Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
“ G ood morning, Princess.”
I startle at Edmond’s words and slam my book shut, tucking it into the large, winged chair cushion next to me. I got to the library for my lessons early this morning, finding that my time spent in the quiet amongst the full shelves is some of my most calm. I have met with Edmond in the castle library every day since childhood. He’s taught me everything I know, every lesson on politics, geography, customs. He has made me the future queen I am today.
“Good morning, Edmond.” I sit up straighter before letting out a large, very un-princess like yawn, stretching my arms above my head.
“Catching up on some reading?”
“Yes. I was up reading until it was almost light.” It is the truth. After leaving my father crying over my mother last night, I could not quiet my mind, so I resorted to distraction.
“Something educational, I hope.” His eyebrows rise as he quirks his head .
“Of course.” I will the blush out of my cheeks. I don’t want to get into what I am reading.
I’d discovered Tila’s stash of books years ago. I was bored, waiting for her to arrive in her chambers, when I started snooping through her things. A row of neatly lined books caught my eye on the shelf above where she did her sewing, and I decided to ignore boundaries and look. I stood on her stool and pulled one down, expecting to find patterns or instructions for crafting all the clothing she made.
As my eyes scanned the text, I was shocked to find the book had nothing to do with sewing. I pulled down book after book and skimmed random pages. They were stories. Romances . And some of them were…naughty. My eyes scanned the covers, but did not find a single detail hinting at what was inside.
I have been sneaking into her rooms and borrowing books from her shelf ever since.
I truly think she knows and pretends not to, because I notice new ones appearing all the time, and she never seems to notice when one is missing.
Ever since, I have loved to read about love, craving the escape, the longing, the happy ending.
The idea of someone loving someone else that much makes my chest squeeze. I’ve never known that kind of love, never truly seen it either, unless you count the times I’ve seen my father sitting in with my mother.
I want what I read in Tila’s books. It is one reason I am so upset about my father’s refusal to involve me in anything for the kingdom and my continued isolation.
Am I doomed to be isolated and unloved for my entire life?
So, I find it in the books, who have been my constant companions for years. I don’t lie to Edmond when I say I am reading something educational. The books can be very educational, especially when I was younger and didn’t have a mother to explain these things to me. Gods know my father never will, and maybe this is why he never discussed any betrothal or marriage agreement with me. He avoids any mention of moving forward in my life at all costs.
Edmond chuckles as he takes a seat. “You and your stories. Just make sure to return them to Tila when you are finished.”
My jaw drops as I take in his lighthearted look.
How does he know?
“There isn’t anything that happens with books in this castle that I am unaware of.” I gape at him as he sits in the chair across from me, as he has done every day for years.
After a few beats of silence, I finally find words. “I read them to escape. It’s nice to live in someone else’s head for a little while.”
Despite the initial discomfort of him knowing what I am reading, it is fairly normal for me to be this open with Edmond. If Tila is like a mother figure, then Edmond is like my grandfather, one I am very close to. Just as Tila has been there my entire childhood, so has Edmond. My father assigned people to look after me as a child, and they have remained unchanged all this time. Brynne is actually the newest, and she has already been around for years.
But Edmond is more than just my tutor. He is a confidant, someone I spend my days with and who knows me better than anyone else, even Brynne. It doesn’t bother me he is at least three times my age. I know he loves me and cares for me, as if I am his own family, his own daughter. For all I know, he considers me as such, because he has no family of his own.
“Despite the…vivid imagery I am sure are in the books you and Tila read, we can learn a lot from stories if we pay attention.” I chortle at his insinuation, despite knowing he is completely right. “Is that the lesson that you want to have this morning?”
“I thought we had to go over things for the ceremony?”
“That can wait until later.” He rests his face on his hand, leaning on the armchair as he often does when he gets ready to lecture, and gazes at me through squinted eyes.
“What?” I squirm in my chair at the intensity. Just like any father figure, he can instantly make me feel like a child who did something wrong, though with Edmond, nothing I do has or will ever make him mad at me. In my younger years, I definitely tried. No matter what I did, instead of resorting to anger or punishment, he instead instantly taught a lesson from my behavior, turning a negative experience into a positive one.
“I’m just trying to remember if I’ve told you this story before. It’s one I used to tell my son. Even so, if you’ve already heard it, let’s just pretend it is the first time. Understood?”
My jaw drops at his words.
Son?
“I’m sorry, your son? You have a son?” His eyes mist at my question and an emotion that I’ve ever seen crosses his face. Longing? Nostalgia? I can’t quite tell.
“Yes, I have a son. He’s been gone for quite some time now.”
Is this why Edmond never brings up his family? I assume his son died, but how? What happened? It must have been before I was born, or at least a few years after, because I have no recollection of Edmond ever having any family at all.
I can see the sadness and love in his eyes at bringing up his son, and I want to ask more, but I don’t want to hurt him. In twenty years, this is the first he’s ever trusted me with this information. I want him to know I care, but don’t want to make his sharing more difficult than it already is.
I pick at a seam in my simple, deep green wool gown as I contemplate my choice of words before uttering them slowly. “Why have you never mentioned him before?”
He raises a hand to his face, his fingers covering his lips as he thinks before answering. “As I’m sure you know, some things are difficult to think about, let alone talk about. But they still live with us every day. We do not forget.”
I shrink back slightly at his words. He’s right. People live every day with things that are hard to think about. Edmond is finally giving me a glimpse into his, and we both know I have mine .
I swallow before I speak again. “I’m sorry for whatever happened. Tell me the story? Please?”
I’ve spent almost every day of my life with Edmond, and he can’t remember if he had told me a story he used to tell his son. If he hadn’t, it might have been over twenty years since he had told anyone this story. I don’t want to rush him, especially since it might bring up more memories, making what was supposed to be a typical morning of lessons a difficult one.
He shifts and lowers his hand to his lap, intertwining his fingers, but staying silent. After a few moments, he clears his throat and begins.
“It is not just the kingdom of Blackwood that exists in this world. As you know from the countless lessons of geography we have covered through the years, as well as the inter kingdom affairs and politics, there are neighboring kingdoms on this continent, and afar. Blackwood, as a whole, is a rich kingdom, filled with skilled craftsmen, and raw goods to trade or sell to other kingdoms. The natural wealth of the land provides us with jobs to support our people, to ensure that our citizens can live comfortably and care for their families. While this is the reality for Blackwood, not all others within our reach are as successful, and as such, are not immune to suffering, disease, and death.”
This is not the type of story I was expecting. When he spoke of a story he told his son, I expected more lighthearted words, not something that sounded like it is being quoted directly from the books we study.
I expected something with a plot and hidden meaning, something he would make me pull a lesson from. I do not know where he is heading, and after last night, I don’t know if I can handle a story about death and suffering. I shift uncomfortably in the chair and wait for him to continue.
He presses on. “Despite the advances in medicines and healing that many kingdoms, ours included, have benefited from, there are still many ailments or illnesses that cannot be treated. Many of which cannot be explained. Families and friends are forced to watch their loved one suffer with no hope of survival. It is only natural that they yearn for answers, from medicines and healers…or elsewhere.”
I swallow the lump in my throat that formed after his words.
Cannot be explained .
This story is hitting too close to my heart after everything I dealt with last night.
Our healers have no explanation for her majesty’s lack of decline in her state .
Is this the reason Edmond brings up the story today of all days? He hasn’t for almost twenty-one years, but suddenly he deems it so important that we need to push off preparing for the ceremony so I can hear it. How much does Edmond know about my mother’s health?
“In short, they need a miracle. A cure. Something to save the life of those they love, healing injury and combating illnesses that plague them. Some, desperate enough to save a loved one, would give up everything they had, or do anything they could to save a child, a spouse, a parent, a sibling, even a friend.”
This no longer feels like a coincidence. This lesson is targeted. Edmond must know. He must have talked to my father last night, or the healer, at the least. But what I cannot figure out is the reason.
There is no longer any hope, the healer said so himself. She needs to be let go, and if anyone needs to hear this story about doing anything to save someone they love, maybe it is my father. Maybe he should do something more with his influence and power than hold vigil by her bedside for twenty years.
He continues.
“Many tales have been passed down through the generations, talking of different treatments to cure certain ailments, but alas, nothing is guaranteed. Many people still die or are permanently changed from their injury for the rest of their lives.”
He stops, and I remain silent. He seems to be contemplating how to tell the next part of the story, or whether he to tell it at all. He has built it up this far, and I need him to finish, need to know why he is telling it, and how this pertains to me. What lesson is he trying to teach me?
The pause finally ends, as if he is convinced I am listening, and it is worth finishing.
“There is a myth of a land named Dawnlin. The story has been passed down through generations. The myth states that this land contains an element of some sort said to cure any disease or heal any injury, restoring the perfect health to a person. The land itself is shrouded in secrecy. No one truly knows how to find it, and no one truly knows what the element is.
“There have been no confirmed cases of some sort of magical element, only stories of miraculous recoveries in people who were otherwise doomed to die. The accounts of the family members or friends do not shed any light on the recoveries, as they swear they do not know how it happened. No one can confirm that any sort of element or elixir was used, only that the patient, who many times was ready to part from this world, was instead back to their normal ways in the blink of an eye.
“As you can assume, this magical element, if it did exist, would be highly coveted. The number of people who would fight to get their hands on it for personal gains, control, and influence in our kingdoms could be astronomical. Can you imagine the number of people who would do or pay anything to use it? To ensure they or someone they loved wouldn’t die? Or those who would hoard that power over others for their own gain?”
“I can imagine that there would be many people who would use it to extort others,” I say. The possibilities would be endless. I can only imagine the shift in power or the sheer amount of gold that would be paid to obtain it. Would men or women who hoarded this magic take over and rule the land, deciding who would live and who would die? Would kings give up their kingdoms in order to save someone they loved?
Would my father give up his for my mother ?
I push the thought away as quickly as it comes into my mind, focusing back on Edmond.
“That is where the Guardian comes in. It is said that the land of Dawnlin is protected by a guardian, a being who is the only one who can bring people on and off the island. The Guardian is the gatekeeper, the one that gives the chance to obtain the elixir to those who truly need it. The Guardian’s identity is unknown, and how he or she travels there is a complete mystery. No one knows how the island selects who is brought there, or why, but that doesn’t stop the hope that one will be chosen.
“It has been many years now since such a miraculous recovery has occurred, making people wonder if Dawnlin actually exists, or if something has happened to the Guardian. Though much time has passed, hope is not lost, as those who are desperate for a cure still wait to see if such a grace will be bestowed upon them.”
I wait for him to continue, but he just looks at me as if expecting a reaction.
He tilts his head to the side as he gazes at my face. “You seem disappointed.”
Edmond can always tell my genuine emotions, no matter how much I try to hide them. He can always pick apart even the most stoic looks on my face.
This isn’t one of those times.
I quickly loosen my lips and school my face back into a neutral position, not realizing my lips had been pressed together, my eyebrows drawn down. My feelings must be written all over my face.
“That wasn’t what I was expecting when you said you were going to tell a story.”
“Is the story of a mythical land that holds a magical cure for all illness and injury not a story enough?”
“I was just expecting…a plot.”
“Not all stories need characters to learn from. Even the simplest of stories can teach us. ”
“Fair,” I say. Edmond is like this often. He enjoys teaching in puzzles, pushing me to pull information from what he says instead of just talking at me and expecting me to regurgitate information. He likes to make me think.
“Are there any lessons you can garner from it?”
I think for a minute. I know this story is really special to him, but to me, that is all it is. A story. It sounds like one designed to give people hope, making them wish the Guardian would appear one day, and give them the ability to save someone they love. But that is where it ends.
Hope.
Hope for the families, hope for the ill. Maybe it gives a person peace, feeling they could be saved, but would that not make it more difficult to accept their fate when they aren’t? Isn’t it better to acknowledge it for what it is, a hope that will never be, and move forward with what you can control, processing the grief of loss and not believing in some sort of mythical magic?
The pain from last night floods my body as I relive all the dashed hopes of never meeting my mother. I clench my fists, taking a deep breath as my eyes flutter closed. I don’t want to go through this again, especially since I worked so hard to distract myself and forget.
“I think the lesson is that hope can be dangerous.” I open my eyes and meet his again, trying hard to keep the turmoil flowing through my body from showing.
He eyes me, face devoid of all emotion. “That is an interesting take. Care to elaborate?”
“It isn’t logical to believe in something so wholeheartedly and hope so strongly that you lose your sense of reality.”
“So, it is illogical to have hope?” Confusion flashes on his face, but he quickly hides it, forcing me to formulate an answer, not just respond the way he expects me to.
“Not exactly illogical. I think having hope is fine, but only to a certain point. Magic is not real. It’s hopeless to believe only because of a story, and put all your hope and energy into waiting for it to save you. At that point, you have two choices. You can either save someone yourself, or accept the reality of their fate, and do what you can with the time you have left.”
“Even at the expense of watching someone you love suffer?”
“I think hanging on to hope is the easiest way to guarantee you wait around and watch, rather than moving forward. Why not accept the grief and process it, so it doesn’t hurt as much when the person is actually gone?”
My father has been holding on to hope for twenty-one years and look where it has gotten him. Hanging on to nothing, just to say goodbye anyway. It would have been better for him to just let her go a long time ago. It’s not like my life would have been any different.
A single tear trails down my cheek and I swipe it away. I know Edmond saw it, but I also know he will not pry.
“Can amazing things happen?” I say. “Sure. But magic? Some magical element that can make someone whole again? It isn’t realistic. There is too much suffering in the world to hope and believe something like this elixir exists. And who chose this Guardian? What makes him so special that he gets to choose who deserves to be saved and who doesn’t? Why is he the one who gets to fulfill hopes of some but not others?”
I feel my emotions bubbling up again, fighting to spill over. More words pour from my mouth and I can’t stop them.
“It’s almost cruel to give people this hope and let them live their lives thinking magic will save them. Are they not suffering more knowing as every day passes that their suffering wasn’t enough to be helped? How is it fair to choose one over another? My moth?—“
I slam my mouth shut and tear my eyes away from Edmond. I try to blink away the tears, but instead cause more to fall. When I finally feel in control, I look back at Edmond, who is still watching me quietly. He knows what I almost said, but knows me well enough not to ask me to finish that sentence .
I don’t want to.
I don’t want to suffer more today.
Is this why he brought up this story? Why today? Why so suddenly?
I wonder if this has something to do with his son. Is today the anniversary of his son’s death? Does Edmond believe in Dawnlin, and waited with hope to save his sick child, only to be disappointed he was never chosen? What lesson is he trying to teach me from his experience?
“Do you know?” I ask. I don’t give him anything else. Silence stretches over the library as Edmond looks down, breaking our eye contact.
He knows .
“Is there anything else you learned?” He examines his hands, waiting to see if I respond with the proper lesson.
“Yes,” I snap a little more forcefully than I intend. I am not upset with him for bringing this up. I’m more upset that I let my emotions break through the surface. If there is anything my father expects from me as the future queen of Blackwood, it is to always have a handle on my emotions, just as he does.
I shift in my seat and calm myself before speaking again.
“I think there is a lesson about humankind, or more so, a warning. There are always those who thirst for power, and it’s easy to use hope against anyone in order to attain it.”
He looks back up at me, holding eye contact again. “You sound very cynical this morning.”
“If I’m going to be the queen of Blackwood, I need to be. I have to protect my people, and if someone is going to harm them or hold power over them, I need to be the logical one that isn’t tricked and confused. I can’t let emotions get in the way of that.”
“So, it is the want for power that drives people to seek Dawnlin, not love that does so?”
I think for a minute before answering carefully.
“I think love influences decisions and pushes people to make bad ones. Love makes people hope, and hope can be dangerous if you don’t choose to act instead of just waiting around. But power? Power motivates people to act, and love blinds people from seeing it.”
I swallow down all the things I don’t want to say out loud. Things like love causes pain, and hope mixed with love causes even more pain.
Things like losing hope hurts almost as much as losing someone you love.
“Light always finds a way, even through the blackest woods.”
I couldn’t tell you how many times in my life I have heard Edmond utter that phrase, but this time, it doesn’t comfort me like it usually does. I realize now that while I always thought it was encouraging, it was actually pushing me to feel hopeful, and I don’t feel hopeful today. All of this talk makes me want to get as far away from hope and emotions as I can. I want to shut down and feel nothing, do nothing.
Maybe I need to find Brynne today after all and just work it out. I’m sure she would be delighted.
“Can we just move on, Edmond?” I say. I don’t want to tell him I didn’t enjoy his story, especially because the memory of telling it to his son seems important to him. I don’t want to bring any more negativity into this conversation, or tarnish Edmond’s memory about his son.
“Oh, we’re done for the day,” he says calmly.
I stare at him, skeptical. “We barely just started. What am I missing?”
“Not missing anything. I simply think we have discussed enough lessons for the morning. There is a lot to think about here.”
“Alright…” I trail off, twiddling my fingers together uncomfortably.
“But I have something for you.” He reaches into his coat and pulls out a small leather-bound book. It looks very used, the corners are not sharp, and the leather has divots and nicks.
“What is it?” I ask. Edmond leans over, placing the book in my outstretched hand.
“Something I felt you should have had a long time ago. But, nevertheless, you should at least have it now. ”
“I don’t understand,” I say, running my fingers over the binding. This book is a lot smaller than most we have used for lessons. I reach to pull open the cover, but Edmond stops me.
“I would recommend reading it when you are alone.” He leans forward, pushing on the arms of his chair until he is standing in front of me. “But I would recommend reading it, Lennox, no matter how difficult it may be.”
I stare after him, at a loss for words as he strides to the door. He gives me a brief nod before opening the door and slipping through it, leaving me in the silence of the empty library.