CHAPTER ELEVEN #2
“Stand, you fool,” Bjorn said, retreating deeper into the room.
As if he had divine control of the Scholar, the young man stood without hesitation.
Bjorn unclasped his dark purple cloak, revealing a Lunamorian Scholar robe, before lowering himself onto a throne befitting his large stature.
It was high-backed, with a cushioned seat dissimilar from the greater castle’s furniture, and had curved arms that perfectly fit the rounding of his palms. “Princess, this is Lewin. He is my apprentice.”
“Ah.” I joined my hands at the waist, studying the young man as he nervously shifted weight from one foot to the other. “Well, then. Thank you, Lewin.”
“Of course, Your Highness.” A faint blush dusted his tanned features. As he chewed on his lower lip, casting repeated side glances in Bjorn’s direction, I almost felt bad; discomfort was practically emanating from him. “Should I bring these to the kitchens, Scholar Bjorn?”
“Leaving so soon?” I teased, the corner of my lip lifting as I unsuccessfully suppressed a smirk.
“I, uh…”
Bjorn lowered his chin, those familiar eyes unchanging, though the air of him seemed less than amused with my antics. “Yes, Lewin. That would be very helpful. Please also take the time to break fast. When I’m finished here, I will meet you in the library.”
“Certainly,” Lewin said as he began balancing the baked goods in his arms.
“And Lewin?”
“Yes, Scholar Bjorn?”
“Speak to no one.”
Lewin gave a low nod. When he finally wrangled Phinara’s gifts, he backed out of the room with a partial bow. “Scholar. Your Highness.” His strained breathing disappeared down the corridor.
Lewin was no more a King’s Scholar’s apprentice than I was a Sentinel; without the blood of Sor, he would never reach such heights.
When Bjorn was inevitably replaced, Lewin would be sent to the Scholar’s ward with the rest of the Lunamorian Scholars.
And yet I found myself repressing a hazy fog of jealousy settling over my chest. He had access to knowledge that I coveted—knowledge that was so dangerous for me to seek, I scarcely allowed myself to consider it before witnessing Vicar’s crossing.
“Princess Alyssum?” Bjorn called from behind his desk.
I inhaled deeply before closing the door, hand resting against the rough wood. After a moment, I turned on my heel to take in Bjorn’s chambers; I’d never been in them before, and I doubted I ever would be again.
It was the second time today I had expected a room to be larger than it was.
The furniture and decorations were congested in a way that would have appeared mad had I no impression of the man before me.
Quite curious. Instead of responding, I stepped towards the hearth first. Still-warm coals emanated heat through my cloak, and I unclasped my pin to reveal a Sentinel’s tunic.
I lingered, gaze tearing itself from one item on the mantel to the next—from thick, dusty volumes, to mugs housing dried herbs, to various papers that I refused to believe were organized.
I lifted my attention to the painting above the hearth, flanked by two sconces illuminating the canvas.
I sucked my cheeks between my teeth, biting down gently as I stared at the most beautiful landscape I’d ever seen.
Despite the snow blanketing the land, massive trees with purple leaves and blooms hugged one another along the edge of a lake.
The sky was a perfect shade of pale blue, reflecting onto the undisturbed, glassy water.
I could almost feel the nipping chill and welcome stillness that would envelop a soul in such serene surroundings.
“Lake Alacine,” Bjorn said, soft and patient.
My chest grew tight as I traced the lines of the painting, committing it to memory.
Eventually, and with great effort, I turned to observe the smattering of smaller pieces littering every section of the cream-colored walls.
A majority of them were maps, but occasionally I would spot the poised smile of a young woman with deep brown skin, pale-blonde hair, and purple robes.
As a still-dying coal sputtered in the hearth, I wondered who she might be.
Perhaps a lover that Bjorn was made to abandon? Or worse yet, a child?
I denied the uncomfortable thought footing, moving further into his chambers to find new focus.
I approached a steep staircase that led to a landing above, cradling the banister as if I might ascend.
Instead, I lifted my chin, assessing the mezzanine that circled the upper level, adorned with built-in bookshelves and round, painted windows.
Where the mezzanine ended, another door. His bedchamber, if I had to guess.
With a deep inhale, I returned my focus to Bjorn.
He sat behind a desk that took up the vast majority of the space available to him.
Surprisingly, it was the only section of the room that did not appear disorganized.
Maps were neatly stacked on one end, while blank parchment, quill, ink, and charcoal rested on the other.
There were books, letters, and small metal contraptions that reminded me of the sextant Anise kept on her desk in the depot.
Finally, our eyes met, and he motioned towards a throne opposite his own.
It was smaller than the one he sat in, but still impressive with its ornate carvings and plush seat.
I furrowed my brow as I approached, studying the cushioned yellow section that I was meant to sit upon.
After a questioning glance, I took my seat on the throne.
I pursed my lips as I situated myself, and Bjorn stared at me expectantly.
“It’s… quite comfortable,” I admitted.
“Unfortunately, King Lunamor prefers discomfort for the castle furniture. He believes it disincentivizes too much sitting.”
It was all I could do to stifle a rather unladylike snort. “Why do I not find that surprising?”
“For the life of me, I couldn’t say.” Bjorn’s light eyes twinkled, and I imagined that if he weren’t the King’s Scholar, and I weren’t a Treaty Princess of Lunamor, we might have gotten on quite well. He ran a hand gently over his woven beard, assessing my face.
Pressing my lips together, our attentions locked.
I wondered if he felt the relief that I did, staring back into a pair of snow-blue eyes.
I used to feel that same ease with Linus, but affection between us had dissipated long ago, and I’d forgotten how comforting it was.
Still, Bjorn and I had no established relationship.
I could not trust him implicitly, regardless of our commonalities.
He was the King’s Scholar, first and foremost, and it would be negligent to think of him any other way.
Yet as I contemplated what degree of honesty the situation warranted, I didn’t have to ponder long.
I doubted I would escape Father’s punishment without further scarring if he were to learn of my misbehaviors, but he could not kill me.
That was more than I could say for Phinara and Bjorn should their plot come to light.
The realization settled something in my chest, and I exhaled the breath I’d been holding. Only then did Bjorn sever the silence.
“So, you witnessed Vicar’s crossing.”
“Indeed,” was all I offered.
“That must have been quite a surprise.”
“I’m still not sure I’ve recovered from the shock of it all, if I’m being honest.”
“I can’t blame anyone raised in Lunamor for—”
The words tumbled out of my mouth before I could contain them: “What do you do with the Vacants?”
It seemed I had stolen Bjorn’s voice. Those hooded, glacial eyes stayed pinned on my own. I could not identify an emotion there, though I desperately wanted to.
“Do you… do you kill them? Is that why Vicar is dead?”
Bjorn’s large chest rose and fell with a sigh.
“No. They are not killed.”
“Then what do you do with them? Once they’re in the dungeons, I mean.”
Bjorn’s mouth opened and closed in quick succession, as though this was very much not how he’d anticipated our conversation unfolding.
“So you’ve made a habit of uncovering what others would rather keep hidden,” he finally commented after several moments.
“If only,” I said bitterly. “I have little more than pieces that refuse to fit together, no matter how I arrange them. Sentinels beyond the wall, fitted with metals. A barrier of fog that, as it turns out, truly does consume your memories. And a King’s Scholar risking more than his position to smuggle forbidden sorcery into a kingdom that would have his head for far less. ”
“It would seem you’ve had an eventful few days, Princess. But where do the dungeons fit into your puzzle?”
“That would be the first piece I acquired, though I was only a child. I’d been running through the courtyard when I saw a kitten,” I explained.
I looked past Bjorn as I recounted the chilly, clear-skied day from so many years ago.
“I’d never seen a cat, let alone a kitten, on the grounds before. I’m sure you know—”
“—the king does not permit pets on the grounds. I am very aware.”
I enjoyed the disapproving edge in his voice. It was refreshing to hear someone speak candidly of my father, and I admired his bravery.
“Precisely. So, naturally, I followed after her—”
“Miss Mystis,” Bjorn interrupted once more. “I haven’t seen her for some time now. I hope she’s well?”
I breathed through the shock. I rarely spoke her name in private, and had never uttered it aloud to anyone other than Nora.
I grew uncomfortable, a full-bodied pressure stiffening my posture.
Although I was unsure how he’d learned my cat’s name, time in his chambers was limited, and the gnawing desire to know about the Threshold outweighed everything else.