The Academy Journals Volume One: A Book of Underrealm (The Underrealm Volumes 3)

by Garrett Robinson

  “I only learned of this after the assault,” said Halab. “But Shay decided to redecorate. He had everything removed from the manor and brought back to our estates in Idris, to be replaced with new things. He said he wished to rid the manor of its western trappings and make a home in the proud tradition of Idris again.”

  Clearly Albi did not know the source of Halab’s sudden anxiety, but she caught the room’s mood. Her eyes roamed from one face to the next but found no explanation. For his part, Ebon felt a tingling on the back of his neck; a heightened sense of awareness seemed to have come over him, bringing a roiling in his gut and a light-headedness that sharpened his thoughts.

  “It is very fortunate,” he said carefully, “that my father did so just before the Seat was attacked. Imagine the damage if all our possessions had been here when Dulmun sacked the island.”

  Halab’s worried frown deepened—and Ebon saw that she looked at Matami for a moment before averting her eyes.

  “Most fortunate indeed,” said Halab.

  Matami had not taken his eyes from Ebon’s for so much as a moment. “We should all be blessed with such fortune,” he growled. “It is a sign of some higher favor. Not like the Yerrins, whose home was demolished in the attack. Pompous fools.” He drank deep of his wine.

  “We are fortunate,” Halab repeated. “Indeed, when I heard of the attack—after I learned that you had survived, Ebon, for of course that was my greatest worry—I grew concerned that this manor might have fallen. Only then did Shay mention what he had done.”

  The table went quiet as she sipped gingerly at her wine. Ebon glanced across the room to where Mako still leaned against the corner wall. The bodyguard fixed him with a hard stare, and there was a glint in his eye that did not come only from the fireplace. Ebon wondered if Mako was thinking the same thing as him.

  Just then, there was a soft knock at the door. “Enter,” said Halab, and a courier strode in, wearing the white and gold of the High King. She dropped her missive into Halab’s hand and withdrew without a word. Halab glanced at the paper before looking up and giving them all a smile.

  “We have been summoned to the palace,” she said. “They have offered us an audience faster than I thought.”

  She stood, and the rest of them hastened to join her. Hesta and Matami went to Halab’s side. But before she left, Halab went first to Albi and then to Ebon, giving each child a long embrace.

  “You will likely be gone before we return,” she told Ebon. “You must visit us again while we are still here. And if you have friends at the Academy, you must bring them, for we would all like to meet them.”

  “Farewell, my son,” said Hesta. “It has gladdened my heart to see you again.”

  “And you, Mother.” Ebon hugged her tight, inhaling her sweet perfume. He had not known how badly he missed it. “I will see you again soon.”

  They left. The moment the door shut behind them, Albi whirled to Ebon and seized his hands.

  “Finally!” she said, laughing. “I thought they would never leave. Come now, Ebon. I want to hear everything—and I want to tell you everything I have been up to, as well. But first, you must put on some proper clothes.”

  Ebon looked down at himself, feigning insult, though he could not hide his smile. “Proper clothes? What is wrong with my Academy robes?”

  “Do not pretend to be simple,” she said, pushing his shoulders. “Go! Fetch yourself something more fitting to your station, and then let us walk in the garden. It is beautiful, more so with the snow, and not so smoky as it is inside.”

  “As you wish, my lady.” Ebon bowed low, which earned him another slap on the arm, and then he left to find himself some new clothes.

  EBON CLIMBED TO THE SECOND floor and made for his room, but when he reached the door he paused. Its fresh-cut planks and shining varnish spoke of new carpentry. He looked across the hall. The opposite door was not so new, but it bore a small scorch mark near the stone floor.

  So. The attackers had gone through the Drayden manor. And Shay’s “fortunate” decision to empty the place of their possessions had likely saved the family much coin. The armies would have rushed through the rooms and found nothing to steal. Likely they had destroyed the door to Ebon’s room out of spite, or mayhap frustration.

  Then he opened the door and found that it did not lead to his room at all. Instead he found a sitting room. There was a bookshelf at one end, some tapestries on the other walls, and a single armchair beside the fireplace. His bed was gone, as were his bureaus and chests. The one mark he had left upon this house, scrubbed away like a recalcitrant stain.

  Ebon swallowed past a suddenly dry throat and stepped back, closing the door softly. Quick footsteps down the hallway drew his attention. It was Liya, the servant who had spilled his wine at dinner. She looked up and saw him just as he saw her. Her steps faltered.

  “Liya,” he said, forcing his voice to be calm. “Do I still have any clothes here? Have they been put somewhere else?”

  She looked back over her shoulder, shifting on her feet as though she might run. But then he saw her take a deep breath, composing herself by the time it escaped her lips. “Yes, milord,” she said timidly. “This way, please.”

  He followed her down the hall and around the corner. There was another wooden door, just like the one that had once led to his room. She opened it to reveal a storeroom. Crates and barrels lined the walls, stacked in neat and orderly rows. Atop one stack was a chest with a lock, but he could see from the way the lid was ajar that it had not been secured.

  “If milord will help … ?” Liya took one end of the chest, and Ebon hastened to take the other, and together they brought it down to the floor. Ebon swung it open to find a familiar sight—the fine golden silks he had grown up wearing.

  “Just what I wanted. Thank you, Liya.”

  “Of course, milord.” But Liya would not meet his eyes, and it seemed she wanted to leave the room but was unsure how he might react.

  “Liya,” he said, frowning. “What is it?”

  Her eyes widened, and she clutched at her dress with her hands. “Nothing, milord.”

  “You are afraid. Of what, I do not know, but of something, certainly.”

  She shook her head quickly, too quickly to make her words ring true. “I am not, milord. I swear it.”

  Ebon found himself growing exasperated. “Tell me the truth, at once. I may not rule this household, but I am nephew to the one who does. Out with it, or Halab will know the reason you withheld yourself.”

  Her olive skin went pale. “No, milord! Please, please not that. It is … it is only that … we are all grateful to see you alive, young master. And you must understand; we were ordered to leave the Seat. We never meant to leave you behind.”

  Ebon balked. The thought was so strange that for a moment he could not react. When he did, it was to laugh. “Liya, of course I know that. I never thought you meant to abandon me.”

  He stepped forwards, reaching out a comforting hand for her arm. That was a mistake. She shrieked and drew back. She hesitated, but then fear got the better part of decorum, and she fled through the door back into the hallway.

  Staring at his hand, Ebon felt realization crash upon him like a wave from the Great Bay. His magic. She feared his magic, as though with a simple touch he might strike her dead. The thought was so simple-minded and foolish that he wanted to laugh. But the fear in her eyes had been real enough.

  Was that what the servants of the Drayden household thought? That he had become some dark wizard of evil, and would return to them like some lesser Wizard King? A tyrant whose commands were to be obeyed without question?

  Why should they think otherwise? You are your father’s son, after all.

  He forced such dark thoughts away. Darkness take her. He was scarcely even a member of this house any longer, and its servants could think of him whatever they wished.

  The golden silks felt glorious, and Ebon worried that he might smudge them with his ink-stain
ed fingers. But he had no time to bathe, so he closed the door and changed anyway. When he was done, he looked down on himself in wonder. Once, garments such as these had been part and parcel of his everyday existence. Now they seemed like the height of unnecessary opulence. His Academy robes were of cloth so rough it was almost burlap. But rather than feeling more comfortable, this outfit felt too smooth, like a slithering serpent sliding along all his skin.

  He shook off the sensation and made his way downstairs. The back door stood open, letting the cold air flood through the bottom floor. Ebon closed it behind himself as he stepped into the gardens. There was Albi, waiting for him with her coat pulled tight about her and a fur hood covering her head. But there, too, was Mako, standing aloof a pace or two from the girl, arms folded and bright teeth bared in a grin.

  Albi turned. “Ebon!” she said, relief plain in her tone. “How wonderful you look. Much better than those drab black rags. Come.”

  She took his arm and very nearly dragged him away through the gardens. Ebon got only a glance behind them at Mako. The bodyguard’s grin widened, and he gave Ebon a mocking wave with two fingers before retreating into the manor.

  “Thank goodness,” said Albi in a hushed tone. “That man has always terrified me.”

  “Mako?” said Ebon, raising his eyebrows. “He used to make me uneasy, I will admit. But terrifying? I think you exaggerate.”

  He felt her shudder where their elbows were locked. “I mean it. He seems to view everyone as a meal about to be devoured. If I could do any more to avoid him without being rude, I would.”

  Ebon thought of the room upstairs, the terror in Liya’s eyes when she looked at him. His mouth twisted. “Mayhap you do not give him enough credit.”

  She snorted, but said nothing more. Ebon turned his gaze away from her out to the garden. The manor had been built upon a sizable plot of land, as far as property went upon the Seat, though compared to the Academy it seemed a cramped patch of dirt. Many of the plants were dead to winter’s cold, but plenty of evergreen trees had been put about, and their verdant branches showed stark against their light dusting of snow. The plants were strange to him, and familiarity had not lessened their oddity. What scrubs grew in Idris were thin, small, and hardy. They bore the night’s cold as well as the day’s heat, but that was because they were small and self-contained. These pines and the live oak at the garden’s center were like grand old men who refused to cow before winter’s stormy assault, and Ebon felt like a child in their shadow.

  Albi gripped his arm tighter. “I have missed you so much, dear brother.” Then she drew back her other hand and struck him in the chest as hard as she could.

  “Ow!” he cried, rubbing at the spot. “You have a strange way of showing it.”

  “How could you fail to write me?” she said, pouting. “I did not receive so much as a hasty scribble until the Seat was attacked, and we all feared you might be dead.”

  “I doubt you all feared it,” said Ebon, thinking of his father. But her scowl deepened, and he spoke hastily to avoid another smack. “I am sorry. Of course I should have written you. But even before the island was attacked, my days were much occupied with fear and danger.”

  That earned him a snort. “You make it sound quite dramatic.”

  “In truth, it was,” said Ebon. “Indeed, I almost died more than once.”

  He spoke in earnest, but Albi only laughed. “Oh, Ebon. Do not think to wheedle out of this with outlandish tales. Only promise to write me more often in the future, and we may leave it at that.”

  A part of him was irked, for he had thought he might confide in her, at least, the way he did with Kalem and Theren. But then again, there were things that had happened in the months before the attack that he wished to tell no other. So he simply said, “I promise.”

  “Good. Now, tell me of your magic! After so long, I can only imagine how pleased you must be to put it to use. I thought I would simply die of delight to see you cast a spell.”

  He smiled. “It is a greater pleasure than I can say. I am only a simple beginner yet. But still … the power … sometimes I cannot believe it.”

  “Show me again,” she said, eyes dancing.

  Ebon looked about them on the ground and found a small branch, about as long and thick as his index finger. He stooped to retrieve it, and then concentrated. His eyes brightened, and stone rippled along the branch until it was all grey. Releasing the hold on his magic, Ebon placed the branch in her trembling hand.

  Albi did not speak for a long moment. Her mouth parted in a silent circle. Then she gripped the branch in both hands and tried to break it. She strained, but nothing happened.

  “It is stone through!” she whispered, as though someone might be lurking around the corner to eavesdrop. “Did you turn it all the way? And the cup?”

  “Every part of them both,” said Ebon, not modest enough to hide his smile.

  Albi clapped her hands once and laughed. She tucked the branch into a pocket in her cloak. “I will hold this always as a keepsake. And to think you learned this after only a few short months. As I said before, I have proven to be a quick study as well—and in more things than book learning.” Her eyes danced, and she leaned in closer to speak in a false whisper. “I have had a romance, you know.”

  Ebon nearly froze, a flush creeping up from his collar and into his cheeks. “A … you what?”

  “Oh yes, a very passionate one,” she said, giggling as her blush matched his own. “Such a charming, handsome boy. We stole many kisses here and there, in dark corners while I was visiting his family with Mother. But sadly, he was royalty. After a time I felt I had to ignore him and rebuff further advances, because after all, his family would never allow us to be wed. Still. If I seem a bit womanlier to you, that is no doubt why.”

  She gave a self-satisfied little smile and smoothed the front of her dress, though Ebon saw no wrinkles. Womanlier? he thought. True, Albi had grown what seemed an incredible amount for the few short months since they had seen each other, and she carried herself with a more mature air than before. But Ebon thought of his own dalliances with Adara, and the crimson deepened in his cheeks.

  “Why, Ebon!” she laughed, mistaking his look. “I do believe I have embarrassed you.”

  Should he tell her? Of course not. Albi might keep some of his secrets, but only when she thought they were important. She would see nothing wrong in his visits to Adara, and so she might make mention of them to Shay. That could be a disaster.

  He forced a tight smile and said, “I did not know you had such a rebellious streak within you, dear sister.”

  Another flashing smile answered him. “I know. I feel so scandalous. And we had to keep ourselves so carefully hidden, for it was the first time I was permitted to join Mother and Father on a caravan excursion. First we traveled north to the capital, and then west to explore the new route we wish to …”

  On she went, telling him about the trip, her first with their parents where she actually had a role to play. The story was all too familiar, for he had gone on a few such excursions himself. Now that he was no longer there to attend them and learn the family’s trade, he supposed it was only natural that they would bring Albi along in his stead.

  With a shock he realized that that life was slipping away from him, and he did not want it to. Mayhap he had never wanted to follow in his father’s footsteps, transporting spices across Underrealm to fill the family’s coffers. But long years had let him grow somewhat used to the idea, and now he realized it might never be. What would he do when he graduated from the Academy? He had asked Theren that question often enough, for she was on the cusp of having to make that decision. But he had rarely thought of the answer for himself.

  And as his thoughts ran further, he realized suddenly that the answer did not concern Albi at all. She did not care if he finished his training and returned to the family’s business, or went off into some other kingdom entirely—so long as he wrote her, most likely, and visited on
occasion. He could hear it in the way she spoke of her exploits with the caravan, and as he thought back, in the way she had turned every conversation away from him and to herself instead.

  Had she always been so vain? And, a far more perplexing thought: had Ebon been the same when he was in her position?

  He thought of Liya’s face in the storeroom earlier, and how it had filled him with annoyance rather than compassion. His mood darkened further.

  “—and do not hate me for saying so, but Father’s mood has been much gentler since you entered the Academy, and I think especially so since now I will be the head of the family.”

  Albi’s words snapped his attention back to the present. He stared at her for a moment, letting the words play back in his mind so that he could understand them. And yet still they held no meaning. Albi seemed to recognize that she had said too much, for she looked at him wide-eyed, and her mouth worked as she fought for some explanation.

  “What do you mean?” But he knew the answer even as he asked.

  “I mean only … Ebon, please, do not be angry with me.”

  The pain in her eyes, the sorrow for him, sealed the knowledge in his mind. Shay did not only mean to remove Ebon from the family’s business dealings. Ebon’s inheritance, his role as the future head of the family, was now forgotten, like a nightmare fading in daylight.

  Had Father made the decision the moment Ebon joined the Academy, out of spite for losing his son to the fate he had always hated? Or had he concocted the plan for other reasons? Had he removed Ebon from his inheritance in the same breath he had ordered the Draydens’ possessions removed from their manor upon the Seat?

  Did Shay remain home in Idris because business held him? Or mayhap because he was ashamed to face the son he had left on the Seat to die?