The Silvering of Loran

by G. B. WREN

  “I was descending the chamber staircase when I heard voices below,” said Leanna.

  “It was me and Gervest.”

  “Yes, I heard the last of your words.”

  “So, you know his intentions for me.”

  Leanna strolled to the center table and Loran followed.

  “I don’t think Gervest’s development over the years has been without interference,” said Leanna.

  “Interference? From who?”

  Leanna took a deep breath and organized her thoughts before continuing.

  “I must first present an apology to you for withholding knowledge you had every right to know. It was agreed long ago to allow our children the opportunity for a life unimpeded by . . .” Even now, Leanna hesitated to reveal the word forbidden to exist in the provinces. “Magic.”

  “You mean magic such as Topen possesses.” Loran spat out the words without thought. Indeed, she felt relieved to share the knowledge of magic that had dominated her memory since she was twelve.

  Ever since Leanna had viewed the portrait of Topen Loran commissioned from Holt, she suspected her daughter concealed some awareness of magic. So, she wasn’t shocked by Loran’s nonchalant remark—simply surprised that she had never revealed her knowledge before this night.

  “Would you like to tell the secrets you hold of Topen?”

  “Very much.”

  Over the span of half an hour, Loran recounted every detail of her first meeting with Topen and of the stone he had entrusted to her. Her eyes showed as bright in the telling as they did when she was twelve—when she relived the experience of being invisible. With every passionate detail, Leanna finally understood her daughter’s desire of Topen. And when Loran revealed what had taken place in the receiving room, those many years ago, no doubt remained in Leanna’s mind of the validity of her suspicions.

  “Do you still hold the stone in secret?” asked Leanna.

  “No one else is aware.”

  “For all you have known, there is so much more to tell,” Leanna revealed. “But we now need the help of Topen, and you have half of the means to contact him.”

  Loran was excited at the prospect of Topen’s return, but nervous as well. So much time had passed, and now that she was soon to be twenty-eight, she realized that Topen could have married or maybe he was married all along; it was a question she had never considered asking her mother. Loran pressed the painful thoughts deep into her subconscious and focused on her mother’s last words.

  “Half? Do you not have the ability to call for his aid?”

  “Not anymore,” said Leanna. “Gilvius had several stones that passed from his grandfather, and eventually to him, but they, and the sole bottle of the silvering we held, no longer reside in the hidden compartment in this room. To my knowledge, only Gilvius and I knew of the secret place that concealed them.”

  “The silvering?”

  “That was the solution Topen gave you to activate the stone, they are inert without exposure to the silvering. With the exception of a single communication stone Topen devised to alert him, only those who themselves are magical can control a stone.”

  “Then . . . I’m magical?” Quizzed Loran, shocked at the revelation.

  “As are Gervest and Rolam,” said Leanna. “But they have no more knowledge of their legacy than you did before you entered this room. For now, that unawareness must remain.”

  Loran rose from the table and shook her head in wonder.

  “I’m magical!”

  “We must somehow obtain the silvering solution or we have no hope to undo what has happened here . . . I know of just one way.”

  Leanna eyed her destination before she left the table. Loran tracked her mother’s gaze to a series of books on the second level. Leanna climbed the stairs and stood before the cluster of books that had captured her stare. She faced the cluster and removed four thick books directly in front of her, placing them aside. Reaching into the vacated space, Leanna pressed firmly upon the flat square stone she felt when her hand could travel no further. An audible click was the result of her effort and the stone swung to the side. Leanna clutched a leather bound book—with strange symbols and letters on its cover—when she withdrew her hand from the hidden space.

  She returned to Loran and placed the book in her opened hands. The cover immediately revealed its title amidst glowing, transformed letters, The Silvering: Methods of Attainment. The two women moved to the table and Loran skimmed the pages, astonished by the words within.

  “This book belongs to your father. Gilvius did not inherit magical abilities, but Topen gave him this book for safekeeping, to be used by our children should he be unable to return.”

  Leanna placed her hand on the book and encouraged Loran to withdraw hers. The transformation of the letters back to their unreadable form occurred rapidly.

  “It is by your touch the contents avail themselves to you,” Leanna explained.

  Loran felt a twinge of sadness for her mother when she grasped the significance of her words.

  “You’re not magical either.”

  “No, my daughter, your ability is passed through the Avileen line. If we are to contact Topen for his help, then the task rests with you and the knowledge you acquire from this book.”

  “And it remains a secret from everyone?” Loran asked.

  “Kelamar holds the same knowledge as I do, but until we are able to contact Topen, secrecy remains our best defense against a powerful enemy.”

  “You must surely find it peculiar that we have sat in this room, disclosing secrets we have held for years, only to conceal them once again,” Loran mused.

  “Deception is a tool employed by good and evil alike—it is through the motivation of its use, the heart that wields it is judged,” said Leanna.

  Chapter Seven

  DISCOVERY

  Present day

  LORAN DESCENDED THE CHAMBER STAIRCASE after having endured another frustrating attempt at the silvering. She had learned from her mother that success may be difficult, but was attainable at twenty-eight. In retrospect, Loran wished that morsel of information had never passed to her—since it created in her mind an expectation of many failures, before she would see success. And the need for success was so great.

  The constant mulling in her mind of the words from the silvering book had not yet helped her ritual conclude successfully, but Loran still did so every morning when she first treaded the cut stones of the staircase. It is best to perform the ritual in the moments soon after awakening; her subconscious had these words from the book burned into it. Though it gave no reason as to why this was desirable, Loran deduced it required a mind to be empty of the many errant thoughts that filled it during the waking day.

  The main hall typically saw its greatest activity in the mornings, with industrious faces diligent to their daily responsibilities, but who always revealed a smile when greeted. However, today was different. The activity was the same, but the underlying optimism was absent. Chambermaids marched through the hall instead of lilting, and the whispers between themselves, which usually spurred amusement over recent castle rumors, were kept locked behind rigid faces. With two months before Gervest would be sovereign, a preview of the harshness of his rein had already spread throughout the castle.

  Loran passed by her favorite alcove and saw Rolam seated on one of the benches, his back to the entrance. The portrait in front of him was a landscape from an artist in the Pinphon province. Loran remembered that he had traveled a great distance to paint the castle and its grounds as a gift to his sovereign. He poured great affection into each brushstroke that touched the canvas. Although it lacked the realism Holt could achieve, it captured a timeless beauty that incited the imagination.

  Loran was at first reluctant to disturb her brother, but it was unusual that Rolam was seen enveloped in such silence. As she moved to his side, Loran noticed the sentimental gaze Rolam bestowed on the painting. She placed her hand on his shoulder.

  “Are
you alright, Rolam?”

  Rolam did not flinch at her touch, nor give a flicker of surprise of her presence.

  “Do you remember when this painting was presented to our father?” asked Rolam, his eyes firmly fixed on the canvas.

  “I remember watching a man from my balcony, painting on canvas for hours in the field,” said Loran.

  “As a young boy, I was so proud to see this piece in the castle. But mostly, I was happy for father; he seemed to be genuinely touched by the affection of this artist. One time, I asked how he made the ‘painter’ like him so much,” recalled Rolam, with a slight chuckle. “He explained that affection wasn’t coerced; it was given freely from the need to express it to another. It was by this means it was valued. I didn’t fully understand at the time. But I think the days when the sovereign receives such affection is nearing an end.”

  “Because of Gervest?”

  “Since it was announced he is to be sovereign, he has not sought out a single day with me to discuss the advisors’ council, and he’s rejected all my attempts to bring it up,” Rolam said. He shifted to face Loran. “Gervest has changed so much. I haven’t understood his temperament for quite some time.”

  Loran wanted desperately to comfort her brother, tell him it might not be Gervest’s fault—that maybe an evil influence had changed him, but she knew better. Secrecy remains our best defense against a powerful enemy were the wise words her mother instilled, and Loran would not risk the consequences of swaying from their mandate. But if she could offer her brother some hope, without risking suspicion that she knew more . . . .

  “We must not succumb to despair. By our will, we will not be the generation that tarnishes the name of Avileen,” pledged Loran.

  Rolam admired Loran’s bold words, and they did raise hope within him, but also ignited a suspicion that his sister was plotting a strategy, maybe one clever enough to reverse their current course. Hopeful wishes, perhaps, he thought, but he was encouraged that he was not alone.

  “Ignore my melancholy mood, Loran. My spirit will rebound.”

  “Good.” said Loran as she placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. “If you’ll excuse me,” Loran spoke while stretching upward, “my presence is requested . . . no, actually the messenger made all attempts to soften Gervest’s demand, but a demand it was to attend a conservatory gathering.”

  “It is not like you to be so compliant, to jump at his beckoning,” Rolam reflected. “If there is a private matter you wish not to reveal, you should know that Gervest is not so intoxicated with power that he would not suspect your sudden passivity.”

  Loran appreciated Rolam’s admonition. She could hear their father in his remarks. Further, she believed his words demonstrated the intuition and tactfulness worthy of the ascension he was denied. Her desire to confide in him was even greater, but she chose her response with care.

  “You speak well as an advisor, but we both know you rightfully should be sovereign,” asserted Loran, before leaving the alcove.

  * * *

  Leanna didn’t perceive the knock on her chamber door, as she remained undistracted while writing upon some parchment at her desk. The second series of knocks carried with them the voice of Claire.

  “My lady?”

  Leanna paused from her writing on recognizing Claire’s voice and responded.

  “Enter”

  The door crept opened and a young chambermaid, partially hidden behind Claire, followed her timidly into the room.

  “Please excuse the interruption, my lady, but there is an important matter that needs your attention.”

  Since Claire had never before brought such a need to her, Leanna was puzzled.

  “What is this matter?”

  Claire prodded the young chambermaid shielded behind her.

  “Go on, girl. Do not keep my lady waiting.”

  The young girl came from behind Clair with shaking knees that were scarcely able to support her frame.

  “Ma’am, excuse me, my lady. I found this bottle in your son’s room,” she said, and retrieved a bottle of luminous liquid from her pocket. The girl didn’t know if she should walk it to Leanna or stay frozen where she stood. Her skittishness brought terse instructions from Claire.

  “Well go on, take it to her,” snapped Claire.

  As the young chambermaid cautiously stepped to Leanna, Claire offered an explanation for their intrusion.

  “My lady, she foolishly removed that bottle from Gervest’s room.”

  “But I was going to return it,” the young girl insisted. “I just wanted to show it to—” She suddenly thought it better not to implicate anyone else. “I was going to return it, my lady.”

  That she now held the silvering solution in her hand overshadowed any other thoughts Leanna had on the matter, except for one.

  “How was it discovered that you held this bottle?” Leanna asked.

  “She brought it to me, my lady,” Claire interjected. “She told me she had forgotten about taking it when she found the bottle among her belongings. She asked for my help to return it.”

  “Is all of this true?” Leanna asked the frightened girl trembling before her.”

  “Yes ma’am . . . my lady, every word of it.”

  “For now, you may return to your duties, but do not speak to anyone about this incident or this bottle,” Leanna instructed, and pressed a stare into the young chambermaid’s eyes to accent the point.

  “No, I will say nothing, my lady, thank-you; I promise it will never happen again.”

  Leanna nodded and the relieved chambermaid vacated the room without delay, with Claire trailing not far behind her.

  “Claire,” Leanna called out. “Would you stay a moment?”

  “Yes, my lady.”

  “In all the years you have been in service here, you never once brought an issue directly to me.”

  “No, my lady,” Claire confirmed.

  “Why now?”

  Claire’s normally brusque exterior softened, and she struggled to bring to the front the words she had swallowed in frustration over the past four months.

  “May I sit, my lady?”

  “Certainly, Claire. Come, let’s move to the bench.”

  When Claire slid next to Leanna on the seat, she detected the concern in Leanna’s eyes.

  “I do not wish to speak out of place, my lady, but since you have asked; I brought this up because of the drastic changes I’ve witnessed over the last four months, changes that have upset all who are in service—though I’m only speaking for myself,” she added. “I felt if the matter were left to the new steward appointed by your son, something even more severe than dismissal would be forced upon the poor girl.”

  “Forced? What kind of force?”

  “There is a darkness taking hold, my lady. There is talk of time in the dungeons for the smallest of rule infractions.”

  “The dungeons have seen no use since the castle war,” said Leanna. “The thought that they would be made available for punishment of domestic staff is unimaginable, and would not be tolerated.”

  “Yes, but the dark cloud still hovers out of view, my lady, and it seems to be gathering strength the closer we get to a new sovereign,” divulged Claire, with caution. “I’m sorry if my words seem to cast criticism on your son, for I remember with great fondness the young boy with the precocious smile who was inseparable from his twin.”

  “As do I, Claire,” said Leanna, with bittersweet remembrance.

  Leanna could take no offense at the truth—particularly that which evaded her knowledge—and it occurred to her that Claire might have noticed a transformation in Gervest before she did.

  “Claire, do you recall when you first noticed a change in Gervest?”

  “Yes, I remember exactly. It was one month before his sixteenth birthday. He was distant the day I entered his chamber with clean linen and he was talking to . . . well, an imaginary friend, I suppose. There was no one else in the room. At first, he barely noticed me.”
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  “What was he saying, do you recall?”

  “Oh, just some silliness about being invisible, but it was the way he stared at me when I passed by, sent chills clean through my bones,” recalled Claire, and shivered as if it just happened yesterday. “Soon after that, I asked to be assigned to my present station.”

  “Thank you, Claire. I must also ask that you keep in confidence any knowledge of this bottle,” Leanna instructed, then raised the bottle she held into Claire’s sight.

  “Yes, my lady.”

  * * *

  The plants and flowers in the conservatory flourished under the devoted care of Trvietta Lindguist, affectionately known as, Tree—a nickname she wore with great pleasure. Her youth long spent in the service of the sovereign, she spent her middle years in blissful harmony with the nature she so loved.

  Tree was guiding a group of the wealthier denizens of Avilbrook on a tour—gleefully sprouting every detail she had accumulated from her extensive study of the plants and flowers filling the tables and hanging from timbers under the glass ceiling. Standing out among the tour participants was, Luciena Preece, whose long blond hair and pleasant figure draped a woman who valued her beauty as equally as the rare jewels in the rings that adorned her fingers. If anything held more allure to Luciena, it was power. She reasoned her corporeal beauty was just the tool needed to obtain it, or at least influence it in her favor. She had managed to use her beauty to become Gervest’s paramour—though not without the suspicion of her wealthy husband. It was Luciena’s idea that Loran should attend the tour—to dissuade her husband’s rightful distrust—and was the reason Gervest demanded Loran’s presence.

  Luciena and Loran strolled together and trailed the group at a leisured pace. Loran smiled pleasantly while Luciena enjoyed babbling about the latest gossip from the town. Loran soon discovered that Luciena’s whims were as shallow as the depth of her conversation, when she casually plucked a rare ghost orchid bloom from its pot and placed it against her arm, displaying it for Loran.

  “Don’t you think it’s beautiful against my skin?” asked Luciena.