The Ryn (Eyes of E'veria)

by Serena Chase

  I love this man. I love him.

  “Rynnaia . . .”

  His hand pressed against my cheek. When I lifted my hand and placed it on top of his, a jolt of blue heat shocked me as our fingers touched.

  Julien inhaled sharply. His green eyes grew even more intense as the gold in his thoughts increased. He was so beautiful I could barely stand to look at him, but I couldn’t so much as blink. His head bent toward my upturned face and—

  One of the castle doors scraped across its threshold. I blinked as Julien spun around, hand to his sword hilt. The colors dissolved, but I had to work to school my thoughts when I realized what that sound had interrupted.

  Julien had intended to kiss me.

  To kiss me!

  I had no desire to share our private moment with the Andoven interloper. I sent a light gray covering to surround Julien so that his thoughts, also, would be unknown to whoever came through the door.

  Julien relaxed his stance as Jezmyn crossed the threshold. Turning back to me with a look of apology, Julien whispered, “We will discuss this. Later.” And he took my arm and guided me farther up the path, out of the shadow of the shrubbery.

  “Hello, Jezmyn.”

  “Princess,” the Regent wheezed. “Sir Julien.” With a sweep of his hand, Jezmyn closed the door. “Dyfnel said I might find you here. Your father has been contacted, and after some discussion with the Elders, he has decided that you, Princess, are to pick two from among the Andoven to accompany his knights.”

  “Me?”

  “You are,” he said, nodding as if the King’s request was the most natural thing in the world, “the Ryn.” He smiled. “Your father asks only that you confer with Sir Julien before considering those choices.”

  “Of course.” I swallowed. “I would not think of making such a decision without consulting Sir Julien.” I laughed, but the sound was shallow. “I’ve lived quite a sheltered life. I know little of quests or the fortitude required for such adventures.”

  “The King would appreciate a word from you tonight.”

  “Tonight?” Nerves gathered in a knot at my center. “I don’t know if I am able to achieve that quite yet, but I will try.”

  “That is all he asks.” Jezmyn’s smile was warm. “I am available also, should you have need of a friendly ear.”

  “Thank you, Jezmyn.”

  He nodded and continued down the path we had just come from.

  Tension sizzled in the air between Julien and me as we entered the castle.

  Julien cleared his throat. “Might I have a word before you retire?”

  “Of course.” The entryway was deserted, but still felt exposed. The library doors, however, stood open and the room was empty. “We could step into the library.”

  He nodded and headed in that direction. As soon as the door was closed, he spoke.

  “Your Highness, I must beg your forgiveness for the liberty I nearly took earlier.” His head was lowered, his eyes cast on the floor. “It was entirely improper and an ill-fitting action for a knight sworn to protect you. I’m so sorry. Forgive me, please.”

  He was . . . sorry?

  I wanted so badly to look into his thoughts, but I couldn’t form the words to seek permission and I wouldn’t let myself invade his privacy without it.

  I struggled to uphold the formality that he so clearly wished to maintain. “The fault is entirely mine,” I said. “I should have tried harder to block my thoughts from you.”

  “No, the folly rests with me.”

  Folly?

  He looked up, then, his eyes full of the regret that now colored his thoughts vividly enough that I didn’t have to try to see it to know it was there.

  “Princess Rynnaia, you are in the process of discovering truth and uncovering your Andoven abilities. I fear you are mistaking this humble knight for the one you truly seek to hold your heart.”

  “I’m . . . what?” I blinked.

  Julien ran a hand through his hair. “As much as I enjoy our evening walks, Your Highness, it might be best if Dyfnel or . . . or Edru accompanied you from now on.”

  Understanding dawned like sunrise over the sea, sending its chilly breeze across my heart. Julien had not been drawn to me. He had merely been drawn into the colors I had sent out to him.

  Embarrassment stained my cheeks. My ignorance of the power of my Andoven gifts had caused me to project the love I had just discovered into his thoughts. Yes, I loved him. I wouldn’t even attempt to deny it. But my love was one-sided. Julien didn’t love me.

  An invisible fist constricted around my windpipe. He doesn’t love me.

  “My apologies, Sir Julien.” I fought to keep the tenor of my voice smooth and even. “I will not let it happen again.”

  A hot lump of sadness threatened my ability to breathe. I swallowed and forced words through my throat. “Meet me back here after my morning lesson, if you please, and we will discuss the King’s request. I will see myself to my chamber. Good night.”

  I didn’t wait for his reply. Instead, as my vision clouded, I nearly ran toward the door. Once I had breached the hallway the tears broke through my reserve. I gathered my skirts and broke into a run. Green and gold colors swarmed after me like bees chasing a bear from their hive. I heard the sharp rap of Julien’s boots crossing the library’s stone floor, but their haste only urged me to increase my speed.

  Please don’t follow me! I thought in desperation. I heard the library door shut and the firm click as the latch caught, echoing off the stone walls. Assuming Julien’s long-legged stride would soon catch up to me, I took the first staircase I found leading down and fled without looking back.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

  The late hour had the residents of Tirandov firmly ensconced in their private quarters, and I was able to give full vent to my embarrassment without the fear of increasing it as I fled. Weeping, I ran mindlessly through corridors and down staircases without any particular destination in my mind. I finally came to a halt a moment before I would have crashed into the dead end in front of me.

  Like the entrance to my mother’s room, the Emblem of the First was carved into stone, but I knew this was not the door to the Queen’s chamber. This design glowed faintly yellow-orange instead of blue, and an illumined carving, written in the Ancient Voice, rested above the diamond shape.

  I ran my hand over the letters. Though my hand felt no stirring of the stone beneath it, my eyes fixed on the shapes as they began to move and form a word I could read.

  Silence.

  What could this chamber be, with such a name? Cautiously, I opened the door. The surprisingly small room was unadorned, the few chairs and settees, unembellished. Blank tapestries hung over most of the walls. I found the dimness soothing. It was the kind of room you could sink into and relax, a space in which you could escape from the noise of your own thoughts, as well as everyone else’s, and just be still.

  I was thankful the room was unoccupied, but my breathlessness, heavy-laden with tears, seemed somehow irreverent even so. I shut the door and opened my mind, but felt the presence of no other colors but my own. For the first time since coming to Tirandov, I was utterly alone. It was almost as if this room was not even a part of the castle.

  I sank into a chaise and leaned into its softness, absorbing the rare and peaceful silence that hadn’t touched my mind since I had learned my true name.

  The chaise seemed to form to every curve of my body as if it had been waiting to embrace my wounded soul. I could not allow myself to think about Julien. Sir Julien, I corrected myself. He had made it clear that he felt nothing more for me than duty and friendship.

  The colors of my attraction to him—nay, my love!—had collided against his reason. Not being Andoven, the oddness of it must have confused him into acting contrary to his feelings and led him to nearly kiss me.

  Let it go. I urged myself. Think of something else.

  But what?

  Jezmyn wanted me to contact the King. Well, I could try
that. Again. Celyse had said I would only reach him if I called him by the name he would expect from me.

  Father.

  My heart stumbled on that word. In my mind, “Father” was a term of endearment. How was I to speak such a name to a man I didn’t even know? My only references to him were from other people and from the letter and from the brief childhood memory it had released.

  It made me slightly dizzy just to think of that experience. At least I could picture his face now. Maybe if I said the word aloud it would work.

  I closed my eyes. “Fa-father.”

  I whispered the word tentatively, trying hard to focus on the face from my memory, but other, dearer faces swept through my mind: Lord Whittier, Uncle Drinius, Lord Whittier again. Those men loved me like a daughter. And I loved them. It was easy. But it was ever so difficult to think of the King, a stranger, with that same tenderness.

  “Father?” I called out, but my whisper was absorbed within the heavy, colorless tapestries draping the glowing walls.

  “Father!” I gave more volume, more purpose to the word. Suddenly, I was crossing the sea. Instead of the cliffs I had seen at Port Dyn, however, I came to a sandy shore.

  Where is he? I wondered, even as my mind traveled on.

  As far as my mind’s eye could see was sand—a sparse landscape, indeed. My mind zoomed over the terrain and it gradually became rockier, with somewhat greener hills appearing in the distance.

  A massive mountain range appeared at the eastern edge of my vision, tinged pink in the sunrise, though it was well past midnight at Tirandov. This must be a faraway land, I thought, to already be bathed in the rays of the sun.

  I could no longer picture the face of King Jarryn, only the word “Father” spelled out in my head. I shouted again, trying to concentrate fully on the name I was calling.

  Why would the King venture so far from Castle Rynwyk during such a dangerous time?

  I sped through dead brush, past vacant homes and a river whose banks were littered with the bloated bodies of dead animals and fish. I was glad to be only seeing, as I was sure the scent of death would have overpowered me.

  I tore my eyes away from the sight and looked ahead to the desert where a grayish-black fortress loomed suddenly before me. Fear pricked sharply within my chest. I shouted again, but in my panic and confusion I wasn’t even sure what name left my mouth.

  Through the iron gates, my mind moved into the oppressive depths of the fortress itself. I passed hulking, armored guards whose faces I could not see, as well as smaller, unarmed creatures—Cobelds?—that seemed to be ordering the larger ones. I feared I would be discovered, but that fear eased when I remembered that I was not actually within the walls. Only my thoughts had entered.

  With dizzying speed my mind traveled down, down, down, until I could no longer count the levels of stairs I had passed.

  At once, it ended. The light was dim, but my eyes adjusted quickly.

  I was in a dungeon.

  Was this the King’s dungeon? Or was he—I swallowed hard—a prisoner here?

  Prisoners filled every cell with the heavy air of despondency. Fear was etched in each gaunt face. My chest ached for them as I looked at the bars and locks keeping them imprisoned.

  Around the dull iron lock of each cell, something odd shimmered with a silvery brightness, but I could not slow my mind’s journey to dwell on it.

  Where could he be?

  Then my mind finally stopped in front of a cell and refused to go further. It appeared I had found him.

  “Hello?” Why had the Andoven not told me that the King had been captured? “Are you in there?”

  From the darkened corner, one of the cell’s inhabitants stirred. My gut clenched as a man moved toward me in the faint torchlight. In the opposite corner, another man stepped forward, and a familiar, deep voice spoke as my eyes focused better on the faces.

  “What is it?”

  “I thought I heard a woman’s voice,” the first man said. “It sounded like . . . like Rose.” He shook his head. “It must have been a dream.”

  The man rubbed his eyes and took another step toward me. Torchlight illumined his face. My heart clenched. It wasn’t the King. It was Uncle Drinius.

  His eyes widened, almost as if he could see me. In his thoughts, I sensed a creeping fear for his own sanity.

  “Rose?” he whispered. “Gladiel, do you see her? Can you see Rose?”

  “Uncle Drinius! Sir Gladiel!” I cried, but my shock broke the connection and they faded from my view. In an instant I was back on the settee in the dim room, panting for breath with tears coursing down my cheeks.

  “They’re alive!” I laughed through my tears. “They’re alive!”

  I may not have contacted the father I had intended to reach, but I had been given a gift of hope for the uncle I had feared lost. I rose and hurried to the door, anxious to share my news with the only other person in the castle who would share the fullness of my joy: Julien.

  I paused on the stair. In my excitement I had forgotten my reason for seeking the Silence room in the first place. Clenching my teeth, I shook my head, lifted my chin, and determined to be Her Royal Highness instead of the romantic fool I’d been before.

  It took a lot longer to retrace my steps at this more reasonable pace and I got more than a little bit lost. Finally I reached a familiar hallway and found my way to Julien’s door, which was just down from my own. Receiving no answer to my knock, which I thought was odd, given the hour, I sought him with my mind.

  Sir Julien. With closed eyes, my mind found him. Sir Julien! His head popped up as I made contact with his thoughts.

  He was still in the library . . . and not at all happy about it.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

  I heard the commotion in the entry hall before I rounded the last corner. A crowd had gathered, most attired in their nightclothes. Edru stood at the library door, searching through a ring of keys.

  “I apologize, Sir Julien,” Edru called. “But none of these keys fit the lock. I don’t know how this happened! This door has not been locked in— Well, not in my lifetime, at least.”

  “Nor mine,” an elderly voice interjected.

  “What’s happened?”

  A collective gasp filtered through the crowd as they all turned to look at me.

  “It appears we can call off the search for the princess,” the wry voice of my great-grandfather spoke from their midst.

  Concern had etched even deeper lines into his wizened face. The crowd parted as he moved toward me. “Where were you, child? None of us could locate you in the castle! You’ve given us all quite a scare, what with your knight being imprisoned and you nowhere to be found.”

  “Julien’s imprisoned?” I blinked. “In the library?” That seemed . . . odd. “Has he been injured?”

  “He is unhurt. Are you?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Where were you, child?”

  “I found a room whose door reads Silence. I needed to be alone and it suited.” I didn’t elaborate. “Edru,” I called toward my teacher, “what happened to Sir Julien?”

  “Someone has locked him in the library,” Edru explained, “and we are unable to open the door.”

  “Who?” I asked, fearing the answer. Could an enemy have infiltrated Tirandov Castle? “Who did this?”

  “That is what we are most anxious to find out.”

  My great-grandfather placed his hand on my shoulder and looked deeply into my eyes. “Did you lock this door, Rynnaia?”

  “Of course not! I would not lock a knight in where he could not do his duty!”

  But you did. I heard Julien’s thought. My eyes swung toward the door. You slammed the door behind you and I was unable to follow.

  “No, I didn’t!” I shook my head. “I don’t know how! I—I’ve not been taught how to do that!”

  Lindsor’s eyes sparkled and he spoke to me alone. You must have been very angry with your knight, Great-granddaughter.

&n
bsp; He is not MY knight, Honorable One. And I wasn’t angry . . . exactly.

  Oh, is that how it is, then? The sparkle in his eyes dimmed as sympathy replaced it. He turned to the crowd. “It would seem that my great-granddaughter has uncovered another gift. If only all the Andoven were such apt pupils! As it is, however, she is the only one who will be able to unlock this door. Therefore, you may all return to your beds.”

  The crowd dispersed without a sound, though I knew the whispering gossip of their thoughts would likely keep them from sleep. Only Lindsor, myself, and Edru remained.

  I reached for the ring of keys in Edru’s hand. “Have you tried all of these?”

  He nodded.

  Lindsor chuckled. “You did not use a key to lock it and therefore no key will unlock it. You must use your mind.” He turned to Edru. “I believe the princess and I will be able to handle it from here, young man. You may return to your rest.”

  Edru gave us both a small bow and left.

  “To open or shut a door,” Lindsor instructed, “you must respectfully accept that the object is there to do your bidding. Might I inquire as to your state of mind as you left the library earlier?”

  “I was crying,” I said, embarrassed. “I did not want to be seen. I wanted to be alone.”

  “Do you remember opening the door before you left?”

  I pursed my lips as I thought back. It seemed so long ago, yet it had been less than two hours, in truth. My mouth formed an “O.”

  “No! It opened and I walked through it!”

  “Rynnaia, the opening or shutting of a door requires little effort for an Andoven. The locking and unlocking, however, is a skill few are able to achieve. It is an ability usually inherited through families. That being said, I will tell you that my own life has been spared on several occasions by my ability to slip out of enemies’ traps.” He arched an eyebrow. “Unlocking them, as it were.”

  Julien’s impatience filtered through the wooden door and into my mind.

  “I don’t mean to be impolite, but I need to apologize to Sir Julien. I fear he will not soon forgive me.”