CHAPTER ELEVEN
ALYSSUM
“The castle is just up ahead,” Bjorn called.
I shifted my aching arms for what felt like the millionth time as another baked good threatened to tumble onto the cobblestone.
“This is an unreasonable amount of pastry,” I grumbled.
“Yes, Mistress Umfrey’s gratitude was rather evident in her generosity.” Bjorn dusted some crumbs from the front of his cloak with a free hand.
I, however, had no free hands. I was more a mule than a princess as we made our way through the village, but it would have been unbecoming to complain given the added benefit of further concealing my identity.
Absently, I wondered if I was the first royal of Lunamor to camouflage herself amidst a mountain of bread.
As we approached the southern castle gate, two Sentinels in their slate grey tunics addressed Bjorn affably as he lowered his hood to greet them.
“Scholar Bjorn! Fine weather for the feast, wouldn’t you say?”
“Indeed,” Bjorn replied, tossing them both a still-warm bun from the top of my heap. “That abominable heat has left us at last.”
Despite my obscured features, I kept my head low, grateful that the morning’s chill excused my hood and coif. I doubted a Sentinel would question the King’s Scholar regardless, but I’d taken enough chances in recent memory and it was never too late for one’s luck to run out.
“I hope to see you both at the feast,” Bjorn said with a gentle bow that both full-mouthed Sentinels returned. He continued walking with a beckoning motion. “Follow me.”
I scurried forward into the castle courtyard.
Although my vision was mostly obstructed, the bustling symphony of preparations underway was unmistakable.
I peered beyond the freshly baked loaves in my arms to observe swaths of teal and orange; the pillars, the balconies, and even the fountain were draped in Hollowmire silk, splashing our kingdom’s colors over the grey.
The traditionally barren walls of the circular courtyard hid behind colorful tapestries that told the story of the Feast of Comets, much like the ones in the great hall.
Another quick peek confirmed that the beige planters lining the yard, usually housing plain, green shrubs, had been replaced by glossy pottery overflowing with marigolds of all shades and long, purple sprigs of lavender.
There were very few times a year that the nondescript Lunamor castle invited bright hues, plentiful drink, and lively chatter.
The odds that I would be here for the next celebration were dwindling with each day’s passing, so the decorations that usually sent my mood soaring were instead tugging on my heartstrings.
As we stepped between two massive pillars, I narrowly avoided servants carrying a large potted tree adorned with blown glass baubles made to look like comets.
I ignored the pang in my chest and followed close behind Bjorn as he navigated towards the entrance to the western wing, away from the commotion.
When we were sufficiently swallowed by the shaded corridor, Bjorn relieved me of two sacks of bread. I adjusted my hold on the remaining goods.
“They should add provision carrying to the Sentinel training,” I commented with an uncharacteristic, half-hearted laugh that highlighted my nerves.
Disobeying Father beyond the wall or within the village was chancy enough, but to do so within the castle, knowing he or his spies might mosey down this exact corridor at any moment?
I swallowed around the fear lodging in my throat. If we were to be found together…
“There is no need to worry,” Bjorn said without prompting. “No one will stumble upon us.”
“I’m not worried,” I immediately supplied.
Bjorn, who was over a head taller than me, peered down his nose with a sympathetic smile. “My chambers are this way,” he said before striding through the candlelit hallway. “But you already knew that, didn’t you?”
I followed in step, all the while doing my best to deny admittance to that particular memory.
My general lack of deceptive ability aside, Bjorn’s quarters were adjacent to the Scholar’s library, and we both knew I’d been caught perusing his off-limits collection.
His light-hearted demeanor strengthened my suspicion that Bjorn had not been made aware of Father’s chosen punishment for that offense.
If only I could forget, I thought as the muscles of my back flexed involuntarily.
“I may or may not recall the general location of your chambers.” I gave nothing away with my tone, as if I were much too occupied to consider his inquiry.
“I’d wondered if you might outgrow your disobedient ways, but I’m glad to see my worry was unwarranted.
I daresay rebellion suits you.” It was hard to discern much about Bjorn’s expression beneath that beard, but the subtle twitch of his cheek indicated a smirk.
At least, I was going to imagine that it did.
After several winding turns through dimly lit, carpeted corridors, the decor suddenly shifted and I knew we were nearing our destination.
The portraits here depicted the King’s Scholars from Lunamor’s past, each more grand than the next.
The cathedral-shaped windows, dissimilar to the rest of the castle, had been painted over.
One featured the bright red berries of a spiky-leafed tree, another the dual moons that hung in the sky, and another yet the sharp, snowy peaks of Mount Sor the northern Scholars called home.
I was told they had an appreciation for art and aesthetic that did not extend to most of our kingdom’s nobles, but given their less-than-ideal circumstances in Lunamor, they were afforded the small kindness of decorating the westernmost wing of the castle to their specifications—a bit of home to keep them happy.
“Something on your mind?” Bjorn’s tone was casual despite the silence we’d endured for a majority of our journey.
“It’s just odd,” I said, clearing my throat. “You know, seeing a bit of what it would be like.”
I realized Bjorn ceased moving a little too late and had to stop suddenly to avoid colliding with him.
I wobbled, very near toppling over, but his large hands reached out to steady the baked goods that threatened to collapse to the floor.
We had reached our destination, but instead of entering his chambers, Bjorn studied me.
I held his gaze, unsure of the ease I felt staring into eyes that looked like my own.
After a while, he offered a cursory look around the corridor.
The expansive purple rugs with flecks of blue, the painted windows that cast an eerie, multicolored glow across the dark paneled walls, and the occasional tapestry depicting Soran snowdrops instead of marigolds were all wholly unfamiliar to me. But they shouldn’t have been.
“Do you wonder about Sor often?” Bjorn asked, as if it weren’t a dangerous question.
“Of course not,” I said as quickly as I could. “I just… it’s all so unfamiliar, and it makes you wonder. I mean, it would make anyone wonder.”
“Would it?”
My surety wavered as Bjorn lifted his palms to open the dusky purple door to his chambers.
Regardless of whether he was right, I wasn’t just anyone.
Linus and I were half-Soran, a truth we were instructed to all but ignore from the earliest age.
We knew almost nothing of our mother’s home, nestled deep in the snow-topped peaks of Mount Sor.
It wasn’t a topic we were allowed to research, and we certainly weren’t encouraged to have discussions about our lineage with the King’s Scholar.
The small amount of information I had managed to glean came only from my trespass of the Scholar’s Library.
At the time, there was a part of me that thought Father’s displeasure at my curiosity was worth the risk, but the punishment I endured at his hands was unspeakable.
Even glancing at the ominous, bolted door to the library caused my spine to tense.
“This place is nothing like Sor,” Bjorn said suddenly. His words were cold and sharp, like the icicles that would begin forming on the balconies in the months to come.
I’d never heard Bjorn sound bitter. Then again, we weren’t permitted to interact with one another formally—perhaps he was less stoic than he appeared.
Before I could respond, an unfamiliar pair of hands began desperately trying to relieve me of my provisions.
I inhaled sharply, preparing to recoil, but Bjorn placed a large, steadying palm on my shoulder.
“Scholar Bjorn, I am… at your obedience…” An eager young man, his speech stuttered with grunts, frantically lifted the weight from my arms. He was short and incredibly lithe, with dark curly hair in a bun at the base of his neck.
The light blue robes he wore were floor-length and intricately embroidered with the night sky, in the tradition of the Lunamorian Scholars.
“Thank you,” I said, once he’d taken the last sack from my hands.
My hesitancy must have been evident, for Bjorn offered a reassuring nod when I looked up at him.
If Bjorn was willing to trust someone with our secret assembly, then I would as well, I decided.
In one swift motion, I raised my veil and lowered my hood with a steeled inhale.
“You’re quite welc—” A muffled thud sounded as he dropped to his hands and knees, face pressed into the plum-colored rug of Bjorn’s chamber. “Forgive me, Your Highness! I did not recognize you beneath all of that… bread.” I could see the edges of a grimace on his partially visible profile.
I stifled a laugh, humored that Bjorn’s expression mirrored my own.