I glanced down at the book on my lap again. Further along the pages were images of the scepters, smaller almost identical counterparts to the larger Stave. There was the Imber Scepter of Eurybia with a piece of sodalite in the deepest of blues, the unnaturally reflective white moonstone that was the Ventis Scepter of Boreas, and the final scepter, the Tellus Scepter of Cybele with a chunk of green opal.
“But where did those humans put the scepters? Surely we would have noticed an inanimate Titan standing around?” I looked up.
“Most definitely. That’s why he’s underground or supposedly. If you go far south and swim to the furthest depths of Saphir Lake, the Titans are locked in a vault at the very bottom. Or so the stories say. Thanatos is bound there until the Stave is fully reformed and used to release him from their prison.” Meryn tilted her head slightly. “But the Stave can’t be reformed without each of the scepters.”
My eyes widened. She continued, “The three Titans that remained free resented the humans even more for having so much power over them. They stretched every loophole in their bindings. Without thought they would destroy towns simply because the ruler hadn’t specifically told them to walk around. People were dying, morale in all three kingdoms was low. The humans decided their only solution was to lock the Titans away with their brother, destroy the scepters, and scatter them to the wind.”
“So, all four of them are down there? Waiting?”
Meryn nodded. “Now, years later, there are rumors and twisted up stories that say whoever can find a scepter can wield a Titan. The Titans haven’t been seen in centuries, and I think humanity forgets their atrocities through a filter of nostalgia. But there are definitely rumors circulating about the Emberlyn Forest—no one knows what, exactly, but people have said that for as long as memory serves there’s been a vast iron gate in the depths, locked tight. Two nights ago, I overheard a conversation in the tavern about that gate, and the speakers were speculating why the lock has come open. Supposedly the forest beyond is filled with horrible noises and screams . . . but apparently that’s not enough of a deterrent to the people that keep vanishing into the forest.”
I tapped my fingers against the edge of my teacup and said, “You think the scepter is behind the gate?”
“I do. I think the Titans are getting restless, and they would be fully within their power to tickle a piece of their life essence to try to pull in a foolish mortal to resurrect them.”
“What would Mother and Kathryn have wanted with power like that?”
“I don’t think that’s what your mother would have wanted, but what she would have been trying to prevent others from getting,” Jyn said softly. I jumped and swore loudly. I had forgotten he was there, so intent on Meryn’s words. “Your mother and Kathryn are smart enough to not mess with that kind of power, but they would want to be aware of the comings and goings in the forest, especially if one of the scepters is really so close.”
“I’ve been listening to travelers talking in my shop. The scepters don’t get mentioned frequently, but I’ve noticed more talk of them since you brought this to my attention. The few brave enough to venture into the forest, I haven’t seen return. At least not yet.”
I stared at the tiny dregs of tea leaves in the bottom of my cup, considering. My friends’ eyes were on me and I wasn’t surprised when Jyn was the one who spoke first.
“Princess, we’re not going after that scepter.”
“You know she’s actually the queen now, right?”
I glanced up in time to catch Jyn’s eye roll.
“Old habits die hard,” I muttered. “If there’s a chance that we can stop that kind of power falling into the hands of someone else, shouldn’t we drop everything and go? Especially if the Shadows are tracking the scepters?”
“You’re the queen now. You can’t go gallivanting off on a rumor. And the Council said you’re to stay put.” The edge in Jyn’s voice sounded more anxious than angry.
But this is exactly what I’ve been waiting for,” I pressed. “I know what Mother was talking about, I know what I have to do. Shouldn’t we go?”
“He’s not wrong, Natylia. You still have a lot going on here. The Council wants you trained immediately. You still have your mother’s funeral . . . ” Meryn’s voice softened at the last bit, and I swallowed hard. The fire that had blazed inside of me puttered out.
“You’re right. I can’t leave that to Annalea. She’s only sixteen—too young to have that on her shoulders, especially alone.” Jyn’s face relaxed, but I stood up and hugged Meryn, whispering rapidly into her ear, “I’ll arrange this for after the funeral, then. If I’m prepared, Jyn can’t possibly argue.”
Jyn’s ease became suspicion, especially when I motioned for the door.
“Right.” He inclined his head toward Meryn who simply shoved a muffin at him with a shrug and followed us out.
Chapter 18
We were pleasantly surprised when Annalea joined us for dinner. She had bathed, her gown fresh and her hair twisted into a neat bun at the nape of her neck. Mostly she was quiet, but she did speak long enough to introduce her new guard.
“This is Raul,” she said, her voice barely more than a whisper. “Devlyn appointed him to me this morning.”
“Another one?” Jyn teased. Annalea winced.
“I don’t know why the last one quit. I didn’t fire him, I liked him well enough.”
Raul shrank back into his seat a bit under Jyn’s scrutiny. He was built a lot like my Elvish companion, but his skin was positively milky next to Jyn’s golden tones and his hair was bright, straw yellow. I cleared my throat and gave Raul an apologetic glance.
“Well, Raul, nice to meet you. I’m sorry you joined us at such a . . . tumultuous time.”
He inclined his head, lifting icy blue eyes to say. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
Annalea’s lip quivered, but I saw her blink and steady her breath. She scooped soup to the side of her bowl but drained the liquid down the porcelain instead of tasting it. I watched her repeat the process as I said, “Thank you. I wish you’d have joined us before, but hopefully you’ll enjoy your position here. Annalea means well.”
Jyn flicked a glance to his right, another appraisal of the young guard. He couldn’t have been older than me, if I had to guess. Seventeen or eighteen.
“The job’s not so bad,” Jyn said. “Annalea has poor luck.”
Annalea finally sipped at her soup tentatively, and I watched her eyes light up. She started to scoop more in, and managed a few bites before Jyn jumped, grabbing her arm gently. “Easy, slow down.” She glared at him. “Or don’t, and break your poor guard in with a mess later tonight when your stomach rejects everything you’ve eaten.”
I could see the war in her eyes, the resistance, but she slowed her pace—much to the visible relief of poor Raul. Lucian had been watching everything with quiet interest, raising an eyebrow when he managed to catch my eye. I shrugged and turned my focus back to my meal.
***
At first light, I dressed quickly in fitted riding breeches and a loose cotton blouse. Jyn and I planned to take the horses out after my lessons, if the weather allowed, and I wasn’t interested in wasting time. I didn’t even bother with a formal breakfast. The servants were surprised when I stole a basket of starberry and banana sweet biscuits from the kitchens, loading Jyn with a crystal bottle full of milk and three glasses.
Lucian seemed grateful for the meal. He had assumed that when I sent word that I wanted to do my lessons quickly, I would skip breakfast altogether. I shook my head at the thought.
“Who skips breakfast?” Jyn caught my eye under raised eyebrows and I amended, “Under normal circumstances, come on Jyn.”
“Well, I guess some things don’t change.” Lucian bit into his biscuit and winked. “The little princess who packed away more food than the kitchens could make . . .”
My lip twitched even as I glared at him. “I hardly think a biscuit is ‘packing away’ anything.�
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His reference wasn’t lost on me. When we were younger and played outside most of the day, I would constantly take breaks for snacks. Lunch was always a lengthy affair, and I would always stuff extra food into my pockets. When I had them, anyway. The cook we had employed at the time quit because he was tired of trying to keep up with me and serve the rest of the household. My appetite had calmed dramatically as I’d grown older, but my need to eat everything had been an endless source of amusement to my father.
Lucian dropped a heavy book on the table in front of me, a cloud of dust thrown into my face from the pages. I sputtered, eyebrows pinched together as I checked over my biscuit. He shrugged and pointed at my quill.
“Alright. Basics first. Do you know which cities each ruling family presides over?”
“Really?” I glared.
Lucian folded his arms over his chest. “Really.”
“Thrais rules ourselves, Falmar, and Dalbran. Wydus rules themselves, Vitic, and Morland. Kalum rules themselves and Seryn.”
“Perfect. That will do to be going on with. Most of the trade laws between kingdoms are the same—nobility get priority deals with the royal families, the shipments we see go through Dalbran and Morland, and most of the laws in regards to such haven’t been changed in centuries.” Lucian ran a finger down the page in front of me. “Thrais will accept a slightly lower standard when dealing with cloth goods, which is interesting to me, but your export on weaponry is much higher. Fentyn must be a damn fine blacksmith.”
“Camion is a damn fine blacksmith,” I corrected.
Lucian paused. “Isn’t he just Fentyn’s apprentice?”
“But a fine apprentice who’s going to quickly pass his master if he hasn’t already.”
The prince shrugged and said, “Either way, your higher weapons export means you see a lot more business from Hexryn to the East, since the Numyra are a race inclined to warfare. Most of the business to Wydus is directly from Morland, but there aren’t many cities to the North so that’s no surprise. Vitic tries to trade but let’s be honest, they’re too small to offer much. Fish, usually, but Dalbran has much more efficient ports . . . ”
His babbling began to melt into the background of my thoughts. Everything I needed to know to run my kingdom was in the stacks of books around me. Several of the most imperative laws lay in the monster of a volume before me. I tried to take notes on what Lucian said, as he paced the length of the room with a book in hand, but my thoughts wandered. Only when he passed into punishment did I pay him mind again. Thrais was a much looser-handed kingdom, our rules more lenient than Wydus’. Our laws on discipline, however, were equally strict. A thought occurred to me.
“Whatever happened to that man from the ball?” I asked Jyn, interrupting Lucian’s stream of speech. “Sorry.”
“Devlyn dealt with him. I don’t remember what was done. I know they tried to interrogate him, and the penalty for an attempt on your life is death. So I assume . . . ” Jyn trailed off. “Why?”
“What Lucian was saying, about discipline policy. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
“No, that’s fine. I was curious as well,” Lucian said, “but that does bring up an interesting point. Kalum will behead you for a loaf of bread. Their method of punishment is a stark contrast to the fine or work based punishments our kingdoms have, and an attempt on one of their royalty, well . . . I don’t think that’s ever happened. I imagine the consequences wouldn’t be pleasant.”
He droned on. I knew what he was saying already, but the weight of my eyelids encouraged me not to speak up. Jyn pinched me, hard, when my head started to droop toward the table. I still hadn’t slept much, and that combined with the tiny words on the pages in front of me was taking a toll.
“So why the rush to your lessons?”
“Jyn and I have plans. Nothing major, but exciting for us so . . . ”
“I see,” Lucian said. “Think you’ll have time to do an archery lesson with me this afternoon?”
“Perhaps.”
“I look forward to it.” He grinned and snapped his book closed. “We’ll finish your trade studies tomorrow. Honestly there doesn’t seem to be much that you haven’t covered. I’m going to have to refresh my memory on Thraisian religious cycles. Thankfully our solstices are the same, but in any case, we’ll get you squared away. The Council hasn’t tested me yet, so I don’t know what they’ll ask, but I remember Mother mentioning that trade laws and the peace talks were important parts.” Scratching his chin nonchalantly, he muttered, “Or did she say travel laws? I’ll check, I’ll check . . . ”
Lucian turned his back, and Jyn laid his forehead in his palm. I shot him a sharp look when he began to shake his head, his shoulders shaking with silent laughter.
“That’s fine, Lucian. Thank you. Truly.”
“Naturally, Your Majesty.” He laughed as I groaned at the title. I excused Jyn and myself mere moments before Jyn snorted and broke down into full spurts of laughter.
“He doesn’t even know what he’s teaching you. Oh spirits, what did I get you into?” His words were clipped between gasps of wheezed laughter.
“That’s not funny, Jyn. Come on now.”
But he was red-faced and leaned over, desperately trying to regain his composure. I put my hands on my hips and stared at him in disbelief, through several more moments of breathless laughter.
“Honestly, I’m not sure if I’m laughing more out of disbelief or panic.”
I shook my head at him and hopped down the steps two at a time. The front doors were oddly heavy and I realized I still hadn’t regained all of my energy yet. I sighed. I was handling the situation better; I was now the master of my thoughts and could keep them at bay in the corners of my mind. But they lurked there, the quiet little doubts. The reminders that I hadn’t been what Mother had asked of me, had expected of me. That at the end of the day, I was expected to marry a prince and live in some predestined version of happily ever after that wasn’t mine. My thoughts fell unbidden to Camion, to the gentle and steadfast support that I always found there, but I shook my head. I didn’t want to be married, not right now. There was too much to do. And if that meant doing everything as the singular ruler of Thrais, then that was what I would do.
Two horses awaited us in full tack when we arrived at the stables. Jyn had sent word this morning that we would be down in the afternoon. I hoped the poor things hadn’t waited too long.
I jumped into my saddle before Jyn had even neared his horse and was almost to the gate when I heard another voice ring out, “Your Majesty!”
Devlyn.
Reining in my horse, I waited for him to jog over, enjoying the soft crunch of his boots on the gravel path.
“Your Majesty.” He bowed. “You can’t wander away from the palace like this.”
“But I can, I’m the queen.”
“Sir Wulfric advised highly against you leaving.”
“Yes, but I’m only going into town. I’ll be fully cloaked, and I’m not going alone. Jyn is going with me.”
Devlyn huffed. “Your Majesty, I really can’t advise—”
“I’ll be fine. We’ll be back in no time. Please, open the gates.”
He gave me a long, hard stare and tossed his hands up. “As you wish.”
The second the gates slid open, I tapped the sides of my horse and was off. I knew without looking that Jyn had narrowed his eyes at my back, could feel the slight panic as he spurred his horse on. Part of me rippled with guilt, but the second the wind caught my hair even that slipped away. I wanted the rush of the wind on my face, the freedom from the numbness of my lessons and everything else in my life. Or that I was missing from my life. A rock to the gut. Maybe I should do as Mother had wanted, get married, fill that alleged void that I’d never really felt. Not like she thought I had, at the least. I could rule alone. I could be like Mother—strong, beautiful, poignant. When Father had passed she’d been an incredible ruler. Why couldn’t I do the same?
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br /> Because Mother had heirs and I had none. I had to marry, to keep our family on the throne. I sighed and shook my head. This wasn’t the time. I wanted to clear my head, not clutter my thoughts further. My hair tossed in the wind behind me, and I inhaled the pine and grass scents of the forest around me.
I had a heavy cloak in my saddle bag. When the path began to widen I tugged the dark gray fabric free to drape around my shoulders, concealing my face in the shadows of the hood. The steady hoof beats behind me were significantly closer, but I still reined in so Jyn had a chance to catch up. By the time he was beside me he’d cloaked himself as well, though his hood still hung around his shoulders. A death glare shimmered in his eyes.
“You could have warned me.”
“I could have.”
“What was that all about?”
I glanced at him from under my hood. “No reason in particular. I wanted to make you sweat.” His lips drew into a line, but I pulled my horse into a walk. “I should take this cloak off, really cause a scandal to get your heart racing.” I wagged an eyebrow.
“Do you think that’s funny?” Jyn stared at me. “An attempt on your life, and a success on your mother’s, and you think it funny to take off on your own? Unarmed, no less? Do you truly think this is funny?”
I hung my head. “I’m sorry, Jyn. I didn’t think.”
“My heart skipped a dozen beats when you raced off.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You should be.”
I glared from the corner of my eye. The sounds of the town grew louder—the bustle of people going about their day to day, doors opening and closing, and the steady beat of the blacksmith’s hammer. Chickens squawked where they dodged passing feet.
“I won’t take off again, Jyn. But I do have a dagger in my boot. So you know.”
“That’s not going to do much for you if you get grabbed. I don’t think you realize how much your head is worth to the right people.” He pulled his hood up over his ears. “Why are we in town anyway? Wouldn’t the lake be a more . . . scenic ride?” Jyn’s hood turned, a wary surveillance I recognized even with his hood up.
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