A fire crackled in the hearth, casting dancing shadows across the study as Hawkeyes puffed contentedly on his pipe. On one of the walls nearby hung a detailed map of Sarsda, its borders and districts marked with careful precision. The remaining walls were lined with an eclectic collection of weapons, swords, daggers, and throwing knives, alongside shelves groaning under the weight of books whose contents would raise eyebrows in polite society. Beside him on a worn wooden table sat a steaming mug of tea, a bitter herbal blend he drank religiously and insisted Tims drink as well.
In the adjacent room, Tims hunched over a table surrounded by bottles of every size and shape lining the many shelves. Sunlight streamed through two large arched windows, illuminating the rows of potted plants that thrived in the warmth. He was deep in study, examining the properties of black root with meticulous attention. The herb fascinated him, how something so simple could heal or harm depending solely on dosage. A small miscalculation could mean the difference between life and death. Naturally, he was researching how to administer the wrong dosage deliberately.
The sharp tap of pipe against wood broke the comfortable silence. “I had an interesting conversation yesterday with a servant of Lord Conner,” Hawkeyes announced from the study.
Tims looked up from his book, his brow furrowing. “Lord Conner?” The name left a bitter taste in his mouth. He had never liked the Lord, and the man’s reputation only darkened with each new piece of information he uncovered.
“He is apparently bragging of his wealth to many in his station, buying loyalties left and right.”
Tims shrugged dismissively. “Sounds like him.”
“Ah, but it gets interesting.” Hawkeyes leaned forward slightly. “My sources tell me that with such vast influence, his manor has been entertaining, shall we say, questionable persons.” He looked over at Tims with a raised eyebrow. “More than once, I hear, a priest or two has frequented his estate.”
“Priests?” Tims set down his book entirely. “Why would a priest have anything to do with Conner?” He paused, his mind already working through possibilities. “Did your source say which god the priest served?”
Hawkeyes shook his head slowly. “Sadly, no. The information wasn’t complete enough to verify.” He took a deliberate drink of tea and puffed thoughtfully on his pipe. “I think we need to keep a closer eye on Lord Conner. Something in my gut tells me not everything is right with this lord.”
Tims grunted, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. “I could have told you that.”
Hawkeyes fixed him with a penetrating stare. “You have proof?”
A slow grin spread across Tims’ face. “I bet I could get some. Lord Conner is an idiot.”
Hawkeyes studied him for several long moments, the air between them shifting. “You can, can you?” His words had lost their usual banter, taking on a more serious edge. “Tonight, there is a ball being hosted for the dye guilds to honor their ventures and the wealth they bring our kingdom.” He paused deliberately. “Naturally, Lord Conner will be in attendance, given his station as financier.” With a calculating look, Hawkeyes added, “I think a certain Lord Blackridge of Davai might make an appearance.”
Tims gave him a thoughtful but skeptical look. “That far south? That’s on the southern ocean of Elise.”
A knowing grin crossed Hawkeyes’ face. “And the stories he can tell will be most enlightening. Besides,” he took another puff from his pipe, smoke curling lazily upward, “the Harvest Festival is just around the corner. It won’t seem strange to entertain visitors from that far south. It’s happened before.” He paused before adding, “You’ll be on your own tonight. You will probably not even see me. I have some acquaintances that will be showing up. It’s high time I’ve gotten some fresh information on the going ons outside these walls of ours outside the normal networks.”
---
The Merchant’s Ball was held at one of the largest dye guild buildings in Sarsda’s merchant district, invitations sent out to all the wealthy lords and ladies of the court.
Tims sat on the opposite long seat from King Joshua and his wife while Averin sat next to him, her expression unreadable this afternoon. She stared out the carriage window, lost in thought. Joshua was speaking in a soft whisper with Anna.
“Please, do be on your best behavior. I don’t need another lecture tomorrow from some pompous noble lord at court.”
Queen Anna rolled her eyes. “You’re the one who accepted this invitation, not me.” She gave him a half concealed glare. “I can’t stand half of these gloating pigs. Why did you ever agree to attend?”
King Joshua, also staring out the window, sighed heavily. “Appearances, Anna. You know that. We must stand tall, even if many around us are plotting against us. We cannot afford to look weak, not anymore.”
Anna let out a heavy breath. “I just wish we weren’t in the dark so often. We have a network of information and yet, when it comes to our own home, we receive the least bit of information.”
Joshua’s eyes fell on Tims and he gave the slightest of nods.
At that very moment, Averin chose to look in his direction. She looked from her father to himself with a slight frown but said nothing.
Just then, the coachman gave a short call and they felt the shift as the carriage turned from paved roads onto a gravel drive.
Rolling to a stop, the door opened and the coachman bowed. “We have arrived, my lord.”
King Joshua nodded his thanks and escorted Anna out of the carriage then Averin.
Tims followed and walked a few steps behind the royal family as custom dictated.
Normally, he viewed the dye guilds and other elaborate merchant buildings from above as he made his way through Sarsda’s streets in the early morning hours from rooftop to rooftop. He had, of course, attended many events over the years as squire to King Joshua. This was no different.
He followed behind Averin up the steps to a lofty porch with several pillars decorated with flags of the many merchant houses in the guild. The large doorway opened into an elaborate foyer with massive columns of polished marble rising three stories high. From the ceiling, long chains held enormous chandeliers. Tapestries of vibrant hues, indigos, crimson, rich emerald greens, hung between the columns, each a testament to the mastery and wealth of the guild.
Tims followed as the ever dutifully squire across the black and white checkered marble flooring, noticing with his trained eyes everyone around him.
Similar to the palace attire, servants dressed in immaculate livery, lining the walls. They each wore doublets dyed in the guilds signature blue, it’s color rich and true. It had to have cost a small fortune.
They followed an upright, no attitude servant to the end of the foyer to where they ascended a sweeping staircase with banisters of dark wood inlaid with mother-of-pearl. More tapestries adorned the walls of the wide corridor beyond, interspersed with paintings of the guild’s founding members and notable masters. Brass sconces held dozens of candles, their warm glow competing with the last rays of sunset streaming through tall, arched windows.
The corridor opened into an antechamber where other nobles were gathering, their fine silks and velvets a rainbow of color and status. Crystal glasses clinked as servants circulated with wine and delicacies. Through the massive double doors ahead, Tims could see the ballroom itself, a vast space of polished floors, more chandeliers, and what looked like hundreds of guests already in attendance.
King Joshua paused at the threshold, straightening his shoulders before the herald could announce their arrival.
A tall man in deep purple velvet trimmed with gold, stepped forward with a staff that he rapped three times against the floor. The sound echoed through the antechamber, and the murmur of conversation in the ballroom beyond began to fade.
“His Majesty, King Joshua of Sarsda, Queen Anna, and Princess Averin!” The herald’s voice carried with practiced authority, filled the vast space.
The ballroom went silent as hundreds of faces turned in their direction. Like a wave, the assembled nobles bowed and curtsied in a choreographed display of deference.
King Joshua entered with measured steps, Anna on his arm and Averin just behind. Her expression was cool like her mothers. She had inherited Anna’s distaste for noble life with that pompous attitude almost all had.
Tims kept himself at the edge of their procession, present but unremarkable as squires were to be. It made what he would be doing that much easier.
The ceiling soared at least four stories high, painted with elaborate depictions the history of the dye trade, ships arriving with exotic goods, merchants haggling in bustling markets, artisans at work over steaming vats of color. Five massive chandeliers hung suspended on thick chains, each one ablaze with what must have been a hundred candles.
The polished floor sparkled in the light like still water and at the end of the room, an orchestra sat on a raised platform, just now beginning to play again. Long tables laden with food and drink lined one wall while the opposite side opened onto a terrace where one could escape the heat and noise.
As King Joshua and his family moved deeper into the sea of lords and ladies, Tims melted into the background, his eyes sweeping the crowd methodically, cataloging faces, noting who spoke to whom.
Lord Conner stood across the room, his figure draped in expensive silks as he laughed too loudly with a cluster of merchants. The man’s face was flushed, his eyes strangely vacant as though he was preoccupied with something else in his mind.
Seeing nothing amiss, Tims scanned the crowd some more before resting suddenly on Averin.
A Lord Vardin, holding lands in Cabol, stood proudly with his son, Jerol, a thin but tall, awkward young man. He squeaked of obedience like a dog to his father and bowed slightly to Averin.
Tims moved into a better position to read the lips of the young lord.
“I thank you, my princess, Averin, for this chance to talk with you.” Jerol hesitated, glanced at his father as though taking cues, before returning his anxious face to the princess.
Averin’s expression remained neutral, a practiced expression she learned from her mother. “Lord Jerol,” she said without flare or emotion. She only exerted the barest courtesy required.
Jerol’s face brightened, failing miserably to pick up the hint of Averin’s mood. “Your dress is...” he glanced at his father again who made a subtle gesture with his hand. “It’s...radiant as the morning sun over the eastern hills of Cabol.”
Averin’s jaw tightened and Tims knew she was trying hard to hold her emotions in. The whole scene was rehearsed, most likely for a whole day. “How kind,” she replied flatly. Her eyes never changed with her words.
Lord Vardin stepped forward, his smile too wide. “My son has been eager to make your acquaintance, Princess. He speaks of little else since learning that you were attending tonight’s gathering.”
She smiled back but it didn’t reach her eyes. Her words lacked any warmth, replying, “How fascinating. I only decided this afternoon that I’d go with my parents. Funny how word gets around so fast.”
Jerol’s ears went crimson. “Father!”
Lord Vardin ignored his son and said, “He plays the lute quite skillfully. Perhaps he could perform for you?”
Jerol’s eyes went wide and he stammered, “I...I think the princess would prefer the orchestra. “
Averin put on a placid face and smiled. “That won’t be necessary.” Her tone had turned cold.
With a strange, almost comical fear, Jerol reached out as though to take her hand, brought it back, then did it anyway in an awkward lurch. “Would you...umm...would you perhaps...” His words came out jerkily, “honor me with a dance?”
Averin turned her gaze on Lord Vardin, a deliberate stare that spoke volumes. Jerol didn’t want to be here. This was all Vardin’s doing. If she didn’t accept Jerol’s invitation to a dance , it would look poorly on King Joshua.
“One dance,” she said finally, her eyes boring into Lord Vardin’s gaze. She knew exactly what he was up to. Turning her gaze on Jerol, her expression softened out of compassion and together, they made their way to where others were dancing.
Tims’ heart ached, knowing Averin had to endure the scrutiny of the council. This was only the beginning of Averin’s torment for the night.
He turned his gaze again to the crowd before hearing the distinct dinging of a goblet. Turning, he saw the master of ceremonies raise his goblet high. “A toast to King Joshua’s health and prosperity!” he called out. In response, many lords and ladies responded with their own words echoing, “health and prosperity!
Lord Conner lifted his cup with the others but his smile could be seen easily as a mask. It stretched too thin. While nobles around him drank deeply, Conner barely wet his lips, the knuckles white around the stem. His eyes fixed on the King with something that made Tims’ hairs prickle.
With the attention of the crowd on King Joshua, a servant in nondescript livery not matching the colors of the guild, weaved in and out of the crowd hurriedly before reaching the financer’s side. Placing a sealed letter in his hand, the servant vanished back into the crowd before anyone noticed he had been there.
Lord Conner’s eyes made a quick scan around him before making his way out to the terrace.
Tims was already moving, easily maneuvering through the sea of people till he closed in on Lord Conner. The man was on the terrace, leaning under a scone’s lantern light. As he broke the seal, he opened the letter with what seemed trembling fingers, his face a tinge pale. Odd for a man who handled major trade negotiations. He scanned the letter briefly before shoving it into his inner pocket. But not before it slipped slightly, catching on the fabric.
Tims grabbed a goblet from a nearby waiter and stumbled near Lord Conner’s elbow, catching himself against the wall. “Pardon, my lord,” he murmured, bowing low, his one hand desperate to balance the sloshing goblet.
The letter had fallen during the jostle, landing face-up for the briefest instant. Tims glimpsed the only sentence on the paper. “Your parlor in two days, afternoon.” Below was a strange symbol he had never seen before. It was a simple circle with three balls inside.
Lord Conner snatched up the paper with a muttered curse and glared at Tims furiously. “You foolish dog!” He spat at Tims before driving his boot into his side.
Still crouching from the staged stumble, Tims tumbled backward, the goblet flying from his hand to explode against the marble floor in a spray of crystal and wine.
“Now look what you did, stupid pet!” Lord Conner said with contempt. He straightened, brushed his clothes with deliberate strokes, and swept back into the ballroom with an air of superiority.
Tims’ hand clenched into a fist, imagining it wrapped around the Lord’s throat.
The waiter he had gotten the goblet from looked at him with a weary sigh before turning to summon someone to clean up the mess.
Standing up, Tims walked to the railing and stared out at the flickering lights of the city below, letting his breathing settle.
Moments later, a distinct gasp echoed from inside. He spun around just in time to see Averin swing out, her fist slamming into Jerol’s stomach with decisive force. He gave an audible cry of pain as he doubled over, clutching himself.
Averin’s eyes blazed with rage as they turned on Lord Vardin before she deliberately stepped over his groaning son, making her way to the terrace with measured steps.
Tims straightened, bracing himself for Averin to vent.
She stormed up to him, her cold eyes boring into his for a long second before she spoke. “Are all men pigs? Do you all think first with your penis? Do I look like I’d bed any man who approaches?”
He blinked, uncertain how to respond.
She glared at his silence, her voice rising. “Well, Tims? Do I look like a whore? Answer me!” Her face had flushed dark with anger and something deeper.
“No,” he said softly, not daring to say more. He could see something inside her was ready to snap from an unseen burden pressing down.
She walked to the railing and stared out, a single tear tracing down her cheek. In a subdued voice barely above a whisper, she said, “I sometimes wish...” She stared out over the many buildings jutting up in towers, their windows glowing like scattered embers. “There are times I wish I wasn’t a woman.” She gave a shudder. “All eyes are on me, questioning, judging. And then some...” She took in a shaky breath, her knuckles white against the railing. “Some just want to undress me.” She began to shake, and Tims realized how vulnerable she had become in this moment. She couldn’t be showing this side of her to the nobles. They’d devour her like wolves on wounded prey.
Coming to stand near her, he undid the overcoat he was wearing and draped it over her trembling shoulders, positioning himself to shield her from prying eyes within. He held her hand in his own, her fingers cold despite the evening warmth, and whispered, “It’ll be alright, Averin.”
She leaned into him, still shaking. He could feel the weight of the world bearing down on her shoulders, and he could do nothing about it but be a comforting presence in her darkness.
Later, as the night ended, they were making their way back to the palace in the royal carriage. Averin, still shaken from what Lord Vardin’s son had said to her, something she hadn’t even voiced to him, leaned her head against his shoulder, an expression of deep sadness etched across her face. Neither King Joshua nor Anna said anything. It was simply part of being royalty, he guessed. She would have to build a wall up against the remarks people made, brick by painful brick.
Tims glanced up momentarily, lost in troubled thoughts. Across from him, Queen Anna stared at him with those unreadable eyes, and it unnerved him. He quickly looked down again, his stomach tightening with discomfort.
---
Averin looked over at the hourglass positioned on her nightstand, watching the sand trickle through its narrow throat. It was nearing the hour for which she had set the chimes to go off, but she was still awake, staring up at the ceiling shrouded in shadows.
Lord Jerol had seriously tried to grope her as they danced! He had feigned a stumble and his hands had instantly gone between her legs, fingers grasping. She had glanced at Lord Vardin to see a contemptuous smirk playing across his face, as though his son’s violation had been planned.
It hadn’t taken long before word got to Uncle Stingar. That, at least, gave her a twisted smile. Once Stingar was done with Lord Vardin and his son, they wouldn’t dare look in her direction ever again. He’d be discreet, but Stingar took offenses like this to heart. In his lands, the punishment was swift and, well, most times final. Here, the royal council was more lenient and didn’t see things the way Uncle did. Still, Averin knew he would instill a lasting fear in Cabol’s governing lord, one that would follow him into his nightmares.
She sighed into the quiet. It had started raining again right after they had gotten to the palace, the drops drumming against her window. She didn’t linger to discuss anything. She wasn’t in the mood. Knowing Tims, he was more than a little curious to know the intricacies of her feelings on what had happened at the ball. But that, of course, was the problem, wasn’t it? Feelings...dangerous, treacherous feelings. She had already overdone it on the terrace, that feeling of absolute peace, knowing she could cry without shame, his arms wrapped protectively around her, his warmth seeping into her cold despair.
Tears trickled down her face and she glared at the ceiling, fighting her treacherous body! She was a princess first, not a common person who could choose their own destiny. Hers was sealed in cold stone or rather words on binding legal pages of law. She was a prisoner for life, and no amount of wishing otherwise would ever change that!
Again, she looked to the hourglass. The sand continued its inevitable descent.
She only had a few minutes left.
Sliding out of bed, she gasped softly as her bare feet touched stone.
She had forgotten to pull the rug close to the bed and felt the coldness of the floor seeping into her bones.
Finding her slippers and robe, she padded to the fireplace. On the mantle, she lit a lantern, its flame casting dancing shadows across the walls. She picked it up and grabbed the satchel nearby.
Once... twice... then two quick knocks in succession.
A panel of the wall slid aside with barely a whisper, revealing darkness pierced by a single light. From the middle of the dark opening, a figure stood holding their own lantern, the glow illuminating familiar features.
“Ready?” the figure asked quietly.
Lifting the bag to her shoulder, Averin held up her light, grabbed a sheathed dagger hanging from the wall, and walked through the hidden doorway before it slid shut again with a soft click.
Father stood there, his lantern lighting his weathered face. He was dressed in his own night robes, looking more like an ordinary man than a king. Strapped to him was a dagger of his own.
Following a long, narrow, undecorated hall, they walked in the darkness, their footsteps muffled by years of accumulated dust. The hidden passage led into an abandoned room with shelves coated in cobwebs and a table thick with dust. At one time it was used as a study, but with so many rooms in the palace, this one had been forgotten as many others had for many years, swallowed by the palace’s vast architecture.
Setting his lantern on the table, Joshua began searching near the chamber’s fireplace, his fingers tracing the stonework. He said a second later, “I’m not too thrilled with what you did earlier, Averin. You should have told me what you were doing.”
She noted absently that he was completely avoiding what transpired at the ball and went directly to the other thing she had done.
“And would you have let me go?” She gave her father a kind but sad smile. “Without you?” She usually had a broad smile attached to these secret affairs, but tonight just didn’t fit the usual excitement.
King Joshua looked heavenwards but said nothing for a moment, his jaw working. At length he gave a soft, resigned laugh. “Your mother says you are too much like me.”
“Trouble,” she nodded and picked up both lanterns to come beside her father, their combined light pushing back the shadows.
“Here we go.” An audible “click” echoed in the small space, and the shelf next to the fireplace rotated to reveal another concealed hall, cold air breathing out from the darkness.
Following after her father, she closed the hidden door with a muffled thud.
Once behind the walls, they entered a labyrinth of corridors where one could easily get lost, the passages twisting like veins through the palace’s ancient bones.
Averin followed Father as they made their way down the dusty halls of days gone by. The floor held a half-rotted, discolored rug that ran the length of the hall, their footsteps raising small clouds of dust with each step. There were still a few paintings here and there, their surfaces so darkened with age it was hard to make out what the original work had been about.
Turning a corner, they descended a long staircase where at the bottom, a large hall opened up with pillars spanning the length of candlelight’s reach, disappearing into gloom beyond.
This part of the palace was still unexplored in some areas, a vast and complicated labyrinth that even the builders had likely forgotten.
Following their memorized path through the winding corridors, they came at last to a locked door, its wood dark with age.
Taking a key from his pocket, father unlocked the door with a heavy clunk and they entered.
The interior was a library filled with towering shelves of forbidden knowledge. The books contained in this room were of ancient origin and strictly forbidden by the White Council, their very existence a death sentence if discovered.
Father had filled this private library since he was a prince, gathering volumes others would have burned. When it had become apparent that the books he and others were discovering were threatening to the White Council’s view of the world, he began to grow secretive, even from those in the Historian Society he created.
When he married Queen Anna, Joshua made a point to let her in on his secret lair. Anna was at first excited about having a secret no other person knew, delighted by the conspiracy. But when it became apparent as to what exactly was contained in the books her husband had collected, the burden weighed heavily on her. A few times, she confronted him in private as to the wisdom of holding such damning knowledge.
When Averin was born, they agreed that she would never be told of the hidden library.
That lasted right up until Averin’s curiosity found her following her father in secret one fateful night.
That very night, Father and Mother sat her down and at the age of twelve and had one of the most serious talks she had ever received from her parents. It had instilled a deep fear of the temple priests, of the White Council and anyone who was remotely religious, a fear that mingled with fascination.
Still, curiosity won out in the end. Her stubbornness and knowledge of the concealed passages earned her a place beside Father as he explored the forgotten parts of the palace as well as what lay behind the White Council’s wall of magic in the city.
He had made her memorize all the known passages throughout the palace without aid of any written material or diagram. There would never be anything of the sort. As far as the noble court of lords were concerned, there were no secret staircases, passages, or even obscure chambers. As for the white wall and what lay behind it, Averin was most suitable for the mission, father always busy. She used the black smith shop hideout as a waypoint in the night. She knew neither Tims or Daniel stayed overnight there. It was perfect.
Setting the lanterns in the middle of one of the tables, their flames casting dancing shadows across the surface, Averin slid a chair next to father. She lifted the satchel over the table and poured its contents out with a clatter.
Several items were strange looking with odd structured pieces, their purpose obscure. They didn’t seem to fit any practical use other than perhaps an odd decoration. Each contained runes and lettering in the forgotten tongue they had come to realize was called “High Latra” or the “Ancient Tongue.”
An exquisitely decorated mirror was examined along with a tapestry in the mix, its threads still vibrant despite obvious age. An egg-shaped marble held runes that seemed to shimmer in the lamplight.
Then came the items she ran through the night for, kept hidden from everyone.
In the midst of the various items lay three books, their leather bindings cracked with age. Each was of different sizes but each title written in the same ancient script.
Father’s eyes lit up like a child who had found a long-lost toy. Hesitantly, almost reverently, he picked up one of the volumes, his fingers careful of the fragile cover. To Averin, he asked, “Have you looked at any of these in length?”
She shook her head. “A storm was coming so I was in a hurry. I picked up things that just looked interesting.” She gave a smile to which the King softly laughed, the sound warm in the quiet library.
His eyes trailed over the first few pages of the book he opened, scanning the faded text. It wasn’t long before his eyes noticed something familiar. “A date,” he said suddenly and examined it more closely. After a short pause, a soft whistle escaped his mustache-covered mouth. “3rd Age, 501...” Joshua whispered as if breathing on something profound, sacred even. He looked up at Averin, wonder mixed with disbelief in his expression. “Where did you find these books? They can’t be this old...they’d be crumbling at a single touch!”
“Another vault,” Averin smiled, unable to contain her excitement. “After our last visit, I noticed we didn’t search all the cavern halls beneath the spring well we came upon. So I took the far right and searched going northeast till I found another large cavern that descended deeper into the ground. From there...” her gaze grew distant, seeing it all again in her mind’s eye. “You should have seen it, Father. A statue...I think it was gold, gleaming even in my lantern light. There was something about the very nature of it that made me feel...different, more alive! As if the air itself was charged with power.”
“Any known features?”
“I have no idea what it was supposed to represent.” Averin sighed, frustrated by the gap in her knowledge. “A tree and before it was a golden creature with wings, somewhat small but with large, penetrating eyes. It seemed to have been parts of different creatures making up one very strange one. I think it was supposed to resemble something on fire, with flames curling around its form.”
When no comment was offered, Averin continued, leaning forward in her enthusiasm. “I searched behind the large statue and found an odd door. It was shaped into a triangle with the floor inscribed with dragons inside a circular disc...there was a lot more to it but that’s what caught my attention. And when I stepped through the door...” her eyes looked up at her father then, raw awe shining in them. “I felt something, Father! I felt...as if I were being transported to another place entirely.” Her eyes were wide with the memory, her voice dropping to barely above a whisper. “I was in a room that looked out into a vast plain of grass high in some mountainous region. There were mountain peaks in the distance, snow-capped and magnificent. On another side, a window gazed out over a vast lush valley of beauty far below with a long river stretching on forever. I wasn’t in Calmone!”
Joshua’s eyes narrowed into a worried look, concern etched into the lines of his face, but didn’t say anything.
“That’s when I found these volumes.” Averin finished, her voice returning to normal. “They were lying on a table in the middle of the room, as if someone had just been reading them. I grabbed them and knowing I was somewhere else completely, stepped back through the doorway and was back where I had begun.” She breathed in the excitement of remembering it all, her heart still racing from the memory. “The other things I just collected on my way back up through Enali.”
They sat in silence for a few minutes, the only sounds the whisper of turning pages as Joshua flipped through the volumes while Averin inspected the strange decorative items, turning them over in her hands.
Joshua scanned the pages of the first book then the second and third before coming back to the first, something catching his attention.
“You said a dragon was the inscription on the floor.”
Averin looked up at her father. “Yes.”
Turning the book towards her, he held a page open for her to see, his finger pointing. “Is this what you saw?” indicating the intricate drawing.
“Yes!” Averin exclaimed softly, leaning closer. “What is it?”
Studying the drawing a little more, King Joshua rubbed his fingers through his beard, a crease forming between his brows as he pondered. Getting up from the table, he went to the shelves he had personally categorized. Thinking for a second, he pulled a book from its location and thumbed through it, his brow furrowed in concentration. His mouth moved silently as he deciphered the language and its meanings, years of practice guiding him.
Coming back to the table, he slid the tome across to Averin’s awaiting hands.
Trading the book she was examining, she looked at this one and found again, the design was the same but a little smaller in this volume, rendered in a slightly different style.
“The date on that one is a bit more current.” King Joshua said at last, settling back into his chair. “It is written somewhere in the last age though I’m not clear as to what exact date. It mentions a few notables by name. I recognized them right at the beginning. However...” he paused while studying the older text in his hand, his expression growing more animated. “I never understood much of its language. Now...I think I know why.” He looked closely at the book in his hand, tracing the strange letters with his finger. “Yes...there’s two forms of Latra writing here. The book you hold is one form, a newer form, this one is much older...I could swear it has mixed languages in it as well! I think...most interesting. I think there’s some Calmonian dialect here!”
“You can decipher it then?” Averin looked up immediately with sudden hope blazing in her eyes.
Joshua nodded slowly, a smile tugging at his lips. “I believe so. Give me a few minutes.”
For the next several minutes, the hidden library was silent save for the occasional scratch of Joshua’s quill as he made notes, while Averin examined the two other volumes she had found. Placing each against the book from the shelf, she found another dated, “3rd Age, 01,” almost five hundred years before the last one, written at the very dawn of that age.
“In these golden years of King Judd,” King Joshua read haltingly, his eyes going wide with dawning realization, “we, the emissaries, embark on a new path, one which benefits all races of Exodus from the countries of Eden to the countries of Elise. To the Calmonian Empire, we have made the greatest peace. To celebrate, we have given our principles of Dragonblood, that which governs us and the practice of the High Court’s training inside the Dragonsphere. It is here Dragonblood must prove to all the last stage of training and his or her own ability.
“Even so, normal man cannot complete our own training as written down in the Dragon Journals. The Elliads, from their own country of Verlone, prove to be a match in their own right. They have determined to adapt our ways and make to themselves their own Academy within Sarsda. To this arrangement, we have written an amendment to the Black Knight Academy given to King Judd, one to force both humans and Elliads to learn and work together as neighboring nations. They will be a union of human spirit and will, the Black Knights, and one of ancient magic, the Elliad Arrow Hunters. Together, they shall create a council of guardians that shall release tension and burden from our backs. It is truly a glorious age for Ancients and man. It is right to call the Elliad section of Sarsda, Enali. For the meaning of the word is alliance.”
King Joshua stopped reading, set the book down with trembling hands and sat back, head resting in his palms. In a deep and painful voice he spoke, barely above a whisper, “The things I wish I could declare...what we have discovered...”
Averin saw the weight of knowledge and pain sweep over her father like a suffocating wave. She leaned over and wrapped her arms about him in a comforting embrace, feeling the tension in his shoulders.
After a while, she released him and he said, his voice steadier now, “Are you certain you weren’t followed?” He looked at her intently, worried creases running across his forehead like cracks in stone. “If any of this is found out...what we know...the consequences! I cannot begin to imagine what would happen if what we have found came to light!”
“I wasn’t followed, Father,” she said gently, placing a reassuring hand on his arm. “I think-”
“I think we need to get some sleep,” he interrupted, his tone brooking no argument. He rose to his feet and taking the books, placed them in their respective places with practiced care. The last book without a date, he put on the top shelf, handling it as if it might crumble to dust. “Now, let’s get back to sleep. Tomorrow is another day, and a festival needs to be prepared. We will worry about this some other time.”
Pausing at the door, he turned to her, that worried look still lingering in the shadows beneath his eyes. “Averin, I have a bad feeling. You know how your mother stresses of late with what we do. I...don’t know how to say it. I just think that for the time being, maybe we should stop researching behind the wall.”
Averin looked at her father, eyes pleading for a second, desperately wanting to protest. The echoing words he had read haunted her though, reverberating in her mind. Things that were supposed to be mythical, legends of a fairytale were written down here as historical records, as undeniable fact. She sighed, the sound heavy with resignation. Looking at the dust-covered ground, she let her shoulders sag under the weight of acceptance. With a single nod, she walked out of the library into the hidden passages.
She followed Father through the dark halls winding their way back the way they had come, their footsteps muffled by centuries of accumulated dust.
Somewhere in the vast construct of interconnecting corridors and inner halls, they stopped for a brief moment. With a special hug, Father holding her close for just a heartbeat longer than usual, he left her to follow his own way through the secret hall leading to his own chambers.
Averin walked another minute down the corridor to the hall leading into her bed chambers, the lantern light dancing shadows on the walls.
Once back in her rooms, she found sleep did not come easily. Her mind refused to quiet.
So many different thoughts raced through her mind, so much information that spoke directly against the White Council’s recorded history, contradicting everything she’d been taught since childhood.
When she had first begun to study with Father years ago, the findings in Enali were a game to her, an exciting adventure. Sighing, she knew she had to abandon that idea. It wasn’t a game. Recently, the Council had taken a lot more interest in Calmone. There were always ambassadors coming and going from Rumeran to Calmone’s many provinces, their presence growing more frequent, more watchful. Something was going on that wasn’t being openly discussed with her father. He had said as much a few times and it was worrisome, a dark cloud on the horizon.
Nothing of what they knew could be shared with anyone. To speak of ancient things, of history that went against what was taught by the White Council invited more than a warning. To declare the Council to be false in something, that would be asking for their wrath to fall swift and merciless. They were the King Makers. Nobody could fight against such magic and come out alive in the end.
At the same time Averin was thinking all of this as frightening, a small part of her rejoiced, a spark of defiance flaring in her chest. She found it liberating. Here was some hard evidence that the White Council was not what it seemed, proof they had been lying for generations. They did not have the best interest of her people! But who would ever dare stand against them? They had in their ranks war mages, specifically skilled in magical warfare, capable of leveling cities.
There was no winning here. Calmone would stay under the watchful eye of the Council and the mysteries they had uncovered, that which contradicted all of the White Council’s teachings, would never see the light of day. The myths that had suddenly become reality to her could not help. They were long dead or gone, vanished into the mists of forgotten ages. The history of Calmone was just that. The past.
It would take something that could match the power of gods themselves for truth to be revealed.
---
Somewhere in the depths of Sarsda’s labyrinth passages, a lone figure perched in shadow. He had watched from the darkness as the princess and her father had come up from the lower halls, their lantern light betraying their path. He listened intently as they spoke in hushed whispers, secrets of Enali only his masters should know, words that would doom them. He glared darkly, eyes gleaming with malicious intent.
As the two humans left, he gave a dark, harsh caw that echoed through the forgotten spaces, lifting his wings. He took flight from his perch and up through a long-forgotten hearth, the soot swirling in his wake. Higher and higher he flew till at last he burst out into the open where thunder grumbled ominously in the night sky, lightning flickering in the distance. He flew off in the direction of the Temple of the Nine where word would then be magically sent to Rumeran’s White Council.
The net was closing.