Chapter 47
Chapter Forty-Seven
Vale stirs beside me but does not wake. Delicate hues drape the room in muted pink. There is a serenity to it, and yet I am restless.
Rolling my shoulders and stretching my limbs as I sit on the edge of the bed, I wonder if my aches have in fact eased. Do I greet each new day with less gnawing at my bones than before? These past few months have been so all-consuming it is hard to discern.
I haven’t had to labor the way I once did when I alone was in charge of my very survival, let alone care. Still, life has moved at such a frenzied pace that there’s been no real measure of time to acknowledge rest.
Tightening the robe around my waist, I take advantage of my early rising. Restlessness may have roused me, but what I do with this time to myself is entirely of my choosing.
I walk quietly through the room, my fingers trailing the surfaces as I pass, deciding where the quiet may lead me.
I move toward the window and the small writing desk where I thought I might journal when we first arrived.
Hours have been filled with learning, exploring, and cherishing each other’s company.
But if I am truly being honest with myself, I’ve been scared.
Too afraid to put the truth of what I have been experiencing each day into written word.
Each time I’ve flipped through Sylara’s pages, I am reminded just how long-lasting our words can be. I feel safe here, perhaps more than I should, but something about writing everything down makes it all too real.
I could speak in code, the way Odrin shielded his message to Vale, but I know in my heart it would be a disservice to intentionally dilute the wonder.
Odrin’s message looms as well. Whatever may happen when the courier arrives remains foreboding.
If I cannot trust the leather-bound journals, maybe a single slip of parchment with fleeting thoughts will do.
I can always toss it in the hearth if it seems too revealing to keep.
I shuffle through the contents of the desk, setting aside journals—untouched and partially filled in my own handwriting—as well as a well-worn novel I thought I might have time to read.
That’s when I see it. Its crooked spine is unforgettable.
The tome from the Sanctum. I had all but forgotten the way I held onto it when the guards retrieved me.
I set it on Vale’s desk back at the palace, didn’t I?
It must have been scooped up along with everything else they brought to the manor for us.
Stillness takes hold all around me, and even the air seems to lean in with anticipation. Thinking back to the Sanctum, I try to remember if I picked it up by chance or if some force guided me to it. These days it is impossible to tell. More and more, I sense I am guided by invisible forces.
I pause and look out the window. Shimmering dew catches the light still barely cresting over the peaks. I don’t see the same transcendent beauty of the day before by the falls, yet it still seems to sing to me more than it ever has.
Returning to the book in my hands, I listen with my whole heart.
Faintly, I hear its voice—ancient and distant, less a whisper and more a quiet beat.
My body remains an unmovable stone sitting there in the chair.
I manage the smallest of movements to lift the cover, closing my eyes for just a moment as I do.
Looking down at the bound pages in my hands, I realize they aren’t words at all.
Symbols the likes of which I have never seen before spill over the tattered parchment.
Standing, I turn so the pages face the window, its light coaxing the ink into clearer view.
I examine them closely—and understanding sets in. Panicked, the book falls from my hold.
Vale startles awake at the sudden thud. Sitting upright with the blankets low around his hips, he studies me. I must look like a startled deer as he starts toward me.
“It’s all right,” I say, soft but rushed.
I gesture for him to stay while reaching for the book. Picking it up, I move back to the bed and sit opposite him, my robe loosening as I settle facing him with the book in my hands. I open it and turn the pages toward him.
“Where did this come from, my flame?” he asks as he takes it from me.
“The Sanctum. I didn’t mean to take it, and well… it seems to have gotten caught up in the mix when items were brought here.” A twinge of guilt runs through me as I question how grave a mistake I may have made.
“It’s all right,” he laughs gently, sensing the rising fear within me. “Those tomes belong to the kingdom. Belong to us.” Leaning back on the pillow, he tilts the book to catch the light before quickly disregarding it. “This once may have been held sacred, but now it’s a nonsensical relic.”
He tosses it aside onto the bed. I scramble to retrieve it, clutching it tightly to my chest the moment it’s in my hands. Without knowing what lies within, I know it did not lose its sacredness due to time—it lost it due to neglect.
“What are you doing?” I scold the mighty king sitting naked in bed, utterly perplexed.
“Mira… what’s gotten into you?”
He reaches for me. I may be bold, but I am rarely loud—at least not like this. Still, I am thankful our chambers are always so isolated.
“How can you just toss it aside like that? It may not make sense, but poetry rarely does at first. Haven’t you ever sat with a phrase long enough to know how it settles into your soul?
” I laugh at myself, so passionate about words.
Perhaps I’ve never had someone I felt safe enough with to share this part of myself so freely before.
“Poetry?” With a raised brow, he reaches for the book once more. Morning light now fills the room. We can see the pages clearly as he opens the book between us. “Mira, it’s just signs and symbols. Sure, I recognize a few common alchemical marks, but it’s little more than scribbles.”
I freeze. Looking at the lines, it takes a moment for my mind to catch up with my eyes.
?? ??
Water. Air.
How do I know their marks? Not just the shapes for the elements, but each line. Word for word. No—symbols. All of them.
“Vale… I can read this.” I was right to be tentative with the release of that thought. He is clearly taken aback. “Can’t you?” I ask, even as I feel in my chest what he is about to say.
He shakes his head slowly, eyes closing tightly before he looks at me again. “No, Mira. I can’t. No one can. Not for hundreds of years. Not since the Fade.”
I lean back as the weight fills the space between us. His careful worry gives way to a loving smile.
“Another blessing, I wager. But gods, Mira—this truly breaks things open. More than you know.”
He does not reveal everything in that moment. He insists it is far too large a revelation to be kept between us. With little more than trousers thrown on in haste, he steps into the hallway to deliver a message—one that will pass from one to another until his intent is set into motion.
“Dress for the garden. We will take breakfast there. Ace and Soria will be informed. Mira, this is incredible.”
He rushes back to me, still struggling to keep pace with the morning’s revelations. He takes my face in his hands and kisses me with bright enthusiasm. “Bring the book. I promise I will never again toss aside anything you bring me.”
He smiles and sets off to ready himself properly. I watch as I step into a light gown and reach for a shawl, marveling at the king made undone in so many ways since meeting me—only ever in the best ways, I hope.
We work our way through pleasantries first, sampling the array of fruits and sweetbreads laid out on the iron table in the garden. Red brick paths branch into trails lined with lush flowerbeds. Once due approval is given, we are left to speak more freely—just the four of us.
“Alright, Mira,” Vale says. “Show them the book.”
I pause, reluctant to reveal not just the tome, but the parts of me it will direct attention to. I brush my thumb across the tattered leather still held under the table. With a deep inhale—and the trust of those I now sit with—I move.
Soria studies it quietly as I set it on the table. Ace, on the other hand, wastes no time. He sweeps it up and inspects it.
“What is this ratty thing, and why did it cause such a commotion so early in the day? I may have had time to rise, but do not expect me to shine.”
“Ace, is there ever a time you are anything less than resplendent?” I tease.
“She speaks the truth,” he replies casually, cracking open the spine. It creaks, and I wince as flecks of dust and leather scatter across the table.
“Careful, please.” Even Ace senses the concern in my voice and adjusts his handling with newfound respect.
“Oh, I recognize these… old prophecies, right? The stuff scholars argue over. Gods, Mira, where did you find this relic?” He starts to laugh, then thinks better of it, returning the book to me with uncharacteristic discomfort.
I set it down, pages opened before me, breakfast long forgotten. I stroke the ink, my heart aching that no one else sees what I do.
“Mira,” Soria says softly, “can you read that?”
Vale’s smile widens, but I keep my eyes on the page. Sylara’s words gathered dust, cared for by only a few. Now something even older is treated almost as a curiosity. Yet I know it holds something worth protecting.
From the corner of my sight, Soria and Vale exchange a hushed glance. “What is it?” I ask. “So much has happened—what about this draws such concern?”
Soria straightens. “Those who could read it trained for years. Those who wrote it were considered either mad or miraculous. The gift was rare. And those who held it…” She looks at Vale. His expression holds both pride and awe. “It was their only gift.”
“But you light fires. Flowers bloom near you,” Ace adds slowly.
“No one has ever touched so many gifts,” Soria continues, “and never with such ease.”
I shrink into my chair.
“A gift like this is something new, my flame,” Vale says gently. “As unique as the woman it’s bestowed upon.” He offers his hand. I rise to meet it.
Tightness takes hold in my chest. As if stepping into being queen was not enough… how much more am I meant to embody?