She recalled how her blood had burned when she’d hit that note—the soaring one. It had not even sounded like her. It had been bold, purposed. Apparently, it had purposed upon tossing Armond into the air. It… was as if it had reacted to her feelings for him. It was getting him away from Dianna, from the performance…
The more she pondered this, the more she believed it to be so. The note had obeyed her. Yet, she ought not to be thinking of it as if it was something apart from her. She had produced it. It was her.
A groan escaped her as she buried her face in her hands. It was all too much. She was already scorned, scrutinized even more than usual because of the rumors of the day. Any latent hopes of ever garnering acceptance from her peers were nonexistent now. If she was even allowed to remain at the castle, she would be the aberration. It didn’t help that the very one she’d lifted had been the most beloved man in the kingdom… and heir to the throne.
She raised her head and her hand went to the back of her neck. Impossible as it was, she had endangered the heir to the throne.
She would be what her parents were: an enemy of the crown.
The sound of carriage wheels sounded in the courtyard, coming to a halt before the castle entrance. What could this be in the middle of the night? She leaned out to further view the spectacle when something stopped her: a red glow behind her. She turned, expecting to find her guardian come for her. Instead, light emanated from the four rubies that crowned the tops of her canopy bedposts. She realized they’d been blazing for some time before she’d thought to turn to them. They had appeared just before the carriage. No, this light… had arrived with the carriage. Moreover, it had never occurred before. Leaping upon the bed, she stood to touch one of them, but they began to ring as if bidding her not to. Obediently, she moved her hand away and considered.
She sensed they meant to warn her about that carriage. And she knew she should be frightened that she was about to be spirited away in the dead of night. Even so, she felt her shoulders relax as she accepted this fate, whatever it may be. Somehow understanding she had no time to change, she reached for her morning coat and fastened it over her nightdress. Then, she stood at attention before the door.
It wasn’t long before Lady Nora’s key entered the lock to the room she now knew to be her prison. It was clear that the woman was startled to find her standing in readiness, but was stunned further by the glowing bedposts, whose lights began to dim.
“What on Kaern…?” Lady Nora murmured. “What have you conjured now?”
The prophet stepped around her, shaking his head. “It is no conjuring. You must be aware of the rubies from the Bashtiian mines—the ones they ceased trading when it was learned the stones were nearly extinct. The gems become devoted to whomever they spend their life with.” He turned to Hazel then. “They are concerned and have alerted you in their way.”
Hazel looked back in wonder of the gems she had long taken for granted. But if it was meant as a caution, she wondered what was before her.
“Come along, girl.” Lady Nora gestured before starting down the hall. The prophet placed an arm of support about Hazel’s shoulders as he accompanied her.
“What is to become of me?” she asked.
“As for the becoming of you, that is for you to decide. This evening, you are to call upon the Assemblage of the Wise, who will gather in the Clarion Citadel upon Mount Tier. There, you will be questioned—studied even—but no harm will befall you.” He rubbed her shoulder. “You think I would let anyone hurt you, my Lady Hazel?”
With a trusting smile, she shook her head. Though he was most often away, the time spent with him through the years had been meaningful. He had earned her trust and she had won his.
Upon packing her into the carriage with a plush blanket over her lap, Lady Nora offered her a questioning look. Hazel would have liked to tell herself the woman was concerned for her welfare but she knew it stemmed from the conundrum of what her ward was turning out to be. Certainly, the woman had not signed up for this. Wishing Lady Nora was the sort from whom she might garner courage, Hazel turned her attention to the prophet instead. He knew what she needed and grinned at her before urging the driver on.
“Prophet…”
“Yes.”
“This Assemblage of the Wise, I have heard some particulars about them. I know you are among their number. But what sort of people are they? Are they all like you?”
“Not in the least. They come from various kingdoms—Kierelia, Bashtii, Croy, even the faraway land of Lwyss. You will find most carry themselves rather imperially. They are an egotistical bunch. Even so, they possess enough humility so as not to impede their great wisdom. They are men and women of truth, science, philosophy... I think you will find them interesting. And, in the end, I do believe your visit will be a short one.”
“Why is that?”
“Because I do not believe you are finished… shall we say, cooking?”
“Pardon?”
“We shall see.”
* * *
Moonlight shone upon Clarion Citadel, once built to keep watch over the old border before the kingdom expanded. Now it was a retreat for the most brilliant minds upon the continent. Together, they invented, composed, developed and merely enjoyed one another’s company—or so she’d been made to believe.
Torches burned in the windows, revealing these great minds were wakeful, likely awaiting her arrival. The carriage rolled to a halt before the entrance. The prophet stepped out and opened the door wide for her. Upon leaning out, she found what she felt must be the entire assemblage standing upon the steps just outside the oversized door. Could whatever was wrong with her truly be so dreadful as to warrant this eager reception? She recalled Armond’s body dropping from the ceiling. Yes, yes it could.
Stepping from the carriage, she followed the prophet up the stairs as gracefully as a girl in a nightdress could manage.
“Greetings, prophet,” a large, dark-skinned man voiced deeply.
Hazel realized not even these comrades were aware of the prophet’s actual name.
“Evening, Auras,” the prophet replied. “It has been some while since you have been to see us.”
Others of the group eyed Hazel as they followed the two men into the citadel.
“I have only arrived this very evening,” Auras informed, “I was summoned by your Great One.”
Hazel drew beside the prophet and noted the rising of his brows. “I suppose that was rather shocking for you, was it not?”
The man nodded and shared a grin. “I should have known better than to doubt a one as distinctive as you.”
“High compliment, indeed.”
Hazel followed the men into a cozy room with stuffed chairs and a blazing fire. This high in the mountains, the warmth did not reach them as it did below.
“Lady Hazel,” said a woman with long curling lashes and tiny lips, “we would be honored if you would make yourself comfortable upon this lounge. We wish you to be as relaxed as possible while we learn you.”
Learn her? She blinked. “As you wish.” But it was difficult to lie comfortably when a room full of astute people drew into something of a circle around her.
“Is this really necessary?” the prophet asked of the assemblage.
“Prophet, she isn’t ready,” the woman of the long lashes stated as if offended. She turned to Hazel. “Will you not sing, Lady Hazel?”
Hazel’s eyes grew wide. “Prophet?” she squeaked out.
“I know very well she isn’t ready,” he said, “but King Zephuel requested the estimations of this council.”
“Ready for what?” Hazel inquired fearfully.
The prophet knelt beside her and took her hand. “Will you sing for me, my Hazel, so these intellectuals may judge you?”
She caught that wondrous sparkle in his eye, the one seen in those of loving fathers when they gazed upon their children, or uncles when with a favored niece or nephew. It took no more than this to wrangle her.
> Her voice was shaky, but, for the first time, she allowed herself to embrace the fact it was rather stunning. Yet, it neither sounded nor felt anything like it had during her performance. Whatever had occurred did not mean to appear a second time.
“Why did her gift emerge so early?” a black-haired dwarf inquired.
The prophet gazed on Hazel with soft eyes. “I believe she was under acute emotional duress. Likely, she is very near the time of emergence, then tensions boiled high and it culminated into a rather public reveal.”
Hazel closed her eyes as she recalled the moment she’d realized she had been the cause of Armond’s flight.
“Lady Hazel,” the long-lashed woman said, “will you not tell the tale from your point of view?”
Hazel cleared her throat, satisfied she was not being asked to sing again, and relayed it. It was somewhat humiliating to divulge the more sensitive details (such as her feelings for Armond), but they were unwilling to settle for less than every emotion endured at the time.
At its conclusion, Auras turned to the prophet. “I believe your hypothesis is sound. We must surmise that this young woman possesses the gift of our southern neighbors, that wild strain of powerful blood we’d thought too diluted to emerge again. It is claimed it has not been seen for a lifetime or two, but I would be interested in hearing from one of their number on the matter.”
Hazel was more acquainted with details about the southern tribes than most Kierelians, thanks to the book the prophet had given her. The southern tribes were considered unruly by Kierelia’s standards but had grown more peaceable than in previous years, thus the reason Kierelia trusted them at their border. In fact, the tribesmen were known to be matchlessly honorable, likely the reason King Zephuel and his predecessors felt it dishonorable to attempt leeching them. Not to mention, they acted as an adequate cushion between Kierelia and the Deep South.
The tribal ancestors had not been so accepted. It was true there were legends of great power that came from one’s voice. There had been a time when such gifts had been used rather savagely. In early days, before Kierelia was an established kingdom, the people who lived upon that land greatly feared the “beasts” of the south, as they were called. It wasn’t until the southern gift began to diminish that the neighboring landsmen accepted them as allies. But if word were to get out that she not only shared their blood but that cursed gift of old…
The prophet gazed down upon her as if reading her thoughts. “That is correct, Auras. I have knowledge of a nearly forgotten marital alliance in her ancestry.”
Hazel blinked up at him. Not even her guardian, who so loved to mortify her, had mentioned such a thing.
“Hazel, I knew your great, great, great grandmother, who was offered in marriage as a motion of alliance between an early Kierelian settlement and a southern tribe. It seemed the tribe wished to learn the settlement’s ways by sending one of their gifted-less to live among them. In exchange, they offered their protection. Your grandmother, Hanzel, was the, er, seal upon the deal.” At Hazel’s wide eyes, he continued with, “I know it sounds a bit barbaric, but it is very like our royal alliances by marriage today. Moreover, I know for a fact the two fell quite in love and lived long, contented lives.”
“Did my… did my parents know of this?”
“It is the darkest secret of your mother’s family.”
Many of the group drew up chairs as a conversation over matters concerning her bloodline and the possible extent of her “gift” continued. But it was apparent she had fallen asleep when she awoke to a rather alarming statement.
“Then she isn’t ready to be weaponized,” someone stated with disappointment.
Hazel forced herself to remain calm. She must continue to appear unconscious in case they should not wish to discuss it while she was awake.
“Yes, but an attack from the Deep South is not likely due for another year or so.”
“I have read that many of the old tribesman’s gifts did not emerge until well into their twenties. How can we be certain she will be gifted in time, let alone trained?”
“I cannot for the life of me understand why the Deep South does not attack now when they clearly have the means.”
“My sources say they will not count themselves ready for another year.”
“But will our girl here be anything like ready by that time or shall we tell King Zephuel to continue looking for other options?”
“I do wish you all would cease referring to Lady Hazel as some kind of weapon,” the prophet spoke at last. “I have seen glimpses of what she may become should her life’s journey permit it and I believe, if the Great One sees fit to empower her against any future enemies, he will do so in his timing. Kierelia was established under his blessing and, as far as I am aware, it remains so.”
5
Due to the lateness of the hour, Hazel had fallen asleep again and been carried to the carriage where she slept soundly until they drove over a fallen branch. Having tumbled to the floor, the prophet helped her back into her seat where, by her preference, they sat in silence. Her mind raced over all she’d heard of impending war and the possible weaponization of her. She was more than glad that she was “not ready.” She could not bear the idea of battle.
“I heard what they said,” she said at last.
“I know. Your eyelids twitch when you’re awake.”
“But I fell asleep again… What is to become of me?”
“For now, you return to Castlehaven.”
She raised a brow. “And then?”
“My girl, you’re going on a journey.”
“What?! Where?” A variety of emotions flooded her. She had never left Castlehaven before.
“That, I will tell you when it has been approved by King Zephuel.”
She eyed him. “Should he consent, when will I leave?”
“This afternoon, likely.”
Her stomach twisted into knots. “You really won’t tell me where I may be going?”
He shook his head.
* * *
Hazel raced through the forest that surrounded Castlehaven. She’d always found solitude here. And though it wasn’t more than once a week that she was released into it, she knew it like the back of her hand. Just now, she had a specific place in mind—a place she very much hoped to meet the only friend she possessed, though he was a severely concealed secret.
At last, she came to the place where rock met grass and river. That rock eventually grew into a mountain, but from this view, it was merely the bearer of a small stream supplied from the runoff of melted snow. The stream flowed into the steady river, not large but very handy for dipping one’s feet into. Throwing off her slippers and hiking up her skirts, she sat upon the bank and did just that.
“If your Lady Nora could see you now….” a voice spoke behind her.
She grinned. “She’d have me locked up for the rest of my life.”
She heard the sound of stockings and shoes cast off before the young man sat beside her on the bank, his feet entering the water next to hers. “That would be less than you deserve,” he said reverently.
She shoved him. “Dorian, if my guardian knew you existed in my life, she’d have me locked away in my beloved tower forever.”
The young man with gray-black hair and wideset eyes merely shrugged. “I’d toss bits of food up to your window from time to time. Maybe even climb the very walls of Castlehaven, if only to see how happily you were getting on with your books.”
Though Dorian was low-born and was—when she allowed herself to admit it—likely a thief who worked with a whole gang of criminals, he spoke as if he understood firsthand every detail of her life. Indeed, she had described every nook of her tower and he understood Lady Nora as well as she did. He was actually acquainted with the prophet. The man had come looking for her once and happened upon the two in their favorite spot, this place where they met as often as possible. In fact, there were many days when one or the other waited hours, hoping the other would
arrive. Dorian, she knew, did most of the waiting. He had a free and easy life, from his descriptions, and he loved the woods as much as she did.
“I’m afraid I’d probably prefer you toss up books for consumption,” she said. “I cannot imagine reading the same ones over and over for the rest of my life.”
“And here I’ve never read a one.”
“Not true, per se. I’ve read some to you. And there was the one the prophet read out to us.” The prophet was the only one who knew of their forbidden friendship and the only one either of them could ever have stood entering their association. As it happened, Dorian knew the prophet nearly as well as she did, for the older man always made certain to visit Dorian when he went to town.
“True,” he said with a nod. “His was the best.”
“You always say you like mine.”
“I do, but it is not always the case. After all, legendary romances are not usually the sort a man of my caliber takes an eager interest in.”
She sighed. “Dorian, I have to tell you something.”
“I’ll try to listen.”
“I’m serious. Something… something’s wrong with me.”
He skipped a rock. “What is it, little one?”
She stole the rocks from his hands and tossed them into the river. Then, she told him her story right down to the moment the prophet told her she would be traveling.
“Hazel… that’s crazy. People don’t lift other people with their voices. That’s a tall tale, a legend. It must have been a lark.”
“But it wasn’t. I promise.”
He stared thoughtfully into the water. “So… if the king consents, you have to go.”
She nodded. “I confess, I was nearly excited when he spoke of it, but I woke with little courage this morning. After all, I have no idea where I’m to be sent, nor for how long.
“The southern tribes,” the prophet spoke behind them.
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