The Ryn (Eyes of E'veria)

by Serena Chase

  Julien peeked in the door of the library. Even at this distance the brilliant green of his eyes shone.

  “Is it time?”

  When he nodded, the light caught his burnished gold hair and I had a hard time not staring. As distractions went, I couldn’t ask for a more appealing one. Oh, but then he smiled.

  “Are you ready?”

  “Ready to go before the Andoven Elders?” I laughed, but the sound lacked a certain amount of humor. “Hardly. But I don’t believe I have much of a choice.”

  With one last glance at the book that had burned my fingers, I stood. I needed time to change my clothes and prepare for this meeting.

  Of course I had no idea what it would entail, only that my presence was requested.

  Julien offered his arm. “I visited your mother today,” he said as we walked.

  “And how is the Queen?”

  “Weak.” His frown was immediate. “I stayed but a few minutes. She fell asleep.”

  I nodded.

  “Celyse will be along shortly,” he said when we reached my chamber. “Is there anything else you need?”

  “No. Thank you.”

  I waited while Julien did a quick survey of my room. When he had assured himself it was secure, he promised to return for me in time to attend the Council of Elders and left me to prepare.

  Tension coiled in my shoulders and I couldn’t decide whether it was due to the expectation of walking into a hostile meeting or from the hours spent poring over the book.

  But would the Elders be hostile, truly? My assumption was based on little more than the growing sense of injustice I’d felt since arriving on Tirandov Isle. Perhaps my fears are unfounded. After all, I don’t even know what the meeting is about!

  No one had confided a specific agenda for the meeting. Perhaps this was just another Andoven formality to make the royal family feel . . . well, royal.

  Or perhaps it wasn’t. Perhaps they had an agenda, a specific agenda that they hoped to accomplish with the King. Through me.

  Moving to the mirror, I scowled at my reflection. Who did the Andoven expect to see at their meeting tonight? Princess Rynnaia, the clueless young girl with the strange Veetrish brogue? Or the Ryn, the flame-haired young woman prophesied to exile the Cobeld curse? Would they see me as a child in need of guidance? Or as their future Queen?

  I was pierced with a longing for the days I was known as Rose de Whittier, the foster daughter of the Duke of Glenhume. Things were so much easier then. Now I couldn’t even open my mouth without fearing the political ramifications of every word I spoke.

  I paced away from the mirror. Speech was rather passionate and free at the duke’s home in Veetri. Here among the robed quiet of Tirandov Isle’s erudite residents, however, every breath was much more controlled.

  I didn’t feel like a princess, though I was attired as one. Nor did I fit in among the Andoven, though the gifts I’d inherited from my parents surely marked me as such. But crowns and gowns and colors flying through my thoughts hardly made up for nineteen years of ignorance. Why anyone thought me adequately prepared to attend—let alone speak to—a council of Andoven Elders was beyond me.

  Andoven Elders!

  I barked out a laugh. It was ridiculous to even consider it. The Andoven Elders were reputed to be wise beyond anything I had come across in my nineteen years. They’d had years to hone the gifts they had been born with, as well as the intelligence, reason, and diplomatic skills of centuries at their disposal.

  If only the King were here instead of me. I dropped my head into my hands. I wished I could consult him and seek his advice before facing down the possibly hostile Elders.

  My head shot up. Well? Was I part Andoven, or not?

  I closed my eyes and thought of his face, as I’d seen him at his desk. “King Jarryn,” I whispered.

  Nothing happened.

  “King Jarryn!” I said his name more forcefully. My mind traveled swiftly over sea and land to a huge castle surrounded by tall stone walls. I entered a room of the castle that held two thrones, but neither was occupied.

  I put every ounce of concentration I could dredge up from my core into repeating his name again. “King Jarryn!”

  Still, nothing but a view of the throne, gardens, and castle appeared. Just as quickly, it receded from view.

  “Celyse.” I closed my eyes. My teacher was nearly to my door.

  She paused. Yes, Princess?

  I would like to seek the King’s advice before this Council, but when I call out, I cannot find him. I see only an empty throne. What does this mean?

  Celyse smiled. You are calling for the King. You do not find him because you do not address him as you should.

  What is the proper way to address the King? I thought back to Aunt Alaine’s instruction in courtly etiquette. Your Majesty?

  Her chuckle reverberated in my head. Remember, Princess, although he is your King, he has a stronger and dearer name that is to be used by you alone.

  She was quiet for a long moment. I am now at your door. Would you prefer I come back later?

  No. Sighing, I rose to open the door, understanding what was required of me, but not sure I was yet able to use that word.

  Another time, perhaps.

  Knowing my physical appearance would need to communicate nearly as much as my words, I chose my attire carefully, selecting a bronze gown with a square neckline. It set off the deeper auburn tones in my fiery hair and made me feel more mature than a lighter color might have. Celyse pulled the shimmering laces that crossed my midriff to tie in the back and I stepped back to check my reflection.

  Gold threading covered the sleeves and skirt with the repeated pattern of the Emblem of the First, the diamond-in-a-circle design which now held a greater, and a little more frightening, significance for me since reading the book and burning my fingers upon it. The dress was elegant and the laces were loose enough that they didn’t constrict. After pondering my hair for a moment, I decided to leave it bound up in the braids I’d worn all day, coiled about my head. Right before Julien arrived, Celyse set the silver circlet in place.

  I jumped when, once again, the stone that rested on my forehead flared with heat. Someday I might get used to that. But I hadn’t yet.

  Julien and I didn’t speak as he guided me through the corridors, but shards of a tense, silver color moved about the thoughts of nearly all those we met. This, of course, did not help my anxious mind to calm. My morning lesson with Celyse had given me the skill to see the colors of others—as well as the absence of them—without being overcome, but recognizing the stabbing silver thoughts as thinly veiled hostility, I remained wary.

  We entered the Hall of Elders through a set of large double doors. The room was unlike any other I had seen at Tirandov. Covered with dark panels of wood, the glow of the tirandite walls was largely masked, but the panels were beautiful, inlaid with designs so detailed that I longed to simply stand and stare.

  Some of the panel designs depicted scenes of battle. One showed a huge mountain with wood cut away to have the glowing stone beneath shine through like rays of light coming out from all sides of it. I recognized the scene as the one I had read that afternoon, just after having my fingers burned by a picture on a page.

  Thinking about that experience made my fingers throb—proof again that, however fantastic, it had happened.

  Julien led me to a huge chair at the head of a long table. Even as tall as I was, the chair dwarfed me. My feet didn’t even touch the floor. I had the absurd compulsion to swing my legs, but stilled them before they made the motion. If the Andoven Elders wanted me to feel like a little child in their presence, they had certainly succeeded.

  Even though the sun had long since set, this interior room had no real windows, no view of the outdoors. I had to wonder if the lack of windows was to keep us from noting the rising sun if the Elders tended toward long-windedness.

  I was glad I had blocked my thoughts before leaving my room. Julien might not be
able to read them, but anyone else in this room could.

  Sharp silver threaded icy tentacles through the silence as the Andoven Elders took their seats. Directly opposite me at the far end of the table sat a woman who held an air of authority. She caught my eye several times, each time looking quickly away and toward the man on her right. Knowing the superiority of the Andoven abilities, I did not even attempt to see the thoughts of anyone in the room, concentrating instead on keeping my own hidden.

  Finally, the woman stood and spoke. “My fellow Elders,” she said, “it is time. Shall we call this Council to order?”

  After each member gave a silent assenting nod, she turned her attention to me.

  “Princess Rynnaia.” Her tone made me feel like a child at my schoolwork again. “It is a rare privilege to have a Ryn at our Council.” She bowed her head slightly. “Welcome. I am called Ryjitha and I currently serve as Council Chairwoman.”

  I gave her a slight nod.

  “As the daughter of our King you are, of course, welcome to join our discussions,” she said with a smile that implied she saw me as little more than a particularly adorable toddler, “though I doubt they will hold much interest for you.”

  Did she, now?

  “On the contrary, Honorable One,” I said, careful to use the formal Andoven address, but conscious of the way my lips had pressed together and my eyebrow had arched at Ryjitha’s implication, “as the daughter of the King, and as a loyal citizen of E’veria, I am exceedingly interested in the discussions of this respected Council. I thank you for including me this night.”

  Ryjitha’s lips formed a thin line. The man beside her, whose attention had previously been focused on the tabletop in front of him, coughed. As I met his unfamiliar gaze, I caught a sparkle of . . . humor?

  I gritted my teeth. I had not intended to amuse.

  Well met, Princess! His voice reached beyond the block in my thoughts, surprising me with the sparkle of pride it held.

  I wondered who he was, but I was glad to have formed a unique allegiance with the stranger, even if I was a little concerned that he had so easily bypassed the gray blocks I’d constructed.

  The Council worked from a prepared agenda and efficiently covered all areas of concern without the verbose overtures I had feared. Though I would never in a hundred years admit it to Ryjitha, I did, in fact, find myself quite bored with the tedious parade of agenda items. My mind wandered. Finally an item caught my interest.

  “The Chair recognizes Dyfnel and wishes to hear his report concerning the lost scrolls.”

  Dyfnel stood. “As this Council is well aware, The Lost Scrolls of Anya have recently been recovered. I have completed the translation of the language in which they were written and have put several students to work making copies for distribution.”

  Well, I thought, that was fast.

  An Elder near my end of the table cleared his throat. “Has the Remedy been identified?”

  “No,” Dyfnel replied, “I regret that it has not. The text concerning the Remedy is written much as Lady Anya recorded her poetry, but in a less straightforward manner.” His frown relaxed almost into a smile. “It is quite an amazing piece of literature. Though written in the Ancient Voice, the translation into our modern language could have easily come from Lady Anya’s well-known book of poetry. It follows similar patterns of verse and rhyme and seems almost a continuation of the story.” He paused and frowned. “Although we have reasons to doubt its chronology.”

  “But what of the Remedy?”

  “It remains unknown exactly what the Remedy is. However, a map of sorts is given. Jezmyn and I are piecing it together as best we can.”

  Ryjitha spoke again, “Is it the advice of this Council to summon the King’s knights, or to send an Andoven team to claim the Remedy?”

  At once, no less than thirty Elders began discussing the merits of the different plans. Voices which had started as a low hum slowly rose in anger and pitches of incredulity as the discussion continued.

  As I perused the table I noticed that Jezmyn’s eyes were locked with those of the elderly stranger next to Ryjitha. From the shifts in their facial expressions it appeared they were having a private discussion. Finally, Jezmyn gave a nod and stood.

  As the various speakers noticed him, the sound gradually quieted until it was utterly silent at the table. Even had he not been the Regent, his bearing commanded respect.

  “Honored Friends,” his raspy wheeze broke the silence, “you discuss among you the merits of men and do not take into account the prophecy spoken. Even so, my gifted colleague,” he gestured toward Dyfnel, “has not yet given you enough information to even consider who is to be tasked with retrieving the Remedy.” Jezmyn returned to his seat.

  “But this is our duty, Honored Regent!” A man midway down the table spoke. “Only the Andoven are well-acquainted enough with the entrusted truth to be able to find the Remedy.”

  “Indeed.” Further down the table, a woman spoke. “As Protectors of the Truth, it is our duty to keep the Remedy from falling into the hands of those who cannot possibly understand the ramifications of such a substance. We cannot allow it to be squandered.”

  With each bigoted statement, my blood renewed its strength, pounding stronger and stronger against the blisters on my fingers.

  “The King’s forces are not able to interpret the Ancient Voice, let alone a code.” This pronouncement came from a dry, matter-of-fact voice four seats to my left. “An important detail could be missed in the translation that would be clearer to one with greater gifts and more education.”

  Along with nearly everyone else, I jumped when the man sitting next to Ryjitha pounded his fists down on the table. Even as far away as I was from him, I could feel the vibration of the violent gesture as he stood.

  “Greater gifts?” A dangerous glint lit the old man’s eyes. “Greater gifts, indeed! All gifts fall from the same hand. And I would venture to say that the Giver does not measure the abilities He bestows upon His people by your prejudicially skewed standards!”

  The Elder took a deep breath and his voice was only slightly softer as he continued to address the assemblage. “Friends, if you would see the fear, death, disease, and deformity the Cobelds and their allies are causing among those you are claiming to protect the Remedy from, you might find compassion enough in your hearts to see these victims as children of The First, the same as you are! Instead, you lock yourselves away on this isle, unable to see that the rest of the Kingdom desperately needs hope and peace!”

  Even though he appeared quite aged, his voice bespoke a passion that made my pulse thrum in my throat. But the longer he spoke, the more reddish-purple his face became. In truth, I feared a bit for his health.

  “Not one person on this isle has come of age without having studied The Story of The First,” he continued, “but generations on the mainland have had no access to it other than those tales the Storytellers deem dramatic enough to portray.” His fist hit the table again. “Fulfill the reality of your purpose, my friends, not the damaging curse by which it has been profaned!”

  A chaos of angry voices erupted around the table as chairs were pushed back and clusters of arguments gained momentum. I glanced down the table. Of all the Andoven, only Dyfnel, Jezmyn, and I remained seated.

  Julien had moved closer toward me. His hand rested on the hilt of his sword. After a few moments he bent down and spoke into my ear. “They do not lack for conviction, Princess Rynnaia, but they do lack direction.”

  I nodded. “They do at that.” It was clear this Council was heading nowhere good.

  Closing my eyes and gathering all of my concentration, I spoke to the Elders with the force of my mind as well as the power of my voice.

  “ENOUGH!”

  My voice seemed to echo off every surface. The volume surprised even me.

  A deafening silence fell. All eyes turned toward me at once.

  “Sit down.”

  I refrained from adding, “pl
ease.”

  While everyone else took their seat, I stood, allowing my thoughts to open as I gazed around the room. Some refused to make eye contact with me, though others sent embarrassed words of apology that I acknowledged with a slight nod of my head.

  The subtle warmth at my forehead increased. Though I wondered at the significance of the change in the stone’s heat, I ignored it. A calm feeling of confidence stole through my frame. Squaring my shoulders, I addressed the Council.

  “I have never been in want of books,” I began, “but just this morning I was offered the opportunity to read The Story of The First. Never before had I been privy to a copy of this text.” My chin lifted. “I am the Ryn. Yet this book, a book that I’ve been told is essential to informing my future reign, was not available to me because it has been so very well protected here on this isle.”

  I paused for a breath. “Although I am now aware of my name, rank, and Andoven ancestry, much of who I am is grounded in my upbringing as the common ward of a Veetrish Storyteller. As such, even knowing that I am part Andoven cannot erase the offense I take from the bigoted idealism coloring the discussion of this respected Council. Indeed, as the Ryn I am distressed that the lives of intelligent and hard-working E’verians continue to be shackled by the ignorance imposed upon them by erroneous bigotry and tradition.”

  “Your Highness—” Ryjitha began.

  “I am not finished.”

  Ryjitha closed her mouth and locked her eyes on the tabletop.

  “Many at this honored table would deny mainlanders the chance to even pursue the knowledge that could quite possibly save E’veria, simply based upon the belief that others’ gifts are not as seemingly profound as your own.” I lifted my chin. “I cannot begin to comprehend what logic could defend such a position. As E’veria’s Ryn and future Queen I am deeply disturbed that a few citizens of one of her provinces have exalted themselves so highly above the rest.”

  Every eye was riveted on me and not all with the warmth of friendship. When I spoke again, my voice was softer.

  “There is no question that a team must be dispatched as soon as possible to retrieve the Remedy. The Queen’s life depends upon it as do many others suffering the influence of the Cobeld curse. The question, however, appears to be in whose hands rests the responsibility of choosing the individuals who will go on this quest.”