Neil did not begrudge Adil for the switch. How could he? But Neil often wondered if Adil had become a scholar, as Neil himself would have done. If the boy who stayed had delved into the same books as the boy who left it behind, finding joy in their rich pools of knowledge. Learning in secret how to control his own small Blessings.
Not that Adil’s gifts had been nearly as grand or obvious as Fox’s. Adil had more subtle, simpler talents. Magic that he’d developed only a year or two before the war. His Blessing, in its early stages, afforded him a silver tongue and a very persuasive nature.
For Neil, such a gift would have meant access to forbidden arcane texts, and the ability to talk the more secretive practitioners into sharing their knowledge with him. But Adil had always been more primarily concerned with being a good and fair leader. He was more likely to be found poring over histories and policies of past rulers.
What a waste, Neil thought bitterly as he slid one book aside to make room for a new sheaf of parchment.
It wasn’t that being a good leader was an inherently wasteful pursuit. And Neil had no doubt that, if Adil could re-claim his throne, he would make an excellent emperor. Perhaps one of the best Maradwell had known in living memory. But with the affinities Adil had developed, he had so much more potential than any leader he read about in his political records. And, growing up in the library and university in Neil’s place, he would have had access to the same books. The same ancient tomes full of magical wisdom, and the chance to take that magic and learn about it. Tend to it like a garden. Help it grow.
But he wouldn’t. In his heart, Neil was sure of it. Adil would have considered it cheating, and wrong. And that was infuriating.
It was with renewed vigor that Neil spent his next hour of study. Soon, the small alcove was filled with drying pages of well-organized notes, and word-for-word copies of some pages he’d found particularly helpful. Books lay open on every spare inch of tabletop, and stacks of tomes to be perused towered precariously on nearby chairs.
So focused was he on his task that he almost didn’t notice the girl. He walked right past her when he left his hovel for another book, barely sparing a glance. But she was waiting in his chair when he returned, turning through the pages of his notes in fascination.
“You’re in my seat,” said Neil, the haze of the library and intense focus of his studies temporarily dulling his sense of diplomacy.
“And you’re in my library,” she replied easily, “but you don’t see me making a fuss.” Neil snorted, barely glancing up as he dropped his fresh selections into place on the table. “You speak as if you own the written word itself. But nobody can truly own knowledge. And to claim that one does would be — ”
“To claim that all learning in the world had ceased,” finished the girl lazily. “And that we as mankind should be given leave to perish from the face of the land.”
It was part of a passage from one of Neil’s favorite books, The Lamplighter’s Lament. It told the allegorical tale of a small orphan boy earning a living as a lamplighter, and moving up through the world as he learns more and more about mankind through reading and study. In the end, the young boy has become king of a great land, and a renowned hero. But despite all the riches he obtained, his harem of loving wives, and his devoted children and subjects, the dying king ends his tale by extolling the virtues of learning above all else.
Neil had never met another soul who’d read it before. He looked at the girl now, truly looked at her, and forgot in an instant everything he was there to study.
She had the smoothest, fairest skin he had ever seen in his life. It was absolutely without fault or flaw, almost eerily so. Her eyes were a deep, intoxicatingly rich emerald, and she had full and vulnerable lips painted bright crimson. Her hair was like a tamed and elegantly-styled sunset, with deep reds and golds and oranges catching the firelight. She wore a dress of cream and burgundy that only accentuated the natural flush of her round, pale cheeks, and a bronze cloak over the whole ensemble that Neil was sure cost more than any ten of the first-edition books stacked before her.
She sat comfortably in his chair, scrutinizing him with an eyebrow raised in curiosity. A perfectly groomed, elegantly arched eyebrow that might as well have been carved by an expert sculptor. Neil found himself, for the first time in years, flustered by a member of the opposite sex. Recovering himself somewhat, he cleared his throat and offered a slight bow, inclining his head and straightening his collar. “Neil Palladoran. Scholar, lover of words, and seeker of knowledge.”
“Gully,” she responded. She offered no surname, and Neil suddenly felt embarrassed by his own overly-pretentious introduction. In the discomfort, Neil found a bit of his indifference once more, and set to work straightening his texts, all business.
“As lovely as it was to meet a fellow lamplighter,” he said brusquely, “I do have to get back to work, and I am afraid you are quite in my way.”
“I won’t be a bother,” said Gully with a shrug. “I can sit quietly in the corner, judging your penmanship and internally questioning your reading choices.” A barrage of footsteps outside made her jump slightly in her seat, and glance nervously at the tapestry-covered doorway. For a moment, her cool and mocking demeanor slipped away, and Neil saw fear in her eyes. With a bit more desperation in her voice now, she spoke quickly and quietly, “I don’t mind sharing my hiding place, just let me wait here for a bit? It’s the only place they’ve never been able to find me, and I know you’re busy but I promise I won’t stay long, and I’ll stay quiet! Only please let me stay here, just for now?”
Neil couldn’t help himself. He chuckled, finding the girl’s sudden panicked rambling to be incredibly charming. For a moment, he feigned as though he was going to pull aside the tapestry and expose her. But instead, with a conspiratorial wink, he tucked a stray edge into place, so it entirely blocked their doorway.
“Hide with me as long as you’d like,” he whispered. She smiled gratefully, and made to get out of his chair. But Neil shook his head, clearing a stack of tomes from an identical chair in the corner, and settling it across the table from Gully.
True to her word, even as the footsteps faded, the girl stayed silent. She’d brought her own book, produced from an inner pocket of her cloak. As Neil attempted to bury himself in his work once more, she settled deeper into her chair and began to read. No words were spoken, and she did not look up. She seemed determined not to compromise the terms of her protection.
She might have kept the promised silence all afternoon. But it was Neil who spoke up first.
“There are only four copies of The Lamplighters Lament in the Known World,” he said suddenly, dropping his quill and turning to scrutinize Gully. Everything about this girl had piqued his curiosity, and even his own research seemed trivial at this particular moment. “One is in Athilior. One is kept in a private collection, somewhere deep inside the Candlewood. One lives in the Emperor’s personal library in Maradwell. And one is with a traveling book peddler I’ve had the pleasure of meeting, who I don’t believe would lend it out lightly.”
Gully closed her own book and leaned forward with an impish smile. “What, you don’t think a girl like me could merit an audience with royalty?”
“And peruse their most prized collections at will?” said Neil.
“You’ve done it,” Gully retorted.
“Believe me it wasn’t easy,” said Neil. “And I worked in Maradwell, with access to the Emperor’s books. I was still punished when they found out I’d been reading it. Far too expensive for common children’s hands.”
Gully snickered. “Surprised you weren’t locked up.”
“The suggestion was definitely thrown about. So, come on then, how did you read it?”
Another smile, and then after a moment Gully said, “Five.”
“Pardon?”
“There are five surviving editions of The Lamplighters Lament in the Known World. The four copies you mentioned, and the original.”
Neil tried to scoff in disbelief, but it sounded halfhearted even to him. “The original was stolen.”
“And recovered,” said Gully lightly.
Excitement flooded Neil, and he all but forgot the piles of knowledge in front of him. “Where?” he asked desperately.
As Gully smiled, though, even that vital question seemed unimportant. For a moment, all the original masterpieces in the world didn’t matter, compared to the perfection of this woman’s smile. And then, she answered simply, “Here.”
∞∞∞
Neil wandered back to the Drunken Goose in a daze. He was going to see the original copy of his favorite book. He would be allowed to gaze on the pages that scholars the world over believed were lost forever. And, he would be accompanied by the most intoxicating and charming woman he had ever met.
Two hours they’d spent in quiet conversation in that alcove, making plans and quizzing each other on other favorite titles. Gully seemed to be quite as well-read as Neil, and even pointed him in the direction of a few obscure texts he might have missed in his research. The longer they spoke, the less Neil wanted the conversation to ever end. He went so far as to offer to walk Gully home once she deemed it “safe” to leave the alcove again, but she shook her head sadly and declined with an apology, promising instead to meet him tomorrow evening for their scholarly adventure.
And she was gone, leaving Neil fumbling over his own words. He hadn’t even asked who she was.
All through supper at the tavern, Neil’s mind wandered. He barely registered his table companions’ teasing and prodding at his arm. He ate the meal placed in front of him without a thought, until a sharp elbow caught him in the ribs. He yelped in pain and turned to glare at Darby. “What?!” he growled.
“Didn’t you hear Radda?” Darby asked. Around them, everyone was standing and hurrying upstairs to their rooms. When Neil shook his head, Darby rolled his eyes in exasperation. “Did you leave your entire mind at the library? We’re going to court, remember? We’ve gotta get cleaned up, come on!” With that, Darby dragged Neil from his seat and herded him upstairs with the rest.
Fox was already there, dressed in his nicer things, and the Shavid rooms were quickly becoming a mess of shouting and clothes being thrown about as everyone scrambled to make themselves presentable. As Neil fought his way to his own things, sifting through for his finer apparel, a loud and triumphant holler sounded behind him.
“You’ve MET someone!”
Neil turned back to see Merrick with a broad, idiotic grin on his face. The rest of the room turned to look, and Neil felt himself blush.
Merrick rushed over and began to clap Neil on the back with almost aggressive enthusiasm. “I’d know that face anywhere! Look at him! All in a stupor with his head in the clouds? You’ve met a girl, haven’t you, you rascal!”
And just like that, the room collapsed in on him. Neil was suddenly bombarded with questions and salacious jokes. Suggestions of how to treat her when they met up again, and endless bits of teasing song. Neil tried to shrug it all off as he quickly dressed, but the boys would not let it go. Even Fox’s attempts to rescue Neil from the interrogations were lackluster, and Neil could tell his friend wanted the details as much as everybody else. What sort of girl would make Neil, of all people, lose his tongue and his thoughts? Certainly none of the many types he’d dallied with before.
Finally, Neil raised his hands in surrender, and the room quieted. “All right, you obscene little devils,” he laughed, “I’ll tell you!”
“Tell them on the road!” shouted Radda from across the hall. “If you boys make us late when the women are already prepared, I’ll never let any of you live it down!”
∞∞∞
Carriages had been sent from the palace for the Shavid. They were simple in design, but elegantly crafted. The men all scrambled to claim space in Neil’s carriage, eager to hear stories of his new mystery woman, and he obliged. As they rode the short way to the heart of Calibas, he told them every single detail about Gully that he could remember, including her promise to meet him again tomorrow evening. Although he left the nature of their rendevous to the listeners’ imaginations. Let them think he was engaging in a romantic tryst, rather than sneaking into a forbidden section of the university library. He’d had just about enough well-meaning mockery for one day.
Fox was the one exception. As the carriages emptied, and the Shavid were led up to the modest castle itself, Neil and Fox fell back, letting the performers lead the way instead. In a hushed and excited whisper, Neil told his friend where he and Gully were truly going tomorrow evening.
“Sounds like you’ve finally met your match,” teased Fox as they mounted the steps in the wake of their companions. Ahead of them, the Shavid were falling into line in a rough sort of marching order. It was familiar; the start of a rehearsed entrance process that Radda and his company had developed over years of travel. As the players were admitted into the building itself, their musicians began to play. They did not wait to be announced by the Court Crier. The Shavid always announced themselves.
Neil and Fox waited until all but Darby had gone in ahead. They knew when to slip in unnoticed, so as not to disrupt the carefully timed showmanship. After a few moments, Darby fell into step beside them, and the three made their own way indoors, following the music into a small but elegant throne room.
“She’s definitely something ... more. More than any woman I’ve ever met,” said Neil quietly as they tucked themselves carefully along a back wall. In the heart of the room, the Shavid were putting on a spectacular show, with Radda introducing each act or performer with a flourish, and the mentioned party teasing the audience with the barest hint of their full routine. The courtiers filling the room were applauding, and there seemed to be a raised dias opposite the doors, where Neil assumed the ruling nobles now sat and watched.
“More than any?” said Darby, surprise plain on his face. “Good gods, boy. I didn’t think anyone would ever compare to the great Savine.”
A pang of sadness tugged suddenly at Neil’s gut. He spent so long trying not to think about her ... paired off with so many women as he tried to forget the living dream that had disappeared in the middle of the night so many years ago. She had been the first, and up until now the only woman he had ever felt so strongly about. And Savine had vanished, with barely a goodbye and nothing resembling a proper explanation. She simply followed the wind, and the wind told her to leave them. Leave him.
For a moment, Neil found himself second-guessing his own attraction to Gully. Perhaps he was simply lonely, or something in her smile reminded him of a love long since gone. But then, the mass of Shavid bodies began to part, and he caught a glimpse of the nobles sitting on the dias. The unmistakable feeling of enchantment returned within a heartbeat, and Neil grinned in stunned recognition. He elbowed the dwarf sharply, and nodded at the finely-dressed woman overseeing the performance. “Judge for yourself,” he said. And, as both Fox and Darby craned their heads to catch a glimpse of the redhead, Neil repeated firmly, “More than any.”
Chapter Ten
The Royal Court of Calibas
Normally, Fox loved watching the Shavid unravel their perfectly choreographed routines before an excitable and enthusiastic crowd. Tonight, however, his eyes were on the dais, and the redheaded young woman. A princess? Lord Gilvard’s consort? A visiting noble from another land? Whoever she was, whatever had landed her a spot on that raised platform with the ruling house, it worried Fox. There was trouble brewing in Calibas, if Bartrum was to be believed. And now here was Neil, staring slack-jawed and doe-eyed at a woman who might well be part of the problem.
There were five others on the dais with her. To her right, an older gentleman, dressed in all black. His clothing was finely tailored to be a perfect fit, and it was elegant in design. But there was something distinctly militant about it. As Fox trained his senses on the man, he caught hints of steel and blood on the air. The man was well-groomed, his silver hair pulled bac
k in a complicated braid, and his beard trimmed close. He clapped politely at the Shavid performance, his face a calm mask of amusement that looked more practiced than genuine.
To the woman’s other side, the contrast could not have been more plain. The young man at the center of the dais was extravagantly costumed. His blonde hair was unruly, and he watched the proceedings with an almost manic excitement in his eyes. His skin was pale, his features sharp and angular, almost as if he’d been carved from marble instead of worked from flesh and bone. The man’s ears and fingers were lined with rings, and the smell of fine stones and worked metals mingled in the air with his perfumes. He wore an exquisite floor-length robe that hung open, exposing velvet breeches and a fine silk shirt. The whole ensemble clashed almost painfully, as each color and fabric and varying style fought for attention. But that, Fox realized, was not the point. The point was, quite clearly, to show off his wealth. He wore his most expensive accouterments, no matter how they looked.
This, Fox knew without a doubt, was Lord Gilvard. Spoiled, and hungry for power. And watching the Shavid like an eager predator.
At Lord Gilvard’s other side were two young women. One clung to his arm as best she could from her neighboring chair, every inch of her the cloying pet. She laughed when he did, and constantly ran her fingers through his hair and down the hem of his sleeves. Lord Gilvard didn’t seem to mind, but he didn’t pay her any particular amount of attention either.
The final woman seemed to be the youngest of all of them – no more than twelve, if Fox had to wager. She had a round face, and she watched the Shavid as though she didn’t properly see them. Her eyes were glazed over and out-of-focus. But the music made her smile slightly, and she tapped her foot along with the rhythm. And then, Fox saw the small cane propped up by her chair, and he knew – the girl was blind.
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