Chapter 15 #2
And as Ezer listened to her new friend speak, suddenly she was transported back to her Ravenminder’s tower, the stones around her eaten away by salt from the sea, a raven perched upon her narrow shoulder.
And an uncle that was still alive, telling her this tale for the very first time.
‘Wrenwyn was one of the first Sacred younglings. She was a beautiful princess. Like you, Little Bird.’
‘I’m not beautiful,’ Ezer had protested, reaching up to touch her thick and angry scars. ‘And I’m certainly not a princess.’
‘And who are you,’ Ervos asked with a patient smile, ‘to decide what is beautiful – what is noble – to me?’ He’d picked up a crown of dried white flowers, one he’d made himself to celebrate her turning nine, and placed it upon her dark curls.
‘The story of Wrenwyn is as old as the mountains are tall. Someday, it may teach you something that I cannot.’
Ezer closed her eyes and listened to Izill tell the rest of the story.
‘Wrenwyn was the youngest of three,’ Izill began.
‘Her magic was lovely, for Wrenwyn had the ability to make the realm dance. She could grow vines with her fingertips, call a field of delicate flowers to sprout between cracked stones. She could make the ground shift, could reshape a river with a swirl of her hands. She was gentle and kind and pious, keeping the gods’ laws like every good Sacred should. ’
Ezer had always thought the idea of Wrenwyn was an inspiring one.
Not because of all the times she obeyed.
But because of the one time she didn’t.
‘When Wrenwyn came of age, she was set to be Matched with another Sacred. It was her duty, the Masters said, to marry her chosen. To mate with him and carry on the bloodline … to keep her Realmist pillar pure. So Wrenwyn arrived at her Matching Ceremony as one should, dressed in a gown of spun gold. All of Lordach was in attendance, eager to see the beautiful young princess be Matched. Her chosen was handsome and powerful, well connected to the gods, for he had never broken a single one of their laws.’
‘A fine match,’ Wrenwyn’s brothers told her. ‘A beautiful union.’
Izill smiled. ‘The people of Lordach adored him, just as they adored Wrenwyn. He uttered his vows aloud, and promised to stand by Wrenwyn’s side, to give of his own flesh to create another with such pure magic.
It was a dream, that day, the sun high in the sky, the butterflies dancing and the flowers blooming. ’
Her voice softened. ‘But when the Masters turned to Wrenwyn, and asked her to recite her vows … she told them no.’
The Masters warned her of what would come should she disobey. It was a command. It was her duty, passed down from the Five who breathed life into her veins.
‘I do not fear the gods!’ Wrenwyn shouted. ‘If they are real, then they will prove to me their wrath.’
Izill’s eyes widened as she continued. ‘And in that moment, in the bright light of a perfect day, the sky turned black. Wrenwyn was struck by lightning. And she died on her wedding day. Only her bones were left by the time she was done burning. They buried them in a small, meager grave, a reminder to all of us, to this day. No one defies the gods and gets away unscathed.’
Izill sat back, the tale done.
‘Izill.’
They both whirled to find Zey standing there behind the couch, her eyes tired, her hand covered in a fresh bandage. She looked like she hadn’t slept all night. ‘Don’t you have somewhere else to be? Toilets to scrub. Dishes to clean?’
Izill’s jaw hardened. ‘Good luck today,’ she said to Ezer as she stood and quickly pressed a hand to her arm. Then she glared at Zey and left.
‘Servants,’ Zey said, and to Ezer’s surprise, she slumped into the seat across from her and took what remained of Izill’s meal. Her blonde hair was wild and tangled, no longer in its exquisite braid. ‘Wrenwyn didn’t die that day, you know.’
Ezer lifted a brow. ‘I’ve certainly not heard that version before.’
‘You wouldn’t have, being that you’re Unconsecrated.’ She folded a piece of bacon in half, and ate it in one bite, groaning at the taste. ‘There’s another version, passed around in silent whispers. One that’s far more exciting.’
‘What’s your version, then?’ Ezer asked, crossing her arms.
Zey picked up a cinnamon roll, and began unfurling it, inch by inch.
‘No lightning strike. But her brothers did subdue her then cut out her tongue, and locked her away in their castle for the rest of her days. She was supposed to die there, for her defiance.’ She took a bite and licked the icing off her fingertip.
And Ezer realized, suddenly, the familiar smell upon the woman. The strange glaze in her eyes.
She was drunk.
And today was not Absolution Day.
‘In that version of the story, she could no longer wield, of course, because she had no way to invocate. But she did find a way to break out. She had help, some say, and she disappeared across the Expanse, never to be seen or heard from again.’ Her lips broke into a cold, cruel smile.
‘Some believe that was just before the thirteenth stone turned black.’
Ezer’s blood went cold for a moment.
‘Of course, it’s only a story,’ Zey said, and shrugged. ‘She’s got a grave out there, somewhere in the woods. Someone broke into it, years ago. And when they did, do you know what they found?’
‘What?’ Ezer asked.
Zey smiled. ‘Nothing,’ she said, and slurred the word. ‘Not even a finger bone. Think about that, Raphonminder, and tell me which version of the story you believe.’
A knock sounded on the dormitory door, and Ezer jumped.
‘Run along to your little prince,’ Zey said. ‘But you should know. The women he spends his time with …’ A devilish smirk. ‘Well, if they aren’t his betrothed … they have a mysterious reputation for dying.’
She didn’t believe her for a second.
Especially when she opened the door and found Arawn standing there, a small black box in his hands.
‘What’s this?’ Ezer asked as Arawn held the package out to her.
He was dressed in more casual clothing today, still with his white cloak, his classic warrior’s braid. But instead of silk, he wore a linen tunic and trousers. The fabric showed all too well the lines of his body. He frowned as he held out the box. ‘It’s a gift.’
‘I can see that,’ Ezer said, and glanced back over her shoulder at the dormitory door. ‘Do you need me to deliver it to someone inside?’
Surely he had a Matched, or at least someone he hoped would be.
‘No.’ He cleared his throat. ‘It’s … for you, Minder. Consider it a lifeline.’
Her eyes widened.
She hadn’t been given a gift since she was a child, before Ervos lost himself to the betting and drinking.
The box was wrapped with a silk bow, no larger than the palm of her hand.
She lifted the lid, and felt her brows raise on instinct.
‘It’s … a rock.’
He’d given her a rock. One that could have fit easily in the palm of her hand. Gods, the ways of the Sacred were strange.
‘Not just a rock.’ Arawn’s blue eyes were eager, like he was letting her in on a secret. ‘It’s a Speaking stone.’
She turned the stone over, and sure enough, it had a freshly glowing rune that looked like twin tailed stars encircling one another, never quite touching.
‘Right …’ Ezer said slowly.
He sighed. ‘It’s so we can speak to each other, Minder.
’ His brows furrowed, like he’d practiced this speech and it wasn’t coming out right.
He reached into his own pocket and revealed a matching stone.
‘Kinlear and I used to use them as children. It stretches across the entirety of Augaurde. So that, no matter where you are …’ He swallowed.
‘You can call on me. Should you need me.’
‘Oh,’ she breathed.
Gods, was it hot in this hallway?
She had the sudden urge to roll up her sleeves.
‘May I?’ he asked.
She wasn’t sure what to say, what to even do, so she scooped up the stone in her box and held it out to him.
But instead of taking it from her, he curled her fingers around it.
‘What are you—’
‘You’ll see,’ Arawn said. Their eyes locked. ‘Patience, Minder.’
The stone began to grow warm in her grasp, or maybe that was from his skin, too hot over hers.
And then she could have sworn …
‘See? A Speaking stone.’
His voice filled her mind.
She yelped and dropped the stone back in the box like it was on fire.
He chuckled.
‘They’re runed to share internal thoughts like conversation,’ Arawn explained. ‘All you need to do is squeeze it. And … I’ll be able to talk to you. Any time at all.’ He cleared his throat again. ‘To help, I mean. To answer questions, or … be an ally.’
It was a thoughtful gift. A very personal, close gift. And she didn’t know what to make of it.
Yes, it truly was too warm in this hallway.
‘I …’ Gods, where had all her words gone? She nodded and placed the stone in her inner cloak pocket. ‘Why?’
‘I just thought, with the danger of your mission … you need someone you can trust. Someone … to perhaps help you feel not so alone.’
A twinge of something new unfolded within her.
She felt … strangely light.
A bit panicked, too.
She felt like running far away from here, if only to give herself a second to breathe and clear her mind.
‘Thank you,’ Ezer said instead, because he was looking at her far too intently. ‘It’s a lovely rock.’
‘Speaking stone,’ he corrected her.
‘Right. A lovely Speaking stone.’ She nodded up at him.
He shifted uncomfortably.
It was so silent, she swore she heard him swallow.
‘Well. I’m off to attend to my duties,’ Arawn said.
‘All right,’ she said.
Gods, her mouth was dry.
He nodded. ‘All right.’
And with that, the Crown Prince of Lordach turned on his heel and left.
She stood there alone, the weight of his gift in her pocket as she watched him slip through a side door, ever the brute soldier.
And yet …
She’d just unpeeled another hidden layer of him.
And it frightened her how much she enjoyed what she’d found.