by Serena Chase
Well done! Is there anyone of Andoven lineage not currently at Tirandov, to whom you would like to speak?
I immediately thought of the King, but an instant later thought better of it. I wasn’t nearly ready for that again.
Do not fear distance, Celyse explained, misinterpreting my hesitation. Andoven communication is unfettered by the complexity of the words or the miles between those conversing. The success of your communication comes from the intensity of your desire to send the message. She allowed me to ponder that for a moment. It is our fear alone that makes distance daunting. Be brave, Princess Rynnaia. You have nothing to fear.
But she was wrong. I don’t know how to be a princess! I let out a heavy breath and dropped my head into my hands. What was the point of hiding my feelings from one who could so easily see my thoughts?
Celyse put her arm around my shoulder and guided me toward the window. Look there. She pointed to a fence which was covered in climbing vines. Spring comes to Tirandov Isle earlier than it does the rest of E’veria. Those vines are already budding. Soon, there will be a riot of roses. All colors. It will be beautiful.
I’m sure it will. I was less sure where she was going with this conversation.
Celyse smiled. The oils within those roses exude an intoxicating fragrance, and contain healing properties when extracted. Their stems, however, are peppered with thorns.
My brother Rowlen used to call me “Thorn” instead of “Rose” when I irritated him.
Celyse chuckled. Thorns have their place. They serve to protect the flower. But they can cause quite a bit of pain to the one who handles them carelessly.
I arched an eyebrow in her direction. You’re not really talking about flowers anymore, are you?
She just smiled. You must learn to understand the rose, Rynnaia, before you are able to reconcile yourself to your past. You were once called by that name, were you not?
I nodded.
Like the roses in our gardens, that name was on loan to you for a season. A season not without its thorns.
Again, I nodded.
And yet there was beauty. There was sweetness. And love enabled you to grow bright and strong above the thorns. She smiled. Hold those memories in your heart, Rynnaia. Learn from the thorns while you inhale the fragrance of love and sacrifice that has protected you from birth until now. Had it not been for the protection those thorny choices afforded Rose, you would not have survived to be Rynnaia.
My eyes swung to the door. Your father approaches.
“Well done!”
I jumped when Celyse spoke aloud.
And again when her words were silent. Another lesson completed! You are an apt pupil, Princess. How do you feel?
I thought about it for a minute. I feel . . . wide awake. The admission surprised me. Perhaps more awake than I’ve ever felt!
Tirandov can do that to a person, she nodded knowingly. In time you will adjust, but for now, let’s use it. She laughed and put a hand to her belly when her stomach growled. After we break our fast, of course. You’ll find your lessons increase not only your energy, but your appetite as well.
She was right. After breakfast we worked through many skills, including how to open and shut a door without touching it, but I was not tired in the least. I was, however, glad to adjourn to the dining room for the midday meal.
Julien rose as I approached the table and, as soon as I was seated, Jezmyn spoke a blessing over the food.
He closed his eyes and tilted his face upward. He held his arms at an angle at his sides with his palms facing up and spoke in what I had come to recognize as the language of the Ancient Voice. At first I bowed my head in respect, but I couldn’t remain in that position. Something drew my head up to look at his face.
The rigid formality I expected had disappeared from his countenance, replaced by a peaceful reverence that filled his foreign words with a meaning that, even though I couldn’t understand it completely, revealed a lack within myself. Had I ever felt such peace as that which fairly glowed from the Regent of Tirandov?
When Jezmyn finished, Dyfnel leaned over and translated the blessing for Julien and me. “He says, ‘Giver and Sustainer, you have provided for our physical needs as always. You instruct the hands of your servants in its pleasing preparation to delight our senses. May we be granted wisdom as we seek to protect truth and may we honor you within its light.’”
Julien nodded. “May it be so.”
I reached for my glass. My throat felt suddenly dry and tight. In the wizened, upturned face of the Regent I had seen something I had never glimpsed in my own reflection.
All through the meal I pondered that seemingly missing piece of myself. Although the conversation at my table was lively, at the meal’s conclusion I could no better recall a subject discussed than I could remember the taste of food I had unwittingly cleaned from my plate.
As we left the dining room, Julien leaned toward my ear. “Dyfnel said I could visit the Queen this afternoon.”
“That’s wonderful.” I tried not to let him hear the tiny pang of jealousy in my voice, but I must not have accomplished my goal.
“If you would like to go with me,” he offered, “or if you would rather use the time to visit her yourself . . .”
“No. You should go.” I shook my head. “Of course I’d like to see her, but I have my lessons.” I sighed as we approached our destination, the library. My next lesson was with Edru. “I’m sure she’ll be very happy to see you. She spoke so fondly of you.”
“She did?”
In his eyes I glimpsed, for just a moment, the little boy for whom the Queen held such affection. Not that I could blame her. After all, I was quite fond of the man he had become.
I smiled. “She did.”
He paused at the door of the library. “Princess Rynnaia?” his voice was suddenly more formal. “Dyfnel informs me that you will be meeting with the Elder Council after dinner and that I am to accompany you. I thought perhaps afterward you might enjoy a walk in the gardens?”
“I’ll look forward to it.” When his eyebrows lifted I laughed. “The walk, I mean. Not the Council.”
Julien smiled. “I knew what you meant.”
I looked toward the door. “Do you think I should knock?”
Just then the door opened.
“Princess. Sir Julien.” Edru held a book out to the knight. “I found this volume in the stacks. It concerns the lineage of the knights of Fyrlean Manor. I thought if you were going to stand guard, perhaps it would help pass the time?”
“Thank you, Edru. Next time, perhaps?” Julien released my arm. “I am requested elsewhere, and since I know I leave the princess in capable hands, I have no need to stand guard.”
Edru bowed his head at the compliment.
Give the Queen my love, won’t you?
Julien’s eyes opened in surprise as he received my thought. “I—er, yes. I will.”
Edru chuckled as I followed him into the library. “I take it your lessons with Celyse were rather profitable this morning?” His cheeks took on a slight hue, which likely matched mine. “I apologize,” he said quickly. “I did not mean to see, but your thoughts were . . . powerful.”
His color deepened and he cleared his throat. “Few Andoven can communicate in that way with people of non-Andoven ancestry. Since we agreed to unblock our minds yesterday, I was unprepared. I’m terribly sorry for invading your privacy. Shall we begin?”
My young teacher slid a thick book to the center of the table.
“Loeftryn de Rynloeft,” I read the title aloud. “He was the First King of E’veria, right?”
“He was The First, yes. Including the First King.”
I arched an eyebrow, expecting an explanation, but none was forthcoming.
“This is his story. You may have heard it referred to as The Story of The First.” Edru gestured for me to open the book, so I gingerly lifted the thick cover.
“It’s not written in E’verian.”
�
��It is the Ancient Voice,” he replied. “Take your time, Princess.”
“But—?” How was I supposed to read a book in a language I didn’t know?
“You have read languages unknown before, have you not?”
The King’s face swam across my vision as realization dawned. The encoded letter.
“Oh, no Edru.” I backed away from the book. “I don’t think I should—”
“You can do it. Take your time.”
“No, Edru. I can’t. The letter from the King was meant for me to see. Lady Anya’s poem, also. But this book is ancient history!”
“Yes. And it was written specifically with you in mind.” He paused. “And for others, as well. It was written for all who have a heart to know the deeper truths of this life.”
An unknown fear constricted my chest. Hadn’t I received truth enough?
I rubbed my hand over the page. Something about this book drew and repelled me at the same time.
Fear made me want to run screaming from the library. But I was also curious. How would the ancient First King of E’veria have known of me thousands of years ago? Was it part of the prophecy? Like Lady Anya’s poetry? Why would he have recorded information for me in this book?
The memory of the incapacity I’d experienced upon reading the parchment from the King assailed my thoughts.
“I also have this gift,” Edru said, “which is one of the reasons I was chosen as your tutor. It is an uncomfortable sensation at first. But it does get easier with time. But as the day always seems to pass too swiftly when we’re caught up in a story, you should soon begin.”
I knew his smile was meant to reassure me, but it didn’t. The book was not only thick, but tall and wide as well. “I’m going to be here awhile.”
“No one expects you to read it all in one day.” His smile was kind. “But even once you have read it in its entirety you will not be finished, for it will call you back.” He chuckled. “Truly, I often learn new things from it, and I have had it available to me for the whole of my life.”
“It’s a big book.” I was stalling, and something quirked in Edru’s eyes as if he knew it.
“If you would like, I can arrange to have a tray brought in with your dinner and you can avoid the formal gathering this evening.”
A chance to avoid the formal meal? “Yes, please.”
“I will take my leave of you, Princess, that you may study in quiet and privacy. Someone will alert you when the hour of your meeting with the Elder Council approaches.”
“Any chance I could avoid that, as well?”
Edru smiled. He knew I was kidding. “Is there anything else I can do for you in the meantime?”
“Yes. I promised Sir Julien I would tell him if I planned to read anything . . . odd.”
“I will inform him.”
Edru gave me a slight bow and turned to leave. At the door, he paused. “Your fear is well-founded and wise. When words of truth are passionately recorded on paper they contain a sort of magic, transforming those who open themselves up to receive their light. You have experienced a version of this from your father’s letter and also from Lady Anya’s poem.”
“Neither experience was entirely pleasant, Edru.”
His smile acknowledged my sarcasm with compassion. “If your heart is open to it, the words within this book will alter the very marrow of you and set free all that is still bound in the dim shadows of the unknown.”
“I’m not necessarily convinced that’s a good thing.”
“It is.”
He left me then. Alone with The Book.
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
The door whispered shut as Edru left. The book beckoned me to look at it, to discover the secrets hidden within its foreign words, but I hesitated.
I paced away from the book—away from the fear of what might happen to me if I read it. Finally, after many minutes of staring blindly out the library’s one enormous window and chewing the nail of my index finger nearly to the quick, I returned to the table and opened the book to the first page.
Embral e’ Veria. The first three words, written in the Ancient Voice, nearly jumped off the parchment.
“Embral e’ Veria.” When I read them aloud, they sounded strangely familiar. Was this another Andoven gift? Or could it be that I had heard them before?
I closed my eyes and repeated the phrase. From the deeply buried place of my earliest memories, I knew I’d heard those three words before, spoken in a strong, deep voice.
My father’s voice.
My eyes snapped open. The recently loosed memory of him visiting me when I was a little girl came back in a rush. He’d said the words then, I was sure of it. What did they mean?
I focused on the words, and although I was not surprised when they began to take on motion, I was surprised that I didn’t feel ill.
“It’s a name.” I scanned down the page, finding more words, but with one commonality. “It’s . . . a list of names?”
Was this another book of genealogy? I groaned. I’d had about as much of that as I could stomach the day before, but I kept reading. As I perused the list, each title lit its own brilliant color in my mind. Unlike the genealogical books, however, these were not names of a family; they were all different titles for the same person. Each hue, shade, and tint that caressed my mind gave more depth and meaning to the words. It was beautiful. I saw more of the color spectrum within those names than I ever knew existed.
The words were easy to read now. I traced the list, one title after another. King, Sovereign, Guard, Warrior, Parent, Guide, Teacher, Master, Friend, it said. Creator, Giver, Sustainer, Provider, Truth, Hope, and Light. Each word listed as if it was an individual entity, yet the verbiage was clear that each specific title was just one ingredient of a greater whole.
Some names on the list were more descriptors than titles: Healer of Suffering, Merciful Warrior, Source of Light. Other titles were put together in ways I did not understand and their duality confused me: Violent Mercy, Living Martyr, Gentle Warrior, Humble King, Patient Fury. The titles drew vivid pictures, combining clashing colors to paint a riotous but somehow harmonious variegation in my mind. It was terribly confusing and my mind reeled in the vibrancy of the colors.
My eyes ached. I closed them. After several deep breaths, I looked back at the first name, Embral e’ Veria. The words shifted so I could read them: Infinite Power contained within Unending Love.
Another contradiction. How do you contain a power that is infinite?
The shapes shifted again as if that one phrase, Embral e’ Veria, could be interpreted in multiple descriptions. They had almost become readable again when a knock at the door broke my concentration.
I closed my eyes for a moment, surprised to still have my balance. This reading was different than my father’s letter; or maybe I was changed since coming to Tirandov. I rose to answer the door.
Julien held a tray with what I assumed was my dinner. Concern etched lines between his eyebrows. “Are you well?”
“Yes, thank you. Come in.” I motioned him to take the tray to a table near the window. I didn’t want to risk spilling anything on the ancient text. “I’m reading the history of Loeftryn de Rynloeft. Edru called it The Story of The First.”
“And indeed it is.”
“You’ve read it? You know the Ancient Voice?”
“Yes, I’ve read it. But not written in the Ancient Voice.” He set the tray down. “Over the years, my family has been privileged to study copies that have been translated into our modern language.”
“Are these translations easy to come by?” Considering the collections of literature I had been privy to during my education, why had I never before seen a translation of this particular book?
“No. In fact, they’re quite rare. But since the days of Lady Anya, it has been a high priority in my family that The Story of The First be studied. Ours is an uncommon tradition, unfortunately, and one few can afford.” He brightened. “But there is hope that wi
ll soon change. Your father has scribes in his employ who are painstakingly copying the texts that they might be more available to the people.”
“He does?”
“Yes. The Kingdom has sustained centuries of damage due to the exclusivity of the Andoven and their skewed interpretation of what it means to be Protectors of Truth. King Jarryn is devoted to the cause, but he has strong opposition.”
I sighed and stirred the soup. An aromatic steam rose from the bowl, tempting me, but my mind was too full to allow my tongue to be otherwise occupied.
“This book is so complex and yet . . . so simple! All I’ve read so far is a long list of names, but they’re all titles of the same person. It’s confusing.” I pressed my lips together. “And irritating. And yet . . . compelling.” I pushed a breath up to my hairline. “But there is nothing for it, I guess, but to continue on and hope it starts making some sense soon.”
I lifted a spoonful to my lips. It smelled good, but I couldn’t define the aroma. I tasted it. Odd. Savory, but odd.
“It’s not making you ill in any way?” Julien asked. “The reading, I mean.” He gave me a lopsided grin. “Not the soup.”
“No,” I laughed. “Just confused. But it’s kind of fascinating, even though I find myself unaccountably irritated by it.”
“My translation may not be quite as thorough as what you are reading, but I would be happy to discuss it with you when we take our walk this evening.” Julien paused. “If you’re still of a mind to go.”
“I am.” I nodded. “I imagine I’ll be in need of some air after meeting with the Elder Council.”
“I will leave you to your dinner and studies, then,” he rose. “I’ll return to escort you to your chamber before the meeting.”
“Thank you.”
Julien paused at the door. “I’m not sure how the text is arranged in the Ancient Voice,” he said, “but in my copy there is a chapter entitled ‘The Emblem of The First.’ It has the history and meaning of the symbol found both on my sword and throughout Tirandov. It might be a good place to start.”
Of course! Julien’s sword! I knew I had seen that shape somewhere, but it was a bit different to see it etched in steel, and here it lacked the roaring bears that flanked it on his sword. I hadn’t made the connection when I had seen the same shape around the castle.
