by M. S. Verish
“My assignment given by the Lady Ilda was to write a formal letter of invitation to an imaginary event of grand proportions. I was browsing the library for an example format, and I could find nothing of use. I began to pace along the shelves, and that was when I nearly bumped into her.”
You did bump into me, Kariayla thought. And I wasn’t supposed to be there. The heat had spread to her cheeks.
“She was crouched upon the floor, in the dark, poring over a book that rivaled her in size. I apologized and asked what it was she was reading, and she looked at me as though I would flog her about the head.”
“Eleana!” the duchess exclaimed.
“I speak only the truth, Mother. She was terrified, and I came to learn why. The kitchen clerk is a beastly woman, and Kariayla served under her as a scullion. At first I did not believe this—that a literate young lady should be scrubbing pots and pans with the servants’ children. But I came to learn the truth of it, and I insisted she be moved to a better position—one more fitting of her intellect. After all, she did help me in my research and found exactly the example I was seeking.”
“There is no shame in the labor you do, dear,” Duke Barendorn said to Kariayla. “The castle would not function without your efforts.” He paused as he sipped his wine. “I am glad, however, that your situation has improved, and that my daughter has found a worthy companion.”
“Thank you, my lord,” Kariayla managed, though she felt like an open wound, her humiliation exposed for all to see.
“What, may I ask, was she reading?”
This was a new voice, deep and resonant. Kariayla looked up to seek who had spoken. Medoriate Prentishun had entered the conversation.
“A book about the Cataclysm,” Eleana said. “I cannot remember the exact title.”
There was a pause, and Kariayla realized that the Blood Mage was waiting for her to elaborate. “It was The Enlightenment of Secramore in the Aftermath of the Cataclysm.”
“That is quite a heavy topic,” Duke Barendorn said, impressed.
“‘Enlightenment,’” the Blood Mage mused. “What enlightenment did you gain from such a text?”
Kariayla shifted in her chair. “I am merely curious about history,” she said. What did it matter what she read? She was a slave—a foreigner—a girl of little consequence. Someone please change the subject.
“Hm. Indeed.” Medoriate Prentishun took a long drink and eased back in his chair.
“Well, I suppose we should discuss your future, Eleana,” the duchess said. “We have much to prepare before your wedding.”
Kariayla watched the rays of light cloud over her friend’s face, but the duke and duchess seemed oblivious to their daughter’s change in mood. Or perhaps her feelings were merely inconsequential when it came to matters of business. Regardless, Lord Sabastian of Thorondon became a presence at the table, as if he was actually there with them. Eleana, though somewhat deflated, humored her parents until they revealed their true intentions as casually as one would mention the weather.
“Kariayla will be able to assist you in packing, of course,” the duke said. “And she should consider what it is she wishes to bring as well.”
“There will be plenty of time for that, Father,” Eleana said, but she stirred uneasily, waiting for the inevitable and dreaded response.
“No, dear, you will be leaving with us before the week is through,” the duchess said.
Eleana emphatically set down her knife. “You had not said as much in your letter.”
“We had thought the circumstance rather obvious,” her father said, a slight edge to his tone.
The duchess also set down her knife. “We did not travel here just to chat with you. The wedding is set for the next new moon. We do not have much time to sit idle.”
Eleana’s mouth fell. “But that is—”
“Yes, my dear,” her mother said. “There is much to be done.”
“I am delighted that you are so eager to marry me off.”
The duke’s face reddened. “Do not be ungrateful, child. This arrangement was conducted very carefully and with your best interests in mind.”
“Of course,” came the tight response. “Forgive me for my outburst, Mother, Father.”
Kariayla did not move, waiting for the clouds to burst. Her attention drifted to the one person who remained outside the family conflict. Medoriate Prentishun was engaged in another helping of the evening meal, carefully deconstructing his brimming plate. She wished she could be so blissfully oblivious to the building tension, but she had promised she would be there to support Eleana in this journey, and she would not avoid that responsibility.
The duchess dabbed at her lips and followed Kariayla’s gaze. “Given our brief stay, we would be remiss not to ask how our guest is faring in his research. Tell me, Medoriate Prentishun, has this been a fruitful venture for you?”
The Blood Mage took another long drink and lifted his cup for a refill. “You have been most generous in your support, Madame. As of yet, my accumulation of valid resources has been of moderate progress, so I seek to delve deeper in this wealth of knowledge to which you have provided me access.”
The duchess seemed momentarily puzzled before responding. “I am glad to hear it.”
But he did not really say anything, Kariayla thought.
The duke nodded. “Yes, we would want your return to Mystland to be well-received. There are but few collections as diverse as Belorn’s.” He frowned. “Jedinom’s Grace, Medoriate, are you all right?”
The Blood Mage had started coughing on his wine, and he raised a hand to indicate that he would recover. That was when the servants entered with dessert: a subtlety shaped to look like a chapel. “In honor of Lady Eleana’s engagement,” one of them said.
Eleana began to weep, and Kariayla patted her hand uselessly. The rain had just begun.
*
“I will be all right, I promise. I just need some air.”
Somehow the reddened eyes and tear-stained cheeks made Eleana’s assertion less than convincing. “I cannot leave you alone. Not after what happened at dinner.”
“Kariayla, please. I just need time to think. Time to breathe without my parents bearing down upon me. Nothing will happen to me in the castle courtyard. Go. I know you are tired.”
Kariayla bit her lip and stood, indecisive, as Eleana walked away, down the corridor. She should not leave her friend, but if Eleana wanted solitude, how could she intrude? I could just remain here, a useless obstruction in the hall. That should count for nothing, I imagine.
She rubbed her back, the thought of returning to her room not unappealing. It was a rare moment to herself. She could quit the confinement of her dress and—
“Pardon me.”
Startled, Kariayla stepped aside so that the person behind her could pass.
“Are you waiting for her ladyship?”
She turned to see the Blood Mage standing there, pipe in hand. Kariayla made a quick bow. “No, sir. Er… I expect she will return shortly—”
He took a puff. “Then perhaps you would not mind indulging an old Markanturian in light conversation until she returns.”
“Me?” she blurted.
“Indeed.”
“If you wish it, sir.”
“I wish it, but you need not address me as ‘sir.’” He swayed but a little on his feet, and Kariayla detected a slight slur to his speech.
“Yes…Medoriate Prentishun.”
He sighed. “Let us find a place to sit. The library, perhaps, as it is your domain of expertise.”
She nodded and accompanied him down the hall, glad for an excuse to be somewhere. He was slow to ascend the stairs, and when they reached the top, she feared he might tumble back down.
“Will you be all right, Medoriate?”
“Your concern,” he panted, “is appreciated but…unnecessary.” He looked around for an aid that was not there before forcing himself onward without it.
Kariayla followed h
im warily, unsure what he wanted from her. The head librarian scowled at them from his desk, and she kept her eyes to the floor. When they reached the table at which she had first seen the Blood Mage, he pulled out a chair for her and then seated himself. Silence ensued as he enjoyed a bit more of his pipe, and then at last he spoke.
“So you have interest in the Cataclysm.”
“Yes, si—Medoriate Prentishun,” she said, avoiding his eerie eyes.
“What is it that so interests you?” His voice was borderline lethargic, but he was attentive enough to await an answer.
“The stories,” she said shyly. “History has many stories, and I like to think what it was like when they were created.”
“Stories can be fact or fiction,” he said. “Does it matter to you whether there is truth to them?”
“I suppose I’d like to know the difference.”
“Would you say the Cataclysm is truth or fiction, given your research?”
Is there a right or wrong answer? she wondered. “I believe much of what I’ve read to be true.”
“Why? How do you put faith in a text written by someone who lived long after the event in question?”
Is this an interrogation? “Many books have supported the same story,” Kariayla said. “Jedinom fought and vanquished the dark god so that the Humans would be spared.”
“Ah.” He wagged his pipe at her. “Humans are not the only race said to be present during the Cataclysm.”
Kariayla lifted her gaze to search him. He can’t possibly know that I’m not—that I’ve been searching for—
“My people were said to have been created during the ‘magical battle’ between Jedinom and Ocranthos. An entire race born from a skirmish between gods. How plausible is that?”
She started to speak, but he interrupted her. “Do not answer, do not answer. I mean you no discomfort. I am merely curious. Have you ever, in your research, encountered the mention of a work entitled The Forging?”
“I…don’t recall, Medoriate, sir.”
“No, no I suppose you would not. It would not be important to you. There is no reason why it would draw your attention at all,” he rambled. Then silence.
Kariayla stared at her hands. The sweet scent of his pipe was overwhelming.
“If you do encounter the mention of such a title….”
“I will certainly inform you, Medoriate,” she said.
He looked at her with bleary eyes. “I would not imagine you have much time or opportunity to explore these shelves before you depart.”
Kariayla blinked, his words ringing with truth. “No, Medoriate.”
The Blood Mage nodded. “Thank you, my dear, for this brief but kind indulgence. I would not want to keep you from her Ladyship, should she have returned.”
Kariayla stood and waited awkwardly as he struggled to rise from the chair. She doubted that lending him her arm would result in anything more than the both of them tumbling to the floor, but she offered anyway.
He smiled slightly and shook his head before pushing away from the table.
Kariayla bowed. “Good night, Medoriate.”
“And to you, Kariayla,” he said.
She took her leave, her head spinning from the encounter. Clearly Medoriate Prentishun had a fondness for wine, but like the stories she encountered in her research, she believed there was a strand of truth in the cryptic conversation. If she could conclude anything about the Blood Mage, it was that he was not nearly as rude as Eleana had painted him to be.
Eleana. Had she returned to the room? Or was she still walking about the courtyard after dark, lost in her thoughts? Kariayla hurried down the steps and through the passage to her room, only to find it empty. Outside, then. If nothing else, I must tell her of my wings. She will need to know before we leave. And if she rejects me… She shook the thought away. I have to tell her.
Kariayla stepped out into the coolness of the night, doubly grateful for the wrap around her shoulders. Summer was fading, and the gardens were already turning to seed. It occurred to her that this could be the last time she wandered amongst the herbs and flowers of the castle courtyard. It would be one of the few pleasures she would miss once her year and a half of slavery was behind her.
The sound of soft voices carried around the orchard trees, and Kariayla slowed. Eleana’s voice alternated with a lower one. She did not have to see the young man to know that he was the squire. Fredrick, Eleana’s forbidden love. This may very well be their last meeting. This may very well be their goodbye. She sighed to herself and retreated back to the castle. She would tell Eleana of her wings tomorrow; this night belonged to her friend.
3
The Letter
When Kariayla woke that morning, she found Eleana’s bed empty. With growing unease, she saw that the blankets had never been disturbed. She did not come back at all… Before she would allow herself to panic, she would try to assess the situation logically. If Eleana had left with her parents, she would have come for her belongings. The only one with any answers would be Fredrick.
I should never have left her alone. Whatever has become of her is my fault. The thought made her sick, and as she hurriedly dressed, her stomach lurched at the sound of a heavy rap upon the door. “A moment,” she managed, and stuffed her feet inside her shoes. It would have been the answer to her prayers had Eleana been on the other side, but when she opened the door, there stood a man. She recognized him as one of the higher servants, and his frown deepened at the sight of her. “You are to accompany me to the solar at once.”
Kariayla could feel the warmth drain from her face. Whatever has happened, this is all my fault. “I’m ready,” she whispered, but the servant had already turned his back, expecting she would follow. Kariayla nearly had to jog to keep pace with him. Has she been found? Is she all right? By the mercy of the Spirits let her be all right!
They passed the Blood Mage, who looked as though he wanted to stop them. Kariayla could not spare him a thought. Her heart sank even lower when they came upon the solar, and Eleana was not to be seen. There was, however, a gathering waiting to receive her. The servant beside her bowed reverently, and then Kariayla spied the king and queen seated toward the back of the room. She, too, bowed, but her legs were unreliable, and she had every fear of collapsing right then and there. When she rose she could see the emotion-colored faces of Eleana’s parents. There was also a set of royals, a well-dressed man and woman she had never seen before. Several servants maintained close proximity to their respective nobilities.
“Do you know why you have been summoned?” Duke Barendorn asked.
For as apparent as the situation was, Kariayla did not know if she was expected to answer. She did not know if she could answer.
The duke produced a letter and raised it for her to see. “My daughter, your lady and companion, has disappeared. We believe she has run off with one of the castle squires.”
Kariayla’s eyes could not grow any wider.
“As her companion, I expect you knew something of her relationship with this young man.”
Kariayla nodded dumbly.
The duke’s expression hardened. “I expect she confided in you about her plans to evade her arranged marriage.”
“N-no, my lord,” Kariayla said, horrified. “She never spoke of such a plan.”
“I do not have patience for liars,” he warned. “If she ever indicated her desire to run away with Fredrick Astin, I demand you tell me now.”
“No, my lord. I would not lie to you,” Kariayla said, close to tears.
Duchess Barendorn, who had been sitting beside him, stood in a fury. “Regardless of what she told you, you have failed in your role as her attendant. Where were you when she decided to flee the castle?”
Kariayla wiped her eyes. “I—she wanted to take a walk in the garden—alone. She insisted—”
“You left her alone.” The duchess’s statement was more an accusation.
“At her request, my lady,” Kariayla said,
her voice breaking.
“I believe she enabled this entire scenario,” the duchess said to her husband. “She allowed Eleana to meet with the squire and turned a blind eye to their escape.”
“No, that’s not true,” Kariayla blurted. “When I heard them in the garden, I thought they were saying goodbye to one another.” She realized her mistake as soon as it had left her lips.
“You saw them together,” Duke Barendorn said, his face reddening.
“I didn’t know—”
“Enough.” The Queen of Belorn rose, and the room quieted. “We will send riders to search for your daughter and return her to the castle. Squire Astin, when found, will be reprimanded accordingly.” Her eyes met with Kariayla’s. “The attendant’s role is at an end. She will return to the kitchen to serve under the clerk as before.”
“Your pardon, Your Majesty, but should she not be punished for her lapse in duty?” Duke Barendorn asked.
“The consequences she will face upon her return to the kitchen will be adequate,” the queen said. Then to Kariayla, “It would be best for me not to hear your name distinguished amongst the others. Do you understand me?”
Kariayla swallowed and nodded.
“You are dismissed. Report to Clerk Melgora for instruction.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.” Kariayla bowed and left the room, feeling worse than when she had arrived. Her fate was sealed. She would never leave Belorn.
*
The unopened letter remained upon the table where the messenger had left it. Its exterior was neatly addressed to “Master Prentishun,” and so he had been reluctant to see its contents. The day had already begun poorly, and he expected his mood to decline further upon opening the letter.
“Master Prentishun,” indeed. The fact that it was not addressed to “Medoriate Prentishun” indicated that the author knew him. He was not a wizard, though the Humans believed anyone with magic carried the title “Medoriate.” And to say he wielded magic was a gross overstatement of his innate abilities. He possessed one item of power—a staff that he could illuminate at best. Whitestar served him better as a walking aid.