by A. R. Henle
They never knew, but their laughter lightened her steps as she left, and for many a day after.
Their delight fed the flowers.
Sneak Peak
The world of the Dancing Princesses continues—read on for a peak at A Healer Princess, out in October 2021!
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Fate turns
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Leander loves three things: information, truth, and his sister. For her sake, he clambered down off the palace roofs to take a place as a sub-librarian in the library. He earns their keep in a world of books, papers, and the pursuit of answers to any and all questions. One more successful mission means promotion to full librarian—cementing his and his sister’s place on the ground.
But at night in his lonely bed, he dreams of a woman as far out of reach as a star in the sky. Seen and admired only from a distance: Danissa, the youngest of the magical Dancing Princesses.
Sent to the summer palace to investigate a mystery—the destruction of a royal treasure—his investigation leads to Danissa. Promotion hinges on extracting vital information, but gaining her love requires restraint and secrecy. Work or love? Or find a way to win both?
Two cautious hearts collide in a sweet romance in A Healer Princess.
Healer Princess
Chapter 1
Leander followed the hum of bees to the scene of the crime. Or the mystery. No one seemed sure which term applied.
He slipped out first thing in the morning, when the dew still lay thick on grass and late-summer flowers. The sun barely poked above the horizon and the air remained cool, almost still. The long swath of his mantle wrapped around him from mid-chest to lower thigh, with ample left over to toss over one shoulder and fall to mid-calf. The light green contrasted with the darker shade of his knee-length tunic. Although clean, both bore stains along the hemlines and the tunic an ill-mended rent from knee to hip on the side. He slung over his shoulder his usual work kit, a stoutly woven bag of dark gray.
His steady pace down the stairs kept him warm. Legs pumped, arms swung, and strands of wavy, brown-black hair got in his way since he hadn’t visited his barber before being sent off on the trip to Yaras and the summer palace.
Even this early, the air had a thickness to it, a degree of moisture beyond what Leander was accustomed to. If it did get hot—and given the heat of the last days of journeying, he now believed every florid description ever written about this part of the country—the humidity might make merely breathing troublesome.
Then again, the climate also allowed for lush gardens everywhere he turned. Even inside the lesser section of the palace where he’d been granted a room. He passed at least three immense pots overgrowing with scented greenery and purple flowers before exiting the building and crossing the courtyard. Few of the plants blooming here grew at all in the winter palace gardens, and in far less profusion.
His environs were at once familiar and strange.
Simple gray-pebble mosaics laid out clear walkways to and from different parts of the palace complex. Much as he looked forward to viewing the many ornate, full-color mosaics for which the summer palace was famous—not to mention visiting the local palace library and librarians—he preferred to get started on his investigation first.
He took three steps away from the library path toward the gardens, then stopped at the faintest creak of hinges. The hairs along his neck prickled.
Early-rising birds called overhead. Blue-and-white lakelurkers spread their wings wide as they soared over the palace complex. Many smaller birds with gray coats and speckled chests darted among the eaves. A couple gave a ululating screech as they plucked insects from between the stones.
Although he heard nothing to indicate a human followed him, certainty flooded through him. He shook his head and strode off as if untroubled, only to whirl after the fifth step.
His sister froze a few measures from the open door. Her solid body canted forward as she balanced on her tiptoes, hands raised. A pale-blue mantle covered her from neck to knee, but the hem of her matching tunic fluttered around her bare ankles and feet. She’d chopped her hair off at shoulder length a few weeks earlier and burnt the lengths as a declaration of independence.
Whether or not they shared a sire remained a mystery to them both, for their mother hadn’t ever let slip so much as a hint, but no one ever doubted their relationship. Both had round faces, snub noses, and medium-brown complexions, though her eyes seemed bigger and darker brown, especially when trying to convince him to change his mind.
He motioned for her to return to the room. She would legally come of age in a few months but remained under his care until then.
For a moment her body remained raised, then her ankles wobbled. She dropped onto her flat feet, shoulders slumping.
“Keep to your studies.” His lips twitched at the heavy droop of her body, every line suggesting dejection. “Enough progress, and perhaps I’ll permit you to help later.”
She maintained a woeful expression for a few seconds longer, then flashed him a brilliant smile and skipped back into the building. The door shut with a firm click behind her.
No one stirred in this corner of the palace. All the same, Leander watched the windows two floors up until Edrena appeared there and gave a wave.
Nodding, he continued on his way toward the middle of one of the gardens. He’d caught a distant view out the window of his third-floor chamber the night before. Slipped a coin into a few servants’ hands in exchange for directions on how to locate a spot amidst the palace’s pocket wilderness that had once hosted one of the famed Shadows of the Moon.
All the servants gave the same instructions. At the time, he’d considered them overly simple, being no more and no less than walk out a specific door and take the garden path directly ahead, never turning aside.
Yet what constituted directly ahead? The mosaic path gave way to one of gravel, then even the stones vanished leaving a track of trodden vegetation, narrow to the point only one person might walk at a time. It appeared to be a servant’s path, a back way that courtiers likely never noticed.
By implication, the servants who’d provided directions still recognized him as one of them. That, or librarians were considered servants at the summer palace. Denizens of the winter palace, servants and members of the court alike, considered librarians as both necessary record-keepers and bloodsucking parasites determined to extract detailed stories from anyone foolish enough to fall into their clutches.
Still, the librarians had accepted him into their ranks and given him a place on the ground. Falfor, his mentor, had seen value in nurturing his intense desire to uncover answers.
Trees rose high to either side, their branches and thick foliage blocking out most of the growing sunlight—and also the heat—but many dripped water although it hadn’t rained the night before. Though the path showed evidence of regular trimming by gardeners, they failed to keep up with the growth. Several times, Leander pushed through thick greenery even when turned sideways.
Dozens of different shades of green flourished along with sprays of small flowers amidst mosses marking the many places where the path crossed another or split in two. The crossings, even when at acute angles, he navigated well enough. The splits he found trickier to interpret and guess which counted as straight.
All the while, the moisture in the air condensed into droplets coating him to the point he couldn’t tell the difference between his own honest sweat and the wooded garden’s dampness.
Fortunately, the current chief librarian had allowed him time to pack, and even given a bit of warning about the kind of climate he’d find. He’d possessed only one outfit when he first climbed down off the city roofs, but now he had tunics and mantles suitable for all kinds of occasions.
If his closest rivals among the ranks of ambitious sub-librarians had been sent here instead of him, both would surely wear long tunics and mantles in light yellow or pink and come back complaining about the stains and how hard it was to get weeds or ot
her plant matter out of well-woven linen.
Likely one reason the chief had chosen Leander.
Then again, this particular assignment also involved direct service to the Terparchon. He’d have to be polite and keep his mouth shut and his opinions to himself, save when asked for, and then delivered in the most circumspect and diplomatic manner so as to let no detail slip without due thought.
Leander couldn’t make out whether this was the chance of a lifetime—or a dangerous slide set to send him back to his former life atop the winter palace roofs.
Probably both in one, all of which made it interesting, at least. A nice change from reading over reports from the chief's official and unofficial correspondents and writing summaries and annotating reports.
Plus the chance to get out of the city and see more of the countryside at its greenest—and hottest.
Alas, sneaking out first thing meant delaying breakfast. His stomach protested, having gotten used to regular meals since promotion from mere scribe to third assistant librarian for court affairs, then second. He could practically taste getting the raise to first if he managed to navigate the tangle satisfactorily.
He only needed to figure out what would constitute a satisfactory result and how to ensure it manifested without lying or faking evidence or making a big fuss that turned out to be no more than a bag of wind.
First, however, he needed to see exactly what it was he’d been sent to investigate.
The summer palace contained one of the odd geographical sites poetically called the Shadows of the Moon. One and all—no one seemed entirely certain whether there were twelve or thirteen—took the form of perfect circles of chalky white stone in the middle of otherwise lushly grown gardens.
Many Shadows lay within the shifting borders of Codaros. The winter palace boasted one and he’d stolen time from packing for a quick visit before departing. Although reportedly popular as a place to picnic on hot days, he’d failed to appreciate the fuss over the ghastly thing.
Every time he’d seen a Shadow, his mind started asking questions. How had the makers managed such perfect circles? Where did the stone come from? How deep did it go? Why did the stones’ color remind him of nothing so much as the layers of ice left by the worst winter storms, a substance known to cause frostbite within moments?
Hardly thoughts conducive to rest and relaxation.
Evidently, the Shadow at the summer palace had vanished overnight.
A very particular night, given the few details the chief had entrusted to Leander, for it had disappeared immediately following one of the killer summer storms that regularly rolled off the lake waters around this time of year. Even when the dancing princesses eased a storm’s wrath, it still leveled much damage. Leander had done his time sorting and organizing weather and damage reports in past summers.
Still, if the storm were to blame—a lightning strike, perhaps—there should be bits and pieces of the stone left behind. Scattered debris or some such, and the spot itself, the Shadow, surely would be blackened or in other ways blasted.
Instead, it had turned to full-grown flowers.
This unsettled the Terparchon to the point she considered no one at the summer palace exempt from suspicion, except perhaps herself, and sent to the winter palace for a librarian to investigate.
Hence Leander’s presence, although the importance of the Shadow's disappearance still escaped him.
With the end of the path in sight, he twined his fingers together and committed himself to the service of truth and justice and asked that they guide his inquiry.
“May I not mar or stain any reputation unduly, but only gather and sift through what is known and suspected to piece a tale that rings with veracity.”
Nothing and no one answered, as expected. Librarians regularly debated the existence of Truth, whether divine being or earthly force, separate from the messy realities they faced on most occasions. The discussions Leander had participated in—usually involving copious amounts of intoxicating beverages—never came to any conclusion other than a general preference that they serve Truth without ever having to discover the answer.
His breath escaped in a huff, a brief tremor of relief slipping over his skin—and another runnel of moisture down his spine.
Then he left the cool of the woods. The sudden press of sunlight across his body dispelled any remaining chill. He halted and blinked, shading his eyes with a hand.
In the moments of mixed light and shadow, a whiff of something bright and sweet reached him. A flower of some kind, with a buoyant scent and flavor that reached deep within him and struck an unexpected chord. As though the aroma touched his soul and extracted all weariness to leave him refreshed.
The instant his eyes adjusted to the sunlight, he pulled a thin stick of charcoal from his kit. He scribbled a few phrases on a piece of old parchment. Rubbed them out and tried again, and a third time, before he gave up finding sufficient words to describe the new, strange aroma.
Sweat trickled along his spine.
A wide clearing stretched out before him. Stone paths bisected swathes of well-trodden green grass and blue-green mosses. One traced the circular perimeter close to the edge. Others headed to the center and no doubt formed a cross shape, although he couldn’t see the far side due to the upwelling of flowers at the center.
Such blooms. Stalks of deep blue with long blue-green leaves and topped with petals mixing dark blue and silver. The blossoms glowed with the beauty of a star-lit night sky.
All the while giving off an aroma that lured him close and closer. He crossed the clearing without any recollection of doing so. One moment he’d left the woods, the next he stood only a hand’s length away from the flowers. They swayed in the breeze atop their slender stalks, rising nearly as high as his hips.
Even among the wealth of plants he’d never seen before, these stood out.
He shook, hair tangling, and found he still held charcoal and parchment. Setting to work, he sketched the flowers with detailed notes that, as with the scent, were at best an approximation far removed from the visceral reality. He even bent to check the earth from which the stalks sprung, finding it a rich, brown loam that trickled through his fingers.
“Pretty, isn’t it?”
Leander jumped to his feet, elbows clamped tight against his side. His hands clenched around charcoal and parchment. Uncricking his neck with a crack, he turned to discover who’d managed to creep up on him unnoticed. He was far more accustomed to the reverse.
An elder stood there. Once a half-head taller than Leander but now stooped so they had the same height. Skin of light brown save for their bare feet, covered by such a thick layer of grass and leaf clippings as to appear green. A knee-length, once-white tunic likewise bore numerous stains of green. The elder wore it in an old-fashioned style tied over one shoulder rather than both. Lacking a mantle or a proper cord or chain at the waist, they used a length of fraying gray cord to belt the tunic across a rounded belly. Their bald head boasted big green-brown eyes, a nose as short as Leander's, and a scraggly beard. A long stalk of grass bobbed between their gums as they chewed.
Overall, the stranger presented as a man but might be an eleee, the term favored by many, albeit not all, who found the terms men and women inaccurate or insufficient. Some eleee were rumored to be able to change anything about their bodies that they wished, though Leander doubted any willingly chose a body such as this unless they wanted to pass unnoticed.
“Beautiful. I’ve never seen the like.” Leander tucked his charcoal and parchment safe within his kit bag.
“I wouldn’t think anyone’d have.” The stranger settled hands on hips, ducking as they scanned the blooms. “I only ever heard stories about magic flowers, myself, but these are even better than any tales.”
The two watched several golden butterflies dance across the petals. The other huffed and angled their body to face Leander.
With minimal movements, Leander mirrored the other’s stance.
“You’re that librarian sent to find out why this changed overnight?” The grass stalk jerked this way and that as dark eyes bored into Leander.
“Yes.”
“Thought so.” A short nod. “Came out to find you.”
“Did you now.” An additional pang struck Leander at not having noticed, but he let it pass. Only a fool let slip an opportunity to gather information.
“Figured I ought to tell someone where no listening ear might hear and start rumors.” The other removed the stalk and brushed the tip against a wrinkled temple. “I wouldn’t like that.”
“A good librarian respects their sources.” Leander’s fingers twitched to retrieve charcoal and parchment. He resisted, trusting his memory to retain what mattered.
“So I heard. Well, I got a little tale for you then.” The elder stuck the stalk behind an ear and crossed their arms over their chest. “Mind, it wasn’t me that saw this. We had us a couple three extra pairs of arms and legs to help tidy up some of the branches lashed down by the last big storm. One of them, he told me later about seeing someone running through the wood over here that evening after the storm and before anyone found the shadow changed.”
“So this man . . .” Leander tilted his head and left an opening for the gardener, given their description of their laborers, to offer additional details. The other scuffed a knobby foot against the grass and said nothing, so Leander continued, “saw someone running away.”
“That’s about the size of it.”
“Nothing more?”
“Not really. Just that I figured she might’ve been here when the change took place and might be able to help you figure out everything what happened.” The grass stalk moved from behind the ear back to dipping and rising out of one corner of the gardener’s mouth.
“Who did you say saw this?” Leander asked.
“His name don’t matter. He were up from the town, cheap labor, and I heard got hired on with a trader a couple day back.”