Ryvik grabbed the sink and steadied himself. He still felt weak, and now a bit nauseated. He’d been struck on the head before and survived much more easily. Though he’d never been unconscious that long before.
:You’re not getting better.:
“No . . . but I can’t stay in bed all day. I’ll be fine.”
Ryvik didn’t have much in the way of an assortment of clothing. Something to sleep in, a change of clothing for those nights he wanted to play music, and two sets of dress Whites. He donned the music clothing just so he wouldn’t stand out so much. Dark pants, boots, a dark shirt and blue jerkin.
Without the Whites he was less recognizable, and once he removed the bandages, carefully, he blended in with everyone else. He found the library easily enough with some help and walked through the front. The door had been taken off its hinges and propped to the side. Apparently after Taven’s people raided the inside, no one bothered to make the repairs.
The inside smelled of dust and time, with a hint of mold here and there. Not a good sign for a repository of paper. It looked more like a library than a hall as he walked around the edges. Shelves faced each other in a sort of fan pattern on either side. The books were still intact, as were a few doors leading into various reading rooms. It seemed like an odd design, so markedly different from the rest of the town.
In fact, it reminded him of one of the temples he’d visited in Hardorn during an undercover job to help another Herald, who’d been captured.
One of the Priests of the Sun. But . . . how was this possible? Was this, or had this been, an actual temple? And the town had converted it into a library? Ryvik looked closer at the center table. Moving the piles of books around, he uncovered the table’s surface. And sure enough, there it was. The symbols of the Priests of the Sun in the center.
His vision blurred, and he braced himself against the table. A roar dulled his ears, and he thought for a moment he was going to collapse.
“And what exactly are you doing in here?” The voice echoed inside the cavernous building.
Ryvik looked at the doorway, forcing his head to clear. The figure was little more than a silhouette in the light of the sun filtering inside behind him.
“Heyla . . . can I help you?”
“That’s what I was about to ask you.”
The man stepped inside, and Ryvik was able to get a better look at him. He recognized him from the vision he’d seen when he touched the sheets. Tall, broad, with short hair and a soldier’s carry.
“You would be Taven Doreen?” Ryvikk asked as he moved around the center table, putting it between them.
“And you would be Ryvik Sersein. Oldest son of Bose and Carolyn Sersein . . . and related by blood to the Sersein family in Rethwellan.”
“Aye,” Ryvik said. “I’ve no shame in my blood line. My father escaped persecution in Karse for his Mage Gifts. He settled in Valdemar with the Queen’s blessing.”
Taven narrowed his eyes. “You look ill. Have you eaten since you woke?”
That seemed an odd question. “Yes. I have eaten. Who ever threw the rock at me didn’t manage to kill me. So you can tell Sves’ attacker that he failed. And also . . . tell him that grief can cleanse, but it can also drive us mad.”
Taven took a few steps to the table. Ryvik held his ground. He wasn’t frightened of the man’s size. He knew he could outrun him, and he knew the ins and outs of a Sunpriest temple. He just wasn’t sure if those ins and outs were still working, given this building’s advanced age and neglect.
“What do you know about grief, boy?”
“More than you’re willing to concede. But bringing more violence to the people who killed your father isn’t the answer.”
“Oh? You think that’s what this is about?” Taven shook his head. “Well that’s fine. You can die believing your friend is innocent in all this.”
My friend?
:Ryvik . . . :
:I’m okay.: He thought about the vision he’d seen when he touched the sheets. The angry look on Taven’s face and the ledger. “What brings you to this place?” he asked, keeping his voice low, even.
“Waiting for you.”
:Get away from him.:
:I don’t feel . . . so good. Maybe if I use one of these doors they build in for fast escapes . . . :
Ryvik placed his hand along the outside of the table. If he remembered correctly, these center daises were equipped with what he called escapes. In truth, they were props used by the Sunpriests when they needed to make a quick escape and wanted to make it seem as if they’d vanished into thin air. He’d only triggered one once by accident while in Rethwellan, and the fall afterward had been a painful one. As long as he wasn’t standing on the trap door . . .
Ryvik moved to the right, his gaze on the ground. It was hard to read the floor patterns with all the books strewn on it—
And there it was. A diamond shape carved among the circles. The only diamond. And Taven stood on top of it. His hand found the trigger. Now he just had to make the decision to use it or not, and that would depend on Taven’s actions.
“What exactly do you think he’s not telling you? Because I’m still not clear on a lot of things. For instance, where are the rest of the records?”
Taven’s expression wavered. He shook his head. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“The birth records you stole from here were bound in a new ledger. One of the nicer ones made in Haven. A single ledger. This town dates back decades, Lord Doreen. Not all of those births could fit in a single book. So what you’re looking for is the complete set. The bigger question is: Why? Because you believe knowing everyone’s lineage is your key to getting through the gates to hold the mayor’s position?”
“Mayor’s position?” Taven snorted. “I have no ambitions for that title here. Nor any of the other titles. Not in Bell’s Valley. But enough of that. Come with me before you pass out.” The bigger man stepped forward, putting half of his weight on the trap door. That was enough for Ryvik, so he depressed the mark under the dais.
Too late he realized he’d been wrong about the door when the floor gave way beneath him. He looked down in time to see a diamond under his own feet.
Taven moved fast, his arm outstretched as he grabbed Ryviik’s wrist, preventing him from falling through the hole into darkness. His position was still precarious, as he was into the hole from his thighs down, being held only by his wrist.
:Ryvik!:
Ryvik used Taven’s hold as a ballast as he strained his shoulders and bent his knees to bring his feet up and braced them against the edges of the hole. To his surprise, Taven used his other hand to finish pulling him clear and then dragged him to the desk’s side.
Ryvik started to panic when the larger man didn’t let go of him immediately. “Let go of me.”
“Not even a thank you?” Taven’s expression darkened. “So typical of a Herald.”
He reached behind him with his free hand, his other still gripping Ryviik’s wrist. If the man squeezed any harder, he was pretty sure he wouldn’t be able to play his lute for some time. Ryvik wasn’t going to let on how much this was hurting his head or how nauseated he was feeling. He assumed Taven was going for a weapon to finish him off. The sounds of Myriil’s hooves banging against the door echoed throughout the cavernous room.
“Tell your horse to stop.”
Taven pulled his free hand out from behind his back. It held a vial of something yellow.
“She’s not a horse.”
“Then tell your Companion to stop, or she’s going to get the town’s attention, and that’s not what I want.”
“Oh, so you don’t want them to see you kill me?”
The expression on Taven’s face confused Ryvik. He didn’t look angry or menacing anymore, but concerned. “You think I want to kill you?”
Ryviik’s g
aze shifted to the vial of what he assumed was poison. Taven looked at it, closed his eyes and then sighed. “I see why you’d think that.”
“And you’re breaking my wrist.”
“Better a broken wrist than dead, Herald.”
Taven pulled Ryvik into him, turning him so that he used Ryvik’s own arm to restrain him. Pulling the stopper out of the vial with his teeth, Taven forced the open end between Ryvik’s lips. He sputtered and gagged as the thick liquid filled his mouth, then Taven’s hand covered his mouth and nose. “Swallow it if you want to live.”
:Myriil!:
:Drink it!: His Companion stopped kicking at the door.
Confused, but ever trusting of his Companion, Ryvik swallowed it. A few seconds later he started to heave, and to his surprise, Taven walked him to the hole and bent him forward so he could vomit into it. After his stomach finished wretching, he shook as Taven helped him sit in one of the chairs by the desk. The tall soldier knelt down in front of him and forced his eyes open one at a time, then nodded. “You’ll survive, now.”
“What . . .” Ryvik’s throat felt raw and abused. Almost as if he’d swallowed leather polish. “I thought you—”
“Wanted to kill you? No. I wanted to make sure you weren’t.”
Ryvik slowly blinked at Taven, and after a few minutes, the nausea that’d been plaguing him vanished. “What . . . was it?”
“Antidote. Luckily I’m good at studying my enemy. And Harshard isn’t as well supported as he believes.”
Harshard? “Sves? Are you trying to tell me he poisoned me?”
“When you didn’t die from the rock, yes. It would have been in something you ate.”
The stew?
Taven held the empty vial up. “What would the Queen do if one of her Heralds was killed on her errand?”
Ryvik pursed his lip. “Any number of things.”
“One possibility—and I’m sure they thought of every contingency—would be to transfer sovereign rights to the acting mayor until her envoy could arrive. She would be placing him in charge to maintain order without prejudice.” He set the vial on the desk. “Your death would have precipitated a coup to take over this town, take our lands, and take our rights so that Sves Harshard could hand it all over to his Karsite brothers.”
Ryvik blinked. He didn’t say anything at first as he processed Taven’s take on events. He didn’t believe him. “Sves would never do that. He’s loyal to the Queen.”
“Not when it comes to his buddies. Sves isn’t the same man I think you once knew. He has a vendetta against my family.”
“Against you? He says you have one against him.”
“My father killed his mother, Minoa. It was an accident, in the town square in Bakerston. A runaway horse. But Sves never forgave him for it. A few years later my father was ambushed along the border by Karsites. I learned about the death while serving the Queen, and she gave me leave to return home. It’s taken me nearly a year to piece everything together, including infiltrating the Karse border myself to find out exactly who those men were.” He narrowed his eyes at Ryvik. “They’re his childhood friends, fleeing Karse and the Sunpriests. He made a deal with them to kill my father, and he would give them land and holdings here in Valdemar. Several of them have families with children showing signs of the Mage Gift.”
“But the Queen would have granted them asylum,” Ryvik said. “There’s no need to do this.”
“If Sves were a sane, thinking man, he would believe you were right,” Taven rubbed at his chin. “But he’s consumed by grief. Grief for his mother and her family still in Karse. The prejudices against Karse blood are real. Old wounds, lost family, resentments toward their parents’ homelands. I wasn’t the one who incited the protests, but he was able to attach my name to them. Every name he’s used is in that book he stole from the previous Mayor.”
Ryvik remembered the argument Taven had with someone . . . holding the ledger. “Did you fight with Sves about a half-filled book of records?”
Taven’s brows arched. “Yes, I did. I discovered what he’d done, how he’d set you up, and how he planned on taking down every one of the landholders whose names were in that book. All with Karsite blood in their veins. I confronted him, and he showed me the book and told me there was nothing I could do about it. That I would pay for the sins of my father.” His mouth pulled to the side. “And then you lived . . . thwarting their plans. Which is why I was following you. You’re not safe here, and he’s invested too much time in arranging the aftermath of your death.” He paused. “I will say that he didn’t know the Queen would send you. He was surprised and sad when you appeared to save him.”
That might account for the odd, wide-eyed look he’d given Ryvik before the rock struck him. “I’m not leaving. Not until I do what I came here to do.”
Ryvik looked around the center desk and again at the hole. The book Sves had wasn’t complete, so where were the original documents? He asked Taven as much.
“That’s why this place is sacked,” he gestured to the room. “Sves was in here for weeks looking for the originals.”
“Documents like that should be public record, so if they’re hidden, there has to be a reason. I would assume Foreland is the one who hid them, so they would have to be easily accessible.” Feeling much better, Ryvik hummed a tune he’d had rolling around in his head as he put his hand on every surface he could find. His Gift tickled now and then, telling him the memory hidden there was too soft, not enough strength behind it.
Until he knelt under the table and put his hand on a piece of parchment. He saw elderly hands place a six-inch thick bound book on the center desk, the entire area being a much cleaner place. He then moved his hand under the desk, on the opposite side of where he’d triggered the door earlier.
The center of the table lifted, revealing a square, hollow tower of some kind built inside. It was filled with other stacks of similar books. The old man replaced the book he’d set on the table, and the vision vanished.
“You okay?”
“Yeah,” Ryvik shook his head and blinked several times as the Gift released him. “I just . . .” He stood carefully as he walked around Taven to where he could see what Foreland saw from where he stood. He knew he’d been in the former mayor’s memory. Feeling along the edge, Ryvik found the depression and pressed.
There was a hiss of air just before the shelf he’d seen in the vision rose in the center of this table as well. Stacked where he’d seen them were six other books.
Taven took the top one, opening it to a random page. “Garrison Locke, birthplace Rethwellan. Son of Joset and Tas Barrows, blacksmiths. Left on the doorstep of Brahms and Ket Locke as a child. Showed signs of magic at a young age, saved from the Sunpriests . . .” He flipped a few pages and then set the book back in the shelf. “This is it.”
Ryvik gave Taven a wicked smile. “And these are exactly what I want to use in my mediation tonight.”
“I don’t know if I can protect you from Sves’ supporters.”
“You won’t have to.” Ryvik picked up a book and went to the index. “There is safety in truth.”
• • •
The entire town poured into the meeting hall across from the Hall of Records. Taven had accompanied Ryvik to the building via a back entrance and then left him there to retrieve Ryvik’s things at Sves’ home. Now dressed in his Whites and feeling more like himself, Ryvik walked out onto the platform. He caught the “ohhs” and “ahhs” from the crowd as they beheld what the students called their “shoot me now” uniform.
A young boy walked beside him, carrying the town’s records; he placed them on the table Ryvik had asked for.
Sves came from the wings, nearly running to the books, and was stopped by the boy. “Where did you find those?”
“At the Hall of Records,” Ryvik said, barely able to look at his old friend. “
They’re public information. Please take your seat.” He waited for Sves to leave the stage and sit on a single chair in the center.
Everyone’s eyes were on Ryvik. “Ladies and gentlemen of Bell’s Valley, good evening. I am Herald Ryvik. My Companion is Myriil, whom I’m sure you’ve all seen outside. I hold this distinction, this honor, because my parents made it possible. If they had not run for their lives into the lands of Valdemar, I would not have survived past perhaps . . . my twelfth birthday. Or maybe even my sixth.”
“Your blood’s not pure!” Someone shouted. Same voices as before.
“You’re a Karsite!”
“Yes, I am,” Ryvik said. “Ryvik Sersein. Oldest son of Bose and Carolyn Sersein, of the Sersein nobles of Rethwellan. Nobility. And yet my parents settled in Bakerston and led a normal life for me.”
He put his hand on the stack of books. “These are the entirety of the birth records of everyone ever recorded in Bell Valley’s history. I’ve not read all of them, but out of the three hundred or so I looked at this afternoon, all . . .” He paused. “All. Of. Them. Carried Karsite bloodlines. That means that all of your ancestors, your grandmothers and cousins, your grandfathers and great-grandmothers gave up what they might have had to come to Valdemar to make a better life. To survive.”
He swept every person there with his gaze. “This is a town of survivors. Strong, mighty people, made of both bloods. The fighting tenacity of Karse and the peaceful, freedom-loving blood of Valdemar. This town has a uniqueness to it, a spirit that can’t be conquered. So when I see citizens fighting citizens for bearing the same stigma inherent in all of you . . . it saddens me. And it saddens the Throne.”
Ryvik moved to the edge of the platform. “For centuries, this town has governed itself in peace and elected the one best fitted to lead such a diverse group into the future. If you allow this kind of bigotry to destroy you, then what was it your families fought for? What would they say if they saw the violence . . . and the hatred I’ve seen since arriving?”
Taven came from the wings just then and faced the crowd. Some people hissed and booed, but they grew quiet when he bowed to them. “I am Taven Doreen, heir to the Doreen lands. My name is in that book, as are my ancestors. My grandfather smuggled his wife and his two children out of Karse and into Valdemar after being told he was to submit his children for Mage testing. He’d already lost one child to the fire, and he chose not to lose another. The children he saved were my mother and my uncle. My mother married into the Doreen family, and together their blood made me.” Taven thumped his chest. “Second-rank soldier to the Queen of Valdemar and forever her protector. I am not here to avenge my father’s murder. I am here to support my people, my town, and my family from those who would tear us apart.” He bowed to them. “It is now that I would like to volunteer myself as your mayor, as one of your bloodline.”
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