Chapter 9 #2
She was beautiful. Rich, brown hair sat in perfect ringlets to a chest that made my own feel inadequate.
Her face was all strong cheekbones and plump lips, and her eyes were as green as Callen’s.
An emerald tunic with gold embroidering complemented her dark brown skin, and she sat with an easy confidence that I didn’t think I had.
“Are you just going to stand there, or are you coming in?” North’s snide remark snapped me into action.
“North, is the harsh welcome really necessary?” Callen chided.
I felt the blush in my cheeks, hating its presence as I wandered toward the table, all too aware of North’s dull gray eyes scanning me with searing judgment.
“Don’t answer that question,” Harthon said, saving me from whatever acid was about to pour from the bearded man’s mouth.
His regal attire from yesterday was replaced by brown fighting leathers like those on Callen, though a black tunic underneath covered his arms. He gestured to the woman.
“Etarla, you haven’t met Ana, my minister. She’s in charge when I’m not here.”
So this was the Ana he’d greeted so warmly when we’d first arrived in the Citadel. Seeing her now, it would make sense if they were lovers.
Her face transformed from beautiful to stunning when she smiled, the gesture friendly. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Etarla.”
It was polite to return to the formality, but it wasn’t really a pleasure to meet her. It wasn’t a pleasure to be here at all. So I gave her a stiff nod.
“You said there’s proof to show me?” I said, turning to Harthon.
After a restless night of sleep, I was only half-convinced of what he told me yesterday.
The part about the magvis erecting the Domus and finding me in the woods was believable enough, but that bit about me knowing the tunnel system that led into Centralis?
Absolutely not. The magvis may have changed the appearance of my eyes, but no matter how many times I searched through my thoughts for an image or indication of these tunnels, I found nothing.
Ana chuckled, the sound throaty. “You don’t waste time, do you?”
“Only when she stands at doorways and stares for hours,” North snarked.
“What crawled up your ass today, Northen?” Ana asked, utterly fearless.
North was a nickname, then. Based on the snarl curling his lips, he much preferred it to his full name.
“The same thing as every other day,” Callen said with a sigh, guiding me to the head of the table. He pulled out the cushioned seat, and I cautiously sat.
“That’s what happens when I’m constantly bombarded with your ugly faces,” North muttered.
Callen slapped a palm to his heart. “You wound me so deeply.”
“Don’t worry. He was referring to Hart, not you,” Ana chimed.
My eyes landed on the mentioned man. He leaned back against his chair, one arm slung over the wooden backrest, watching the exchange with boredom on his face as if this bickering was a regular occurrence.
“When I said ‘your faces,’ I was referring to all of them.”
“Have you seen your own? Let me fetch you a mirror,” Callen taunted, resting his forearms on the high chairback beside Ana.
“Domus knows you have hundreds.”
“As I should.”
“Now look who’s wasting time,” Harthon cut in, eying the three of them. He didn’t crack a smile, but his relaxed features and light eyes were telling.
North glared at Callen, who shrugged.
“Etarla asked for proof. Let’s show it to her.” Harthon nodded to Ana, who slid a small wooden box down the table.
I caught it with a jerk. “What is it?”
“Open it,” Harthon instructed, fixing his attention on me.
Everyone’s attention was on me, actually.
Under their tangible scrutiny, I lifted the cover.
The inside was lined with red velvet, and a single envelope sat face down in the center.
Yellowing at the edges indicated its age.
I carefully picked it up and flipped it over.
A purple seal, carved with an intricate pattern of swirls, was attached to the upper lip.
Gingerly, I pulled out the paper inside and flattened it.
Disappointment crashed over me. It was a letter, but it was written in a horribly smudged cursive, the words far lengthier than I knew how to read.
Many villagers couldn’t read. There was simply no need for the skill.
Merelda had made it a point to teach me letters, sounds, and basic words, while also expanding my verbal vocabulary.
It was her version of “education,” and it was enough for me to speak well and stumble my way through official declarations that occasionally found our village, but this text and its smeared ink… I would need an hour to decipher it.
I glanced up at the four pairs of eyes that watched me.
If I’d blushed earlier, my face was now flaming hot, embarrassment settling like lead in my gut.
Frustration quickly followed. It shouldn’t matter.
I’d never needed to know how to read, and I shouldn’t be ashamed of that.
I knew how to do the things my daily life required, and I knew how to do them well.
Straightening my spine, I looked at Harthon. “If you want me to read this, you’ll need to give me time.”
North scoffed. Ana and Callen, for their part, didn’t react.
“Are you able to read?” Harthon asked, the question one of curiosity, not judgment.
“Yes. This is just more than I’m used to, and the smudged ink makes it more difficult.”
“I wasn’t expecting you to read it, but it’s good you have the skill.” He extended a hand. “Let me read it to you now, and you can take your time with it tomorrow to ensure I didn’t make anything up.”
I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding as I handed him the paper.
He cleared his throat and began to read.
“To Princeps Tamen, my brother, I must keep this brief, as time is short. Donon has called on the magvis to isolate the city. As many of us assumed, the act will save Centralis, but your land will suffer. He is too fearful to care. I know little but this. The magvis will be the only being to know the way in and out of the city. Should she die, the knowledge must pass to another first. I am planning a way to kill her so that I can know the route, leave here, and bring you access. You are my King. You always have been. Skies willing, you will take the throne. Watch for me. Therion.”
Harthon’s eyes landed back on mine when he finished. “Tamen was Fourth Territory’s Princeps before me. As I said yesterday, Therion was the King’s advisor.”
The letter was testimony that the magvis passed on her knowledge of the path before dying. It was hard to deny that the recipient of said knowledge was me. But anyone could have written this letter.
“How do I know you didn’t forge it?”
He flashed a grin that was gone a moment later. “There’s the royal Centralis seal and signature. But the certain proof that I’m sure you’re seeking is in the material.”
I glanced at the letter. “It’s paper.”
“It’s paper made of lavender and charcor root.
Charcor root only grew in Centralis. It also causes ink to bleed after fifteen or twenty years, which is why it’s no longer made.
This ink has bled. I would have had to forge it when I was ten years old, and while I pride myself on my planning, that would be a stretch. ”
I swallowed, searching for another explanation but coming up short. Marsik had complained about charcor root paper before, when he’d realized an old collection of letters from a young love had turned into a smudged, unreadable mess. Harthon was telling the truth about the letter.
But maybe Therion was lying.
I clung to the possibility like a lifeline, even as I asked my brain once more, Where are the tunnels? There was no answer.
“I still can’t tell you where this path is.”
“Can’t or won’t?” North challenged.
I shot him a hard look. “Can’t.” Then a curious thought came, and I turned to Harthon.
“The magvis was bleeding badly when she found me. If she got those injuries before leaving the Domus, the tunnel entrance must be in Third or Second Territory. She wouldn’t have been able to travel far with those wounds. ”
Harthon inclined his head. “A human wouldn’t, but according to the stories, a magvis can withstand more than the rest of us. She could have exited anywhere.”
There was a lot of land in the six Territories. An infinite number of places where the path’s entrance could be.
“What was it like when the magvis changed your eyes?” Ana asked.
“Quick, bright, and hot.” There really wasn’t much more to it.
Harthon narrowed his eyes. “Take us through it step by step. Include all the details, even the unimportant ones.”
The details wouldn’t magically reveal the path, but there was no use in defying him now. If he wanted to waste time listening to the story, we would waste time.
Looking down at the swirling fibers of the wooden table, I recounted the moment that had violently ripped me away from my life.
The moment that had landed me here, a woman wanted by two Princepes.
“I wandered out toward the Domus to trap animals. The lands by my village were growing sparse, so I needed new grounds. This terrible scent settled around me, I hid, and then she stumbled into the clearing. I was going to leave.” I should have left.
“I walked over to her, realized she was bleeding and that her blood was black, and then she grabbed me with a strength that no one has. Her voice…it was deep and raw and old.” Goosebumps pricked the skin of my neck at the memory.
“I looked at her eyes, and then I saw light. It was almost like I was floating, and there were these shapes like tree roots, but a lot of them. It got painful for a moment, and then she was gone.”
My story was met with silent thought. Callen pushed away from the chair he leaned on and began to pace, staring at a wall of books as if it held the answers.
Harthon’s deep bass broke the quiet. “Can you give any more details about those tree roots?”