The Ryn (Eyes of E'veria)

by Serena Chase

  “I’ve no doubt it is you the prophecy speaks of.” Dyfnel rubbed his hands together. “Physically, you match the description. Blue eyes, red hair. You were born the Ryn. You’re female. Besides, only the one of whom it was written would have been able to so clearly see the intent, the truth the author most wanted to convey.”

  I thought back to the conversation I’d had with the poet. “I guess Lady Anya wanted to convey instructions, then?”

  “Yes, you would see it that way.” Dyfnel pulled on his long gray beard. “The King will be mightily disappointed that your education did not delve into the deeper studies. The skills you receive on Tirandov Isle will be of little use to you until you acknowledge their source.”

  My defenses rose at his insult to my upbringing. “The Duke of Glenhume saw to it that my education was quite thorough.”

  “I meant no disrespect, Princess Rynnaia.” Dyfnel sighed. “Sadly, the Andoven are mostly to blame. For far too long we have taken our position as Protectors of Truth so literally that we have failed to see that the only way to truly keep it as the light it was meant to be is to make it known.” He paused. “And the attitude of the Elders toward the Storytellers does not hasten the propagation of truth in that province.” Dyfnel sighed. “But truth is not something to be learned by education, Princess Rynnaia. It is revealed to the heart.”

  I turned and stared out at the sea. “I may not know much about being Andoven, but I believe what I saw at Fyrlean Manor. I saw Lady Anya write the words and I heard her speak to me.”

  “Sometimes prophets speak in riddle and metaphor and we can only know the meaning of their words after the event has come to pass.”

  “Enough.” Cazien clapped his hands together. “You’ll have plenty of time for boring conversations among the Andoven, Princess. You’re aboard Meredith now. And I for one cannot abide the bleak mood that has descended upon us.”

  He winked and a wave of relief swept over me.

  “I believe Jayma has saved back a pint or two of eachanberries,” he said, “and I see no reason why we should let them spoil.” The pirate offered his arm, and without thinking, I took it. “Have you ever tasted the berries of Eachan Isle, Rynnaia?”

  “No. Of course not.”

  “Tragic, that is,” he tsked. “But a tragedy that shall soon be averted. Come along.”

  When he lifted my hand and twirled me as if to dance, I had to laugh. Somewhere, a sailor began to sing a lively tune, and as the rest of the crew joined in, their young captain danced me across the deck. Suddenly a sharp, green, metallic fwwing flew through my mind, stabbing our merry crossing.

  “Don’t mind him. He’s just jealous,” Cazien whispered in my ear as he angled his head toward Julien. “And can you blame him, really? Even when compared next to the King’s favorite knight I am quite a catch. Your knight worries you might rethink where you’ve cast your net.”

  “Indeed?” I almost tripped spinning back into his arms. “I don’t recall casting a net.”

  “Ah, but you have. And I fear Sir Julien is well tangled within it.” The tenderness in his softly spoken words surprised me. “But even if you cast in a more seaward direction,” he added dryly, “I’m afraid your net, as beautiful as it is, could not hold me.” His tone took on that tinge of mystery that told me I needn’t bother trying to see into his thoughts. “A pity that,” he said, regaining his former humor, “for I think you might have made a fine pirate.”

  “Not that you would admit to being one, of course.”

  “Me? A pirate?” He grinned. “Of course not.”

  CHAPTER FORTY

  Later that afternoon Cazien asked me if I would like to hold the wheel. He didn’t have to ask twice. I could hardly resist, could I? Rowlen wanted a rousing adventure about my journey to becoming a princess and he would get it! What could be more thrilling than steering the wheel of a Seahorse pirate’s ship?

  After giving me cursory instructions, Cazien sat down by the railing with a board in his lap and a collection of thin, charcoal pencils. I assumed he was doing something captain-ish, like drawing charts or navigating, or whatever it was pirates did when they weren’t pillaging a ship, but I couldn’t have been more wrong.

  “That grin you’re wearing is positively devilish, Rynnaia.”

  Sometime during breakfast Cazien had quit addressing me by my title and reduced it to my first name. I didn’t mind. He was still something of a mystery, but whatever distrust I’d felt for him in the beginning had melted as we spent more time together. He was, after all, family.

  In contrast, Julien, who’d spoken to Cazien like an old friend when we’d first come aboard, had grown increasingly unfriendly as the day went on. If the scowl upon his face was any indication, the affection Julien seemed to hold for the young pirate when we arrived had waned considerably.

  The motion of the water ceased to bother me after breakfast, and standing at the wheel of the ship with the wind in my face and the sun reflecting off the waves was exhilarating. There was something so freeing about being on the sea. The hood had long since blown from my head and my hair had refused to remain bound by its coils. Yet as it waved behind me, looking, I imagined, like a wind-blown flame, it felt as if something within me had been released. Not so violently as when I learned my name, but a more comfortable freedom. There were no secrets here—at least not concerning me. I had no reason to hide.

  “I think I could get used to this!” I laughed.

  “You hear that, lads?” Cazien called out. “The sea has claimed herself another victim!”

  “And a beautiful victim she be!” a sailor called back.

  “Huzzah!” Cazien shouted. The cheer echoed back to him from all around. Julien’s scowl deepened.

  “You disagree with the assessment, de Gladiel?”

  I shot Cazien a look with a clear message: Don’t bait him.

  “Of course not,” Julien replied. “I am caused to wonder, though, if the men of this ship would speak so freely if the King were here.”

  “Of course they would!” Cazien laughed. “It’s not as if Jarryn’s our King, you know.”

  I spun around. “He’s not?”

  “Try not to turn the wheel when you spin around like that, Rynnaia. And no, he’s not. Eachan Isle is its own monarchy. We’re not under E’verian rule.”

  “Oh.” I carefully straightened the wheel. “So who is the monarch of Eachan Isle?”

  “Uh . . .”

  I turned my head again, careful not to move the wheel as I did so.

  Cazien picked up a new piece of charcoal, turned his attention back to the parchment, and mumbled something.

  “What did you say?”

  Cazien didn’t look up, nor did his lips move, but I clearly heard his reluctant answer to my question in my mind.

  “I am.”

  “Oh.” My eyes widened. “Oh. But you’re so—”

  “Handsome? I know,” he sighed dramatically. “My curse.”

  Julien snorted.

  The skies had been clear since morning, but without any forewarning, a bright fog appeared directly in our path.

  “Cazien?” I couldn’t disguise the quiver in my voice. “I think you should—”

  “Princess? What is it?” Julien was at my side in an instant.

  I pointed. “There.”

  “Ah!” Cazien stepped to my other side. “You’ve found it.”

  “Found what?”

  “Tirandov Isle, of course!”

  I squinted. “I don’t see an island.”

  “No one ever does.”

  I turned and put my hands on my hips. “Could you be a little more cryptic?”

  “Of course I could.” Cazien grabbed for a spindle before the wheel could spin too far. “But before I demonstrate that particular gift, I do believe I shall regain control of my ship.”

  “Oh! Sorry!” My eyes caught on the board Cazien had set aside. “What is that?”

  “A sketch,” he grinned, “of Princ
ess Rynnaia E’veri, playing the role of a pirate.”

  “May I see it?”

  “Of course.”

  I walked over and picked it up, the fog forgotten for a moment as I marveled at the realism of the image Cazien had drawn.

  He had caught me from the side. I could almost trace the path of the wind through my hair and could almost hear my laughter.

  “You’re quite talented, Captain.”

  “I like to draw.” The moment of boyish honesty lasted only a breath before the now-familiar smirk took its place. “I’d rather be slitting throats or commandeering ships, you understand, but when none of those amusements are available, it helps to pass the time.”

  I rolled my eyes. He was worse than Rowlen.

  Dyfnel appeared from wherever he’d spent the afternoon. “From here we take oars, my friends,” he said. “Are you coming ashore, Captain?”

  “Not this time,” Cazien replied. “I have business in Luce.” A cloud passed over his features.

  Dyfnel nodded. “Of course. Give my regards to your brother.”

  “Indeed I will if he’s not yet turned tail. I’ve heard rumors of Dwonsil warriors infiltrating the harbor.”

  Concern marred Julien’s brow. “Does the duke have enough troops to keep it from falling?”

  “Yes,” Cazien nodded, “I believe he does. The better question is if he has the fortitude to command them.” He turned to me and winked. “But Luce won’t fall. Not if the Seahorse fleet gets there in time.” He turned back to Dyfnel. “You will contact me when Rynnaia needs to return?”

  “Indeed I will.”

  Cazien nodded. As he led us to the longboat, I whispered to Julien. “I have another cousin? In Luce?”

  “No. Roeg is Cazien’s half-brother,” he said. “And even more of a scoundrel. But he’s no relation to you.”

  Between the growl in Julien’s voice and the hardness of Cazien’s glare, I decided not to question either man further.

  Three burly sailors reached over the rail and gave the longboat a shove outward. When it came back, they grabbed it and held it steady while another two sailors fastened ropes to the longboat and the rail.

  Julien got in the longboat first and turned to offer me his hand. I was just about to take it when Cazien stopped me.

  “Rynnaia, wait.”

  I turned around. “Yes?”

  “Don’t let the Andoven intimidate you,” he said softly. “Remember you are the Ryn. There is no dilution of purpose, only of blood. Truth of purpose strengthens a person’s character deeper than the purest blood can reach.”

  “Well, at least I know you aren’t a liar,” I said, arching an eyebrow, “you can be more cryptic. And now you’re a philosopher, as well?”

  He smiled, but without the smirk. “Be strong. Take hold of your legacy, Cousin. Be the Ryn. E’veria needs you.”

  His words were a warning that nearly stole my composure—nearly made me beg to stay aboard Meredith—but I leaned over to kiss his cheek. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Captain.”

  Getting into the longboat was not an experience I looked forward to repeating, but the water was strangely calm beneath us. As the boat was lowered I noticed that the current between the fog and our sailing vessel rippled rather than waved, almost as if a light breeze was crossing a small pond rather than wind across the ocean. As I looked down the side of the larger vessel, though, I noticed the rest of the sea contained normal-sized swells.

  “I’ve never been on the sea, Julien. Is this typical?”

  “Only here.”

  When the boat finally settled on the water I reached for an oar, but Julien just smiled and took it from my hands. “You’re not Rozen the Squire anymore.” His smile faltered. “And you’re certainly not some pirate’s muse. You are the Crown Princess of E’veria.”

  He was jealous? Of Cazien?

  “I should accustom myself to it, I suppose,” he sighed. “You’ll receive much such attention, I’m sure, after you’re made known.”

  He was jealous! I sat down and let the men row, ducking my head to disguise my pleasure.

  It wasn’t long before the fog enveloped our little boat completely. “Dyfnel? Are you sure you know the way?”

  “It knows me,” Dyfnel chuckled. “You may stop rowing now, Sir Julien.”

  I cautiously peered over the side of the boat. The water was barely visible, so thick was the fog. Driven forward by an invisible current, we moved quickly, but I felt no breeze upon my face. The morning air was cool but not chilling, and though it seemed to have no motion, neither was it stagnant. We waited within an otherworldly calm for what felt like hours with no sound other than our breathing. Even the movement of the longboat was silent in the water.

  The fog took on a pinkish glow for a moment and then, suddenly, we were out of it.

  Stretching before us, the white sand of Tirandov Isle shone with glimmering flecks of pinks, blues, and greens, almost as if crushed jewels had been sprinkled upon the shore. Beyond the shimmering, shallow beach was a beautifully manicured lawn with the most lush, brightest green grass I had ever seen.

  Sections of the lawn were joined together by pathways forming diamond shapes. At the center of each diamond, small circular fountains, statuary, or carved seating beckoned further study. These, too, seemed to have a pastel glow. Although, as my gaze moved up, I realized the glow might be nothing more than a reflection of the singular mountain before us. Or was it a castle? It seemed as if the structure had literally been carved out of the opalescent rock that made up the center of the island.

  The castle was immense, but the island itself appeared to be quite narrow. Although I couldn’t see past the castle to judge the isle’s length, I estimated that a moderate stroll to the east or west would quickly reach the water.

  “I almost don’t believe it’s real.”

  “Well then, Princess, let’s go ashore and prove your eyes correct!” Dyfnel seemed to have regained his cheerfulness. “Are you hungry? I believe my wife has a meal laid out for us.”

  “Your wife? You never mentioned . . . oh! Do you see that, Julien?” I found it hard to finish a sentence, so taken was I by the beauty around me. The boat docked—by itself, it appeared—and we disembarked in the sand without even getting our feet wet.

  “Where shall I tie up the boat?” Clearly as awestruck as I, Julien was trying harder to hide it. “I don’t see a—”

  “It is not necessary to tie the boat, Good Knight. It will wait for us, should we have need of it again.”

  Julien and I exchanged a glance. I raised my hands in a “your guess is as good as mine” sort-of way and we followed Dyfnel toward the towering opalescent structure.

  The long pathway was built at a gentle incline, but even so it was quite a walk to the elegant, imposing castle. Multiple arched doors graced its front. I chanced a look up and was dizzied at the sheer height of the building.

  Two levels up from the ground, a curtain shifted and a feminine face peered down at us, smiling. Our eyes met and she bowed her head in greeting.

  Dyfnel waved his hand and one of the monstrous doors began to open.

  “How did you—?” I began, but Dyfnel was already inside. I turned to Julien. “Did you see that?”

  He nodded. “The Andoven have many diverse gifts.”

  Inside, the castle was at least as bright as the outside of the building, if not more so, but there were no lanterns or lamps about. The walls themselves seemed to glow.

  “You are very astute, Princess,” a voice commented from my left.

  I turned and faced a young man wearing a robe the color of mint, embroidered with silver thread. His light brown hair was cut short and his bright blue eyes held a forced sort of seriousness that made me almost sad.

  “The stone is called tirandite,” he said, “and is thought to be unique to our island. During the day our stone walls absorb the heat of the sun and convert it to light. We are rarely in need of candles here, though the stone forc
es us to hang tapestries in our sleeping chambers to provide the necessary darkness for sleep.”

  “It’s . . . nice.”

  He moved forward and bowed. “I am called Edru. Refreshments await you in the dining room. After you have eaten you will be introduced in the Great Hall.”

  “Are you to be one of my teachers here, Edru?”

  “Yes. Your lessons with me will begin yet today. Until then, Your Highness.” At that he bowed slightly and exited the entry hall through an ornately carved wooden door.

  I winced. Would all the Andoven be so formal? As Veetrish as I was, the thought did not bode well for us getting on smoothly.

  “Edru is a good man,” Dyfnel said with a twinkle in his eye. “You will learn much from him. Perhaps, you might even teach him a few things! He tends to be overly serious at times and a bit of a pessimist. He is usually a bit friendlier, but I believe he is rather irritated with me right now.”

  “Why?” I bit my lip. “Not that it’s any of my business.”

  “I was bound to secrecy concerning your existence, Princess. Even at Tirandov. The Andoven are not fond of secrets.” His step hitched as he paused. “Well, not unless they are the ones keeping them, that is.”

  “But couldn’t they have seen your thoughts and known about me?”

  “No.”

  He didn’t elaborate. While we snacked on fruit, spicy tea, and the most delicate little pastries I had ever had the pleasure of consuming, Dyfnel explained to me that, although I would interact with many of the Andoven while on Tirandov Isle, the bulk of my visit would be spent in lessons with Edru and with a woman named Celyse, who happened to be Dyfnel’s daughter.

  Of course, I had no idea what that would entail, but the dry, circumspect way Dyfnel explained it made it sound like it would not only be extremely taxing, but possibly monotonous at times. Oh, well. In that way I supposed it wasn’t any different than any other schooling I’d had.

  As soon as we had finished eating, Dyfnel led us through several corridors and down a wide hall before turning a corner that opened into an immense room—the Great Hall.

  The ceiling rose in a series of overlapping arches that repeated, in smaller form, at the edges of the room, forming a gallery of sorts beyond. The center of the room was without furniture of any kind, but filled to capacity with people looking quite severe to my eyes, each attired in a robe similar to that worn by the young Andoven man Edru I’d met earlier.