being like a thick, warm wave. The very air surrounding her became embodied with a richer texture and a sweeter aroma. Even the silence of the room held layered planes of newness within it.

  Gradually her vision cleared, though she knew nothing would ever look the same to her again.

  “My name isn’t Rose.”

  Alaine shook her head.

  “My father is . . .” She squeezed her eyes shut. “No. This is wrong.”

  “It’s the truth,” Alaine repeated. “Your father is King Jarryn and you, my dear, are the Ryn.”

  “The Ryn?” Rose had never heard the word before, but something about it rang within her soul.

  Rose looked from her aunt to the knight. Julien’s face was pale, but his expression held something more than shock. Was it . . . hope?

  A giddy sort of laughter built within her chest, the kind that results from too little sleep and too much grief. She shook her head. Blinked. And, with barely enough breath to accomplish it, she barked out a laugh. “My father is the King of E’veria.” She pulled in a breath, and then she laughed and laughed until the sound drew nearer to panic than relief.

  Tears coursed down her cheeks, and just as suddenly as the hysteria had come upon her, she stilled. Her voice dropped to a whisper. “My father is the King of E’veria.” And with that statement, that . . . acceptance . . . she found her voice.

  “My name is not Rose. My name is Rynnaia E’veri.”

  PART II: RYNNAIA

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  It may have been shock that allowed me to sit so still and silent as I digested the knowledge I’d craved for so long.

  “Rynnaia E’veri.” I tasted the foreignness of the name. Amidst the fear clawing in my chest, I savored the way that saying it, even in a whisper, made my vision swirl in a cacophony of color.

  It was my name now. It had always been my name. But even though something deep within me exulted to finally receive it as my own, a big part of me—my entire history, in fact—was, in that instant, lost.

  Who am I? Panic strangled my breath. I’m not Rose. I’m not a cast-off. I’m . . . a princess?

  It was laughable, really. Me? The daughter of the King?

  I’d been told that my father was a knight and therefore had always thought of him in those terms. To me, he was a nameless stranger, an indifferent knight who dictated my life from afar. But he’s not just some mysterious knight. He’s the King!

  Rynnaia. The name rolled around in my brain, seeking a foothold. Not Rose. Rynnaia. Color after color assaulted my mind, clearer than they’d ever been. This is real, I thought. This is who I am. This is true. The intensity of colors shocked and dizzied me to the point that I was barely aware of Aunt Alaine and Sir Julien’s presence in the room, yet the colors brought with them a sort of calming assurance.

  I am Rynnaia E’veri. Somehow I knew that I had to claim that name as my own. I had to step away from the familiar and into the role appointed to me.

  Suddenly, the room felt bigger, as if the whole world had shrunk to fit within it. My knees trembled as I stood. “My name is not Rose,” I said. “My name is Rynnaia E’veri!”

  The name felt strangely right on my tongue. Entirely mine, as if to call myself “Rose” again would be an error of taxonomy. The shift overwhelmed me, yet left me undeniably pacified. The colors settled to a more comfortable state in my mind and I became, once again, aware of my surroundings.

  It wasn’t until a sob released from my throat that I realized I was crying.

  I could not stop the tears, and as I looked through bleary eyes at Aunt Alaine I felt her pain, as fresh and raw as if her sister had just died. I had to look away, overcom
e by the grief emanating from my aunt’s eyes, so that I might allow myself to claim the grief this knowledge had made mine.

  Aunt Alaine moved to sit beside me. She pulled me into her embrace.

  “I made a vow to my King,” she said. “It was my sister’s dying request.” Her voice was just above a whisper. “Even though it was for your own good, the weight of this deception has been such a burden upon you. Upon all of us.” She took a shaking breath. “I never dreamed it would carry on this long. Please forgive me.”

  “Of course,” I said. How could I hold it against her? Would I expect her to gainsay the order of the King?

  Aunt Alaine released her hold on me and took a step back. “Oh!” Her hand fluttered to her lips. “Oh, of course.”

  I turned to follow the direction of her gaze. All I could see through my tears was the glimmer of firelight reflected on a shiny surface. I wiped my eyes and blinked away the moisture.

  The shiny surface was Sir Julien’s sword, laid flat across his palms. And directly behind it was the knight himself, kneeling and offering it to me.

  “Julien?” I croaked. “What are you doing?”

  “By charge of Rynloeft,” he said, “and by my sworn duty as a knight of E’veria, I vow my sword, my fealty, and my service to you, Princess Rynnaia, with all that I am and for all of my life.”

  The Knight’s Oath.

  I’d heard the vow spoken before, but never had it sent such a crackling of truth through my blood. With a motion I could hardly claim as my own, I took Julien’s sword and raised it above my head.

  “Julien de Gladiel, I accept your sword, your fealty, and your service. On behalf of my fallen mother, my father, King Jarryn, and the Kingdom of E’veria, I thank you for your sacrifice and the honor you give me by the words of this vow.”

  Where did that come from? The words were not my own and the action was equally as foreign, but somewhere deep within me I knew it was exactly right.

  Who was this person—this princess—who knew the right thing to do and the correct words to say? The answer came like a thought, a whisper breathed upon my soul:

  You are the Ryn.

  As I lowered the sword back into Julien’s outstretched hands, I looked deeply into his emerald eyes. Were they greener than they’d been but a moment ago? Or were they simply more beautiful now for the hope that surged within them?

  Julien took his sword and returned it to its sheath, but remained on one knee. “Your Highness, I pledge to you my friendship, as well,” he said, “as it has flowed between our families for generations.”

  “And I mine, to you.”

  Again, words came from whence I knew not, but I meant them, just the same. A strange stirring at my breast increased the speed at which the edges of the room began closing in. The last thing I remembered was the floor rising up to meet me.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  “Wake up, Rose!” Lily’s impatient voice swept through my troubled dreams. “Come awake, now. Your first official day as the Crown Princess of E’veria and you faint in a heap!” She laughed.

  It wasn’t a dream.

  Assaulted by smelling salts, I gagged and pushed my cousin’s hand away from my face. “Ach! Stop. I’m awake. Ohhh,” I groaned and held my aching head, “but I wish I wasn’t.”

  “I brought breakfast.” Her singsong voice grated against my skull, but my stomach rumbled in response to the announcement. “You slept all through the evening and night.”

  I pushed myself into a sitting position, surprised to find myself in bed.

  Across the room, Sir Julien sat by the fire, a small looking glass propped on the table against a stack of books and a razor blade in his hand. He turned and I couldn’t stop the sharp intake of breath from sounding.

  The long, full beard was gone, leaving only a triangle of short-trimmed dark blond whiskers around his lips and covering his chin.

  When Julien smiled, I almost wondered if Lily would need to use the smelling salts on me again.

  “Perhaps I should introduce myself, since this is the first time you’ve actually seen my face.” He chuckled and stood. “Sir Julien de Gladiel.” He bowed. “At your service, Your Highness.”

  Behind me, Lily giggled.

  “Princess Rynnaia,” he said, “I am pleased to report that I’ve just completed my first act of valor in your honor.”

  I almost flinched at the way he addressed me, but his tone was formal to the point of being ridiculous, and the humor of it, accentuated by the light that danced in his eyes, would not allow me to dwell on the strangeness of my new name.

  “Speak then, knight,” I exaggerated my aunt’s careful elocution. “I will hear your report.”

  “As you can see by peering in this cask of dishonor,” Julien said, gesturing to a bucket that was filled with the dark blonde fluff and whiskery remains of that which had covered his face, “I have vanquished the beast that dared to impose upon your hospitality.”

  “A beast, you say?” Our repartee released a deep tension I hadn’t even felt building since leaving Mirthan Hall. Although Lily was quick to laugh when I teased, neither she nor Aunt Alaine ever instigated a jest. Now engaged in such sport with Julien, I realized just how sorely I’d missed the affectionate words of play that had been a daily, if not hourly occurrence in Veetri.

  “Indeed,” he nodded gravely. “A most foul beast.”

  I wasn’t sure how to answer. Julien had been handsome even with the full beard. But without it he was utterly . . .

  “He doesn’t look like a bear so much now, does he, Princess?” Lily’s voice came from behind me, where she had moved to fluff the pillows. “And you’re quite right. He is, indeed, even more handsome without the beard.”

  “Li-ly!” I gasped.

  She’d never admitted to being able to see into my thoughts before. Had she been able to all along? And why had she never told me?

  “I can’t believe you never told me you could see my thoughts! So you sneak into my head without permission? Is that not bad enough? Must you comment on my thoughts as well?” With every sentence the volume of my voice increased. “If I’d wanted Julien to know I thought him handsome, I would have told him myself!”

  Lily moved in front of me, grabbed my shoulders, and looked into my eyes. Although her mouth did not open, I heard her laugh. I’ll stay out of your head if you stay out of mine! I’m not the one saying embarrassing things aloud! You are.

  I gasped and scooted away from her. “What is happening to me?”

  “Princess Rynnaia?” Julien took a step forward. “Lady Lily?”

  Lily’s hand softly touched my shoulder. Her look of mirth turned instantly to one of compassion.

  “Rose, I’m so sorry,” she spoke aloud. “This is a lot for you to take in all at once. The Bear-knight, the Cobeld, the truth of who you are, and the release of your Andoven abilities . . . it would overwhelm anyone!”

  “What do you mean, my Andoven abilities?” I asked. “I’m not Andoven!”

  “Well, of course you are!” Lily sat down beside me. “Mother didn’t tell you?” I shook my head. “Oh. Well, I suppose there was quite a lot to tell. And you did faint, after all. She must not have had time.”

  “Well?”

  “In addition to being the Ryn, you’re Andoven, too. Your abilities are much stronger than mine or my mother’s. There are Andoven ties on both sides of your family.”

  “But—”

  “You see colors now, right?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “That’s part of it. Mother says your parents put a guard of sorts on you. They somehow cloaked your Andoven abilities so they couldn’t be released until you knew your true name.”

  “How?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t think my mother does, either. But then again, like we’ve told you before, our Andoven abilities are weak. We’ve never been trained to use our own abilities, other than the knowledge that’s passed down from parent to child. Each generation’s gi
fts are a bit weaker than the one before. We’re not like you. We’ve never even visited Tirandov Isle.”

  “And you think I have?”

  “Not yet, but I bet you will someday. Mother says your father visits the Andoven at Tirandov at least once a year.” Lily paused. “You know, I always thought it a bit odd. Although Mother and I share our thoughts fairly easily, I could never read her thoughts about you. She always kept her guard up, but it slipped the night Sir Julien came.”

  “What do you mean, her guard slipped?”

  “Hmm. How to explain . . .” Lily squinted at the wall, as if the answer were written there. “We see colors, and in them, are able to interpret emotion. By focusing our minds on one particular color, that which lacks color—”

  “Black?”

  “No,” Lily shook her head. “More like gray, I’d say. By pulling the gray to us, around our thoughts, we can block them from each other’s Andoven abilities.”

  “Oh.”

  “But in that moment, when my mother’s guard dropped and the grayness slipped away, the truth was revealed and I knew that you were not just my cousin, but, in fact, the Ryn. It was quite a shock,” she admitted, “but when it was your turn to sit with Sir Julien, Mother told me everything that I might assist her in keeping you safe.”

  She took a step toward the door. “I should leave you to break your fast.”

  Lily exited the bedroom. When she was out of sight, her voice found my mind as clearly as if she were standing at my side. If you need anything, I’m here.

  I was glad Julien’s back was turned, because I startled a bit violently. I’m sorry! Lily said. You’ll adapt to your abilities soon. I’m sure of it.

  While his back was turned, I threw off the blanket and found my feet. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. When I looked up, Julien was holding one of the chairs for me. I moved to take a seat.

  “Are you feeling better?” he asked.