Azurite (Daughter of the Mountain Book 1)

by Megan Dent Nagle

  “There is beauty in everything the Creator makes,” Milo replied automatically. “We just have to be willing to look past the ends of our noses to see it.” Zora scrunched up her face.

  “Don’t speak in riddles.”

  “Then no, Zora. It carries not the splendor that Samaria does. I have been through Montanisto many times, but never has the look and feel of the land bothered me.” He hesitated for a second as if debating whether to continue on. “It’s the people who make that country ugly.” Zora didn’t understand, and Milo didn’t elaborate, but the young girl looked heart broken nonetheless.

  “I just don’t understand,” she said with a shake of her head. “Help me to see the reasoning behind why my mother is doing this. Why she does not want me to rule in her stead? I love my country more than anything and would rule it in such a manner. I wasn’t born to be a Lady to some forsaken land on the edge of the world, but to be here. I wish I could look into my mother’s heart and see what her plan is for the future of Samaria, but I can’t. So now I am forced to suffer for the rest of my days alone in Montanisto.”

  Milo put his arm around the young woman to comfort her. “Zora, I don’t have all the answers for you,” he responded back. “I wish I did, more than anything.” They rocked back and forth on the seat of the fountain while Milo’s mind quickly moved. He was thinking, contemplating.

  “I don’t have the authority to keep you here, hidden in the Samaria. I can’t force the Queen to rescind her proposal to King DeVore, but I will promise you this: today I’ll petition the Queen for a release from her servitude and will go with you to Montanisto, if you like, as your teacher.”

  Zora leaned back to look at him incredulously. When she realized he was serious, a wave of relief washed over her, and Milo understood instantly what his promise meant to her.

  “Thank you, Milo,” she said. “From the bottom of my heart. You have no idea what it means to have a friend in such a difficult time.”

  As Zora sat there, holding the old man’s hands, she took a second to look deep into his blue-green eyes. Past all the kindness that resided there, she saw something unusual hidden in them that she’d never seen before.

  ***

  Shortly following Milo’s visit with Zora in the gardens, the teacher returned to his lonely, unadorned servant’s chamber. His room was depressingly bleak, only larger than a water closet with one small window. There was a wood burning stove in the corner that provided a minimal amount of warmth, a writing desk across from that with two oil lamps, and a thick, mammoth of a door with a small opening at eye level that was barred on the outside. Milo had assumed, on more than one occasion, that his chamber was located in the old prison section of the fortress.

  Reaching for the decanter positioned on his bedside table, Milo poured himself a moderate glass of amber liquor. He sat on the bed with the full intent of allowing the effects of the drink to slowly wash away the feelings of helplessness and envy that were crowding his mind. The idea that Zora, an adolescent noble with so much potential, was being wed so young to Prince Spencer DeVore caused Milo to regurgitate a little in his mouth. He clamped his jaw tight and swallowed back the bile rising into his esophagus.

  Not unlike Zora, Milo was bewildered as to the enigmatic actions Queen Evangeline was taking to ensure Zora could not rise to power. The princess was the brightest, most levelheaded student he’d ever taught. To him it didn’t make any sense why Evangeline was being so evasive with her. He knew the Sovereign Alliance would allow the succession because Evangeline had no other children, but the Queen seemed to be hiding behind some ancient Samarian law that said the opposite. For as much as he knew, Zora was the last of the Winnser bloodline, and their reign would die after her.

  Milo drew a slow sip from the glass, feeling the warm liquid burn down the back of his throat. Sighing, he leaned back against the coarse pillows on his bed. With a destitute exhale, Milo closed his eyes against the world.

  “You shouldn’t have mislead her,” a smooth voice uttered softly. Milo’s eyes popped open in alarm. He sat upright, forgetting the half full glass of liquor in his hand. The glass went flying, spilling pungent liquor all over him. Cursing, Milo’s hand went instinctively to the scimitar hidden underneath his mattress, but he halted when his eyes focused on a humanoid figure leaning insouciantly against the wall facing him. Half of his body was covered in shadow from the angle of the sun coming through the room’s window. Milo gave a low, exasperating growl as he removed his hand from his blade, never releasing his gaze from the being in the corner.

  “You could have announced yourself, Sariel,” he snarled. “It’s quite simple to do really. We’ve had this conversation before, so don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about.” Milo propped his feet up on the bed, crossing one ankle over the other, glaring at the humanoid.

  The being hidden in the shadows stayed silent, but imitated him, crossing his arms in front of his chest and planting a foot knee high against the wall, parallel to the ground.

  “I didn’t come here to spat with you, Warden,” the humanoid answered, his musical voice coming out in velvety tones. “I came to you during your time of need, as is required of me by the Oath. Would you like me to remind you of the Oath you took towards me?”

  “No, no, no,” Milo said adamantly. “That is definitely not necessary.”

  “Good,” Sariel shrugged. “I know we’ve had that conversation before.”

  Milo glared at him. Seeming satisfied, the humanoid finally detached itself from the wall and walked soundlessly over to Milo, as if his feet never touched the floor. After so many years, one would assume that Milo would’ve gotten use to the majestic grandeur that one of Sariel’s kind possessed, but he never did. Every time he was in close proximity of the being, the splendor of him took Milo’s breath away.

  Sariel was about seven feet tall, with broad shoulders and a muscular torso, all of which were carved out of deep black onyx. His face mimicked that of a human but greatly lacking in detail. He had the full lips of a human, although his mouth was devoid of teeth. The outline of his onyx eyes could see more than anyone could understand, although he didn’t have any irises or pupils to prove it; He was a Guardian, an ancient and virtuous protector.

  Guardian’s also sported a pair of monstrous, eagle like wings that were nearly double their height when spread. They were extremely light and airy, with a thicker set of feathers on the inside, closer to his body. When Sariel’s wings were open, ripples of colors like the chalcedony of a stone glowed from his being. If one were to stand close enough, they could witness the ever-moving milky white swirls across his body as well.

  Sariel stood in in front of Milo, his wings tucked modestly behind his back so they weren’t noticeable except from the side, and his hands were intertwined and resting on his torso. Now in the path of the sunlight, Sariel’s skin displayed moving shades of ivory whereas before it’d been nothing but deep black.

  Milo looked into Sariel’s expressionless face and sighed. “I’m not misleading her,” he objected. “When I said that I would never leave her side, I meant it.”

  “But you know that’s not possible,” Sariel contradicted gently. “You envy those who are going to take your place. Envy leads to strife and strife leads to death, Warden. It’s not a good place to be. Perhaps you should learn to be truthful to yourself?”

  Milo jumped off of the bed. “Sariel, I know the chances are beyond probable, but I’ve spent a lot of time in this country now, and I experienced a lot with this woman. Just what if, what if it’s possible…” He stopped ranting and clamped his hand over his mouth, unable to form his thoughts into a question. Finally, he said, “I sense her, Sariel. She’s different.”

  The Guardian cocked his head to one side, as if the statement had unexpectedly caught him off guard. He rustled his folded wings behind him, which Milo took as a tell sign of irritation.

  Cooley he replied, “Warden, take care that your perception of this girl
does not become your reality. What you are implying is highly unlikely, and opening up a Commoner to all that exists in this world has detrimental and irrevocable consequences.”

  Milo felt his lips tighten into a thin line since he knew there was nothing he could say to win Sariel’s argument. Instead, he sat back down on the edge of the bed and put his head in his hands. “Why are you really here?” he asked quietly.

  The Guardian didn’t hesitate. “There’s been changes in Ithillium. I know it, although the scales haven’t reflected anything. Is your Zone complete?” Milo nodded.

  “I rode out there less than a week ago and everything was secure.”

  “A week ago? I highly suggest you make another trip, Warden. Then send word. Your Brothers are anxious to hear from you.”

  “If they needed me, they would have contacted me,” Milo answered confidently.

  “I do what I was created to do, Warden, and so I have. It’s just something I feel, but I strongly urge you to take my advice. Now, I must be going, but I leave you with this: with regards to the girl, be fair to her. Avoid pursuing something that’s absent, even if the impression of it is true.”

  With that, Milo watched as Sariel’s form slowly faded out in front of him till he was staring at nothing but a blue patch of sky splotched with clouds outside his small window.

  “Always a pleasure, Sariel,” the man whispered sardonically to himself.

  Moments had passed before a faint yet familiar burning sensation on the inside of Milo’s forearm brought him out of his reverie. Turning his left forearm over, he examined the source of the tingling; the tattoo he’d gotten decades earlier of a rosebud with stems and vines spiraling out in all different directions. The burning sensation was quickly increasing, like when one side of your body sits next to the fire for too long. He watched impassively as the vines begin to move and dance across his skin.

  “How did he know?” Milo asked himself. He did a quick one hundred and eighty degree scan of his room to see if Sariel was still lurking in one of the corners. He wasn’t. The dense, black tattoo suddenly turned garnet on top of his suntanned skin, and the center of the rose bud began to disintegrate and pull apart leaving only the vines and stems burning into his arm. Then, the pieces of the broken up tattoo began to come back together forming words until it faintly read:

  It has been a while since we’ve heard from you, Brother? How goes it up North?

  The words that were glowing like lava on Milo’s arm quickly faded away. Milo licked his lips, pondering a response that was as honest as he could make it. He cleared his mind and concentrated on the thoughts he wanted etched into his forearm. As the thoughts came, the garnet colored scripture appeared reflecting them, then disappeared as the others had.

  The Northern Zone is well. The web is repaired and secured.

  Milo watched calmly as his concise response was replaced by a short set of orders.

  I have sent out orders to all of the Wardens. Recheck the web then abandon your assignment. You are to report to the bayou as quickly as possible. Together we will travel home.

  Order received. See you soon, Brother.

  Milo looked up, the glare of the words causing semi-permanent spots in his vision. Home, Milo thought with joy, smiling to himself, as if the person on the other end of the conversation could see his nonverbal gestures. He looked down at the inside of his forearm again, and using his index finger, began to rearrange the contents of his rosebud tattoo till it was back to its original appearance.

  Chapter 7

  Zora breathed in deeply and grinned to herself as the luscious scents of Alumhy entered her nose, drawing out childhood memories of midsummer’s eve carnivals in the city. The aromas were a potpourri of icy wind blowing over from the northern tundra, blooming jessamine, sugar glazed pastries, and smoked meats. Zora had persuaded a reluctant Arianna to accompany her on a trip to Samaria’s capitol one last time before her permanent move to Montanisto.

  It was late in the morning, and the sun was hanging low over the mountain peaks, burning through the rest of dawn’s dense fogs that still settled on the outskirts of town. Even though all of the land outside of the Anion valley was uninhabitable ice covered rock, the lands embraced by the great mountain range were unaffected by the harsh continuous winters outside. Arianna always contended that Samaria was protected by some sort of ancient magic spell that kept the fertile valley from turning into a frozen biome.

  “You shouldn’t say things like that, Arianna,” Zora always warned. “The Samarian Guard won’t hesitate to execute anyone who claims to dabble in sorcery.”

  “But you believe in its existence, don’t you?” Arianna questioned out of pure curiosity. Without meeting her gaze, Zora responded soundly with, “ Believing in it is one thing, Arianna Fairchild. But admitting it is something entirely different.”

  The city of Alumhy consisted mostly of two story residences built closely together. It was common for shopkeepers to utilize the first floor of their establishment as a business or workshop and the upstairs as their domicile. The alleyways between each set of buildings were quite narrow, the width being equivalent to two adults walking shoulder to shoulder. The main street, however, was much wider, laid with grey cobblestone, and was usually cluttered with mule drawn wagons transporting lumber, dirt, and vegetables to the marketplace. Samarians milled around, going about their daily business like every other day.

  The past couple of times Zora had visited Alumhy, she’d noticed that the congested traffic along main street had grown significantly thinner, as if the Samarian people didn’t have as many reasons to visit their capitol as they once did. Shops that had once been open were now occupied by nothing other than cobwebs and dust. The life of the rich city and the energy of its affluent patrons were somehow missing and had been replaced with something for more inadequate.

  “Are you sure this is a good idea?” Arianna asked as she watched Zora pick through a stack of ripe apples, seeking out the juiciest looking ones.

  Alumhy’s Center Market was set up in the enormous city square, and it allowed for peddlers from all over the Realm to come and sell their goods. Zora could remember when Center Market was so crowded with people that you couldn’t even move. As she got older, the crowds seemed to grow smaller, and by the time she was a teenager, the presence of foreign traders, musicians, and visitors had almost completely disappeared. The great rain storms that had plagued the Realm for so many years had washed away many trade routes once used by the treasured merchants, and many countries to the south of Samaria were devastated by natural disasters caused by the storms.

  Today in the market’s square, a man playing a pan flute and his partner stringing a lute provided jovial cadences to the bustling passer byers. All around the two women, merchant tables were set up displaying a myriad of goods underneath bright stripped linen tents. Arianna stood a couple of steps behind Zora. A whicker basket was hanging from the inside of her arm and was already full with apples, lettuces, and cabbages.

  “I mean, the Queen’s banquet is this evening, and it’d be quite unbecoming of you to be late to your own celebration,” Arianna lectured.

  Zora continued to ignore her and moved from the displayed fruit to the cinnamon bark, picking one up and bringing it close to her nose to get a whiff of its spicy scent. The maidservant followed closely behind, continuing her rant.

  “Not only that, but what if one of the Carian visitors out in the city recognizes you. You don’t want your future husband to know you frequent with the common folk.”

  She finished the last part of her sentence in a hushed tone as another patron stepped in between them in order to grab some of the fruit Arianna was blocking. She eyed the older man suspiciously.

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Zora scoffed.

  “Still, I won’t have you acting ill-mannered towards the DeVore family and angering your mother, Zora.”

  “Why does it matter? Evangeline has already taken initiative to marry me off and
ship me to the Borderlands. It’s already done, whether I show my face tonight or not.”

  The maidservant took a couple paces forward until she was standing directly next to Zora, concern written all over her face. “I’m just worried about you, that’s all. Since that night with your mother, you haven’t said anything to me about what’s going on. I know what you’re going through has got to be unimaginably difficult, and I just want you to know if you need to talk about it…”

  “You should know how it feels, Ari, to be shipped away from your home to unfamiliar territory. You’re coming with me to Montanisto, remember?”

  Zora resumed her browsing to the next vendor who was selling fried croissants drizzled with honey. Zora ordered two and gave one to Arianna.

  “Zora, that’s not the same. It’s my duty to be where you are.” Arianna trailed off when she realized her conversation wasn’t going anywhere with the noble. Zora had closed her eyes and bit into the warm croissant, letting the sugary taste of honey and fresh bread dance on her taste buds. Arianna sighed in vexation; talking to Zora was like talking to a stone wall. When Zora opened her eyes, the other woman was still staring at her in frustration.

  With a mouth full of pastry, Zora replied, “Fine, Arianna. You want to talk about it? I’ll tell you the same thing I told the Queen. This isn’t the last time she’s going to see me. I will return and fulfill my rightful duty to rule as a Samarian Queen. I don’t care what I have to do.”

  “I have absolutely NO relationship with my mother. Therefore, I have no qualms with returning here and taking back what is rightfully mine. This sidetrack to Montanisto is only temporary, so I’m not going to spend too much time fretting over it. Samaria is my home, and I will find my way back here.”

  Zora spoke surely and confidently of her intentions. Behind them, a round of applause erupted from the small group of townspeople who were standing in a semicircle enjoying the bravura from the amateur magicians. The applause died down as the duo began a new set, this one slower and more melancholy then the previous one. Zora grabbed Arianna’s hand.