The Ryn (Eyes of E'veria)
Page 22
Julien’s lip twitched. “I have a feeling it won’t be as easy to vanquish our foe as you seem to think, Erielle.” His smile dimmed. “Not at all.”
A shiver traveled up my spine. “These scrolls you found,” I said. “What do they say?”
“I don’t know. None of us can read them.”
“Weren’t they written by Lady Anya?”
“It’s possible,” Julien said. “They look old, to be sure. But they couldn’t have survived where they were hidden for two hundred years.”
“Don’t listen to him,” Erielle said and wrinkled her nose. “It has to be her. The handwriting is identical.”
“Then why can’t you read it?”
“Almost all of it is written in the Ancient Voice,” Erielle explained. “Few are able to translate it. For all we know it could also be encoded somehow, though I can’t imagine why.”
I’d read the King’s letter, which was encoded. Perhaps . . . “Maybe I could—”
“No.” Julien shook his head. “Absolutely not.”
“Julien.” Lady Gladiel’s brow arched to match the warning in her tone. “Before you issue an order to our lovely guest you may want to consider that you do so to the Ryn.”
“Indeed.” Erielle grinned. “Indeed you should consider that, big brother.”
Julien’s lips pressed together. His eyes narrowed on his mother and sister. A moment later, he turned. “My apologies, Princess Rynnaia,” he said finally. “I only have your safety in mind. I meant no offense.”
“And none was received,” I assured them all. “This is all so new to me. Please, tell me more about the scrolls.”
“There isn’t much more to tell.” Erielle said. “She wrote them. I found them. You’re taking them to Tirandov Isle.” She shrugged. “I guess we just have to hope that the Andoven are able to figure out the translation.” She sighed. “I wish I could come with you,” she said under her breath, but I caught each word as surely as did the other members of our party.
“A little over a hundred years ago there was a terrible fire at Fyrlean Manor,” Lady Gladiel picked up the subject. “No copies of the scrolls had ever been made and there was no record of their existence other than family lore. The scrolls were believed to have been destroyed. Erielle, however, discovered their existence on one of her recent excursions.”
“Excursions?” Julien snorted, but his eyes twinkled with warmth. “I believe exploits would be a more appropriate word.” He turned toward me. “My sister refuses to play the part society has assigned her. She’s a trouble-finder, make no mistake. It is mischief itself that calls her from her bed each morning.”
“And it is most excellent that I have the habit of answering, don’t you agree, Princess?” Erielle grinned. “Being as my mischief-making resulted in discovering the scrolls.”
I laughed. “Indeed.” Julien acquiesced with a nod.
“I was blessed with two wonderful knights for brothers,” Erielle said. “They indulged me enough in my youth that I am not often content to be idly lady-fying my way through life.”
“In your youth?” I laughed. “How old are you now?”
Her chin lifted slightly. “I will pass my seventeenth birthday midsummer.”
“I meant no offense. After all, I’m not that much older than you. I’ll mark my nineteenth birthday next month.” An idea suddenly sprang to mind. “Erielle, when I first saw you I thought you were a boy.”
A subtle shift in her jaw was the only tell that revealed her offense. I hurriedly added, “But as soon as I saw your face I was disabused of the notion. You’re much too pretty to be a boy.”
She flushed, but her pleasure at the compliment seemed guarded. Odd.
“But it is thanks to your happy disregard of convention that I have an idea that might help to safeguard my passage to Dynwatre.”
Julien sat forward in his chair.
I took a breath and addressed them all. “Would you be opposed to disguising a princess as a boy if it would help to ensure her safety?”
They all looked at me, silent, with expressions caught somewhere between thoughtful and appalled.
“The Ryn Lady is the Cobeld’s enemy, correct?” I added. “Wouldn’t they be less likely to attack a boy?”
“No one is safe these days,” Julien said grimly.
“But I’d be a mite safer without that pesky prophecy hanging over my head, wouldn’t I?”
“You sound like a Storyteller.” Erielle giggled. “But it’s a good idea.”
“Do you really think she could pass as a boy?” Julien’s look was as incredulous as his tone. “Look at her! She’s—”
“Yes, Julien?” Erielle prodded, a smile pulling the corner of her mouth up. “She’s . . . ?”
“Well, she’s . . . a princess!” He sputtered.
“I suppose Gerrias might have some old breeches we could take in.” Lady Gladiel tapped her finger against the rim of her cup.
“I don’t think it will work.” Julien shook his head.
Erielle wrinkled her nose. “I do it all the time!”
“Exactly!”
The sound that ushered forth from Erielle’s mouth was full of offense. “And what, dear brother, is that supposed to mean?”
“Erielle. Julien,” Lady Gladiel interrupted. “Manners, please. We have a guest.”
When color flushed Julien’s cheeks I had to bite my tongue to keep from laughing.
“My apologies again, Princess Rynnaia.”
“Mine as well,” Erielle said with a sigh. “Forgive us?”
“Of course. But to be truthful, your banter only makes me feel more at home. Such was the way of things at Mirthan Hall, when my brothers were home.”
We talked then for some time about my years in Veetri, but too soon our time came to an end.
Before she took her leave Erielle promised to search out some of her brother’s old clothing. “I don’t know what we will do to alter it, since we can’t allow the staff to see you,” she said. “This is the first time that I ever wished I had learned to sew!”
“I may not yet know how to wield a sword,” I answered, “but I am reasonably adept at wielding a needle and thread. I don’t doubt that I can sufficiently alter a pair of breeches, though I will need help with the measuring, if you don’t mind.”
“By your leave then, Your Highness,” she said with a wink and a curtsy.
“I look forward to your return.”
Aunt Alaine and Lily ate supper with me that night and, afterward, they assisted me with the alterations to the clothes Erielle had delivered.
Erielle returned in the morning and I sought her opinion on the altered shirt and breeches.
Her eyes clouded a bit as she looked at me. “You’re built much more womanly than I am.” She gestured to the subtlety of her own curves. “Maybe Julien was right. Even with boys’ clothes it’s quite obvious you’re female.”
I turned to the looking glass and scowled. “We’ll just have to find a way to camouflage that, I guess. Then all we have to worry about is my hair.”
“I have an idea about that.” Erielle’s gaze moved from my head to my feet and back to my face. “But your eyes will be remembered by anyone who looks your direction.” She paused and set down the small box she had carried in with her. “This is my mother’s,” she said. She opened the box and withdrew something black. “It’s a hairpiece.”
“It’s black.” I tried to picture it on Lady Gladiel with her fair hair and olive complexion.
“Yes. And it looks absolutely wretched on her. You, however,” Erielle squinted at me, “could probably make it work.”
“Why would your mother buy a black hairpiece?”
Erielle shrugged. “Who knows? But she was happy to donate it to your cause. It’s never been worn outside Fyrlean Manor.” Her eyes sparkled. “Well, not by my mother, anyway.”
My eyebrows lifted.
“I may have found the occasion to borrow it once or twice.”
“You used to have black hair?” One blonde eyebrow arched severely upward. “How is that?”
I groaned. “It’s a long story.” While we worked on my hair, I gave her the short version.
Finally, I pulled the hairpiece over my braids and looked in the glass. “Well, the problem of my hair is sorted.” I slipped a squire’s cap over my head. “From the neck up, I look like a boy. But what can we do about,” I looked down at my chest and hips, “this?”
Erielle pursed her lips. She paced to the tub and came back with a grin . . . and a towel. “I have an idea.”
She wrapped the thick towel tightly around my chest and torso, doubling it over around my waist region to give the allusion of thickness. Using the chalk we had employed when measuring the pants for alteration, she made marks at various locations where fasteners would need to be sown to hold the towel in place. Tucking the end of the towel into itself, Erielle helped me put the breeches and shirt back on over the improvised camouflage.
She stepped back. “Excellent!” Then she scowled. “Except for one thing. Wait here.” Gathering her skirts, Erielle ran out of my chamber through Julien’s adjoining room. Within a few moments she returned, holding a pair of spectacles.
“Put these on,” she said. “I’ve been saving these to use for one of my own adventures, but you need them more than I do.”
When I placed them on my nose I was surprised that I was able to see out of them clearly.
“I had the lenses replaced with a slightly gray tinted glass the last time I was in Salderyn,” she explained. The room did look slightly darker.
A knock sounded on the door between my room and Julien’s.
“He said it couldn’t be done.” A mischievous spark lit her eyes.
“There’s only one way to find out if we’ve succeeded!” I grinned. “Hide!”
After having spent so much time together I thought it unlikely that Julien would be fooled by my disguise, especially since this was my room. After all, who else would be here?
But I was Veetrish enough that I was unable to pass up the opportunity for a good prank.
The knock came more insistently. I wasn’t sure what to do. If I answered, I would spoil the ruse, so I stayed silent.
The handle turned and the door began to open. “Princess? You aren’t reading, are you?”
Julien peered into the room. His eyes widened, and before I could speak, his sword was drawn and my back was pressed against the wall.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Julien’s left arm pressed against my neck, lifting my chin. His blade rested between us at my ribs.
Erielle stepped out from behind the drapery, already laughing. “Julien, it’s her. Now put your sword down. You’ve scared poor Rynnaia half to death!”
“Rynnaia?” A hairsbreadth of a moment later the blade was swept away from my person and he stepped back.
I couldn’t speak. My mouth was dry and my pulse had returned at a furious clip. I pulled the cap and hairpiece from my head, wincing as the pins fought against me. Lastly I whipped the spectacles from my face.
Julien exhaled and I felt the release of his anger the moment it transferred its focus to his sister.
“What were you thinking?” he hissed. “Attempting something like this without warning me? How could you be so foolish? She is the Ryn, Erielle. The Ryn!” He sheathed his sword with such force that I flinched. “I could have killed her!”
The color drained from Erielle’s face. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think—”
“Exactly!” He growled. “You didn’t think! As usual, you did whatever your impulsive nature led you to without first calculating the risk.”
Erielle’s eyes pooled with tears. Her shoulders drooped. She lowered her head and a drop of wetness splashed on to her shirt.
“Julien, this is my fault.” I rested my hand on his arm. “I-I thought it might be fun to surprise you. I didn’t think the disguise would fool you, but—”
But it had fooled him.
It had one-hundred percent fooled him!
I couldn’t contain my smile. “But it did. It worked! And if it worked on you, it will work on anyone!”
Julien’s exhale sounded as if he’d been holding his breath for a week. He ran one hand through the thickness of his blond curls, but remained silent. The moments stretched with him neither speaking nor meeting my eyes.
Finally, I moved my gaze back to Erielle, but her eyes were riveted on my hands. A slow smile transferred the dread on her face to a grin.
I looked down.
Both my hands now rested between Julien’s. “Please, Princess Rynnaia,” his voice was low. Soft. Almost pained. “Please do not attempt to surprise me again. It nearly cost you your life.” He paused and the tiniest bit of light lifted the corner of his mouth by way of his eyes. “And I have no wish to die at the tip of your father’s sword.”
His eyes closed for a moment then turned to his sister. “Erielle, I’m sorry. You were trying to help the princess and I hurt you. Please forgive me.”
“Of course.” Erielle pressed her lips together as if trying to suppress laughter. “I have to go. Excuse me.” She dipped the fastest curtsy I had ever seen and ran out of the room.
Our hands separated without losing contact. Instead, they shifted as he stepped back so that my left was in his right, my right in his left. Our fingers curved, remaining connected as he appraised my costume.
“It was dangerous to surprise me like that,” he said as a smile tugged at one corner of his mouth, “so please don’t do it again. But you and my rapscallion of a sister have managed to solve the biggest obstacle to our course.”
When he released my fingers they tingled at the loss.
“I hadn’t thought to take on a squire yet,” he said, “but now that I have, I must endeavor to name him.” Amusement colored his words. “What shall we call you, boy? It must be something befitting a future knight, but also something that does justice to your remarkable transformation.”
“And something that, should you accidentally call me by the wrong name, will be easily covered over,” I added.
“That makes it more difficult,” he said. “Any name with the word ‘ryn’ in it would be a dead giveaway. By ancient law, none but an E’veri heir can claim that word.”
Julien clasped his hands behind his back and walked to the bookshelf. He pulled down a thick volume and rifled through it. “Ah-ha!” he exclaimed after a few moments. “Since your Veetrish accent becomes more pronounced when you are being pranksome and impish,” he said, “then you must hail from Veetri. You shall be known as Rozen de Morphys!”
I laughed. The story Julien cited was a rarely told tale, but one that I, having lived with a Master Storyteller for a good portion of my life, knew well. In the story, Morphio the Mage transformed a young prince into an ugly caterpillar as punishment for his extreme vanity. After several brushes with both death and disgust, the prince learned his lesson, and with a little help from the mage, turned into a beautiful butterfly before resuming his natural form.
“Well, it’s not a variation of your real name, but you might answer to it better.”
“You flatter me, Sir Julien,” I said with another laugh. “For this wormish creature before you could not be confused with a butterfly.”
“I agree that the comparison is less than accurate.” Julien closed the book and returned it to its place on the shelf. “But not for that reason.”
When he turned back to me, the warmth of his smile—nay, the heat of it—reached the core of my being.
“Indeed, Princess Rynnaia,” he said, “I’ve never seen a butterfly that could hope to match your beauty.”
I ducked my head as color burned hot on my cheeks.
Julien covered the distance between us, and placing two fingers gently under my chin, tilted my face upward. “You are unacc
ustomed to compliments,” he said. “Perhaps you’ve been secluded from male company for too long. You are unaware of how lovely you are.”
The familiar emerald and gold of his thoughts caressed my own. His fingers dropped from my chin and he stepped back. His colors faded from my mind as his tone grew more formal. “Therefore, I must endeavor to ready you for the onslaught of admirers that will, no doubt, darken your father’s door after he presents you to the court.”
“An onslaught?” I laughed. “You make it sound as if I’ll be set upon by bandits.”
“It may very well be bandits who seek your favor, though they won’t appear as such at court. Princess,” he paused, looking both slightly uncomfortable and entirely ferocious at the sound of his own words, “there could be many men who, upon hearing of your survival, will seek to be the next King.”
I wrinkled my nose. “My father is the King by the nature of his birth. Surely my identity being revealed will not put him at risk for losing the throne.”
“No. But you are his only child. You are the Ryn, the heir.” Light flashed in Julien’s eyes. “Someday you will marry. And when you rule as Queen, your husband will also have power. And men greedy for power will do most anything to achieve their end.” Several faces flew through his thoughts.
“So many?”
“Likely more than I can even guess.” He ran his hand over his beard again, a gesture I had learned to expect when he was thinking about something that troubled him on a deep level. “Being Andoven, of course, you have an advantage.” His features relaxed into a smile, erasing the lines that had darkened them. “Your abilities will allow you to see through any false motives your suitors may have for seeking your hand.”
“Ugh,” I groaned and crossed my arms over the binding at my chest. I gave Julien a sardonic smile. “I haven’t even met my father yet, and already you’re trying to marry me off to some foppish usurper?”
He smiled back at me, but the light of it did not quite reach his eyes. “I just want you to know what may await you when—” He paused. “When this business with the Cobelds has reached its end. You don’t need to worry about it yet, though. You are still unknown, and shall remain so for at least a little while. Especially,” he added with a grin, “in that costume.”