The next six days passed by like this, leaving them again on the last day of the week. They were normally given the day off to rest and pursue their own interests, but Zareus had warned Roun that Kuro’s mission would take place tonight, so he couldn’t relax.
He still spent the day with the others; they skipped breakfast and instead stuffed themselves sick during the midday meal. Afterward, they dressed in simple tunics and shortened trousers until dusk. They spent most of that time playing war games or listening to Laeshiro’s lute while taking turns laughing at each other’s attempts at singing.
Roun eventually bid the others farewell and parted so they could have a few hours of the day to themselves. He left Laeshiro’s room in high spirits, but sobered when Zareus came to his room. They went and fetched Sethra, then followed the scribe down to his workshop, where he stated Kuro’s orders.
“You will attend a formal dinner with Fane and Oyrivia at her manse,” the scribe told them.
Roun frowned at Zareus as the silence continued. When he realized the scribe had finished, he asked, “A dinner? And you want us to attend? Nothing else?”
Zareus raised an eyebrow. “Is this beneath you?”
Roun shook his head. “We’ll try our best to not disappoint Exarch Kuro.”
Zareus dismissed Sethra so she could dress in her best raiments and told Roun to wear the ones stored within his vessel; they were to leave their medallions behind. Sethra left to change and came back down after a short while.
She looked as anxious as he felt when Zareus guided them outside the library.
They found themselves in front of Oyrivia’s estate just before the Throne fell to slumber. Roun and Sethra exchanged glances as they came to a stop on the street before it.
“Are we sure this is the right place?” Sethra asked him.
Roun nodded; they had already guessed Oyrivia was from a noble clan because she wore her hair long—well, and because she acted like she was from one, in his opinion—so they weren’t surprised to find her home perched within the northern district of Rozaria City’s highest ring, but this was something else.
Murals and banners decorated the estate’s walls, and the excessive number of guards arrayed to either side of the gate looked more like paraders than anything else. On the other side, the manse and other buildings looked like they were trying to challenge Avyleir’s own beauty.
“Wonderful,” Sethra muttered as she gestured at the gardens and fields of grass and hedge bushes. “Wouldn’t Laeshiro and Kamil have been better for this? Neither of us knows how to deal with highborn folk.”
They approached the gate side by side where a guard positioned at the gate’s center bowed low enough to send his silken tassel and swathes of cloth fluttering.
“Greetings, Honored Ones,” the guard said. “May I ask what brings you to us this evening?”
Roun frowned. “We were under the impression that we’re expected.”
The guard looked confused for a moment, then sent a companion running into the manse. Fane and Oyrivia both soon emerged from the entranceway.
“Let them in,” Oyrivia said as she approached the gate from the other side. She was dressed in sandals and a pale blue dress patterned with shades of black that matched her hair and the dark, sharp color of her eyes.
The guard turned to bow in her direction. “Of course, young mistress, but your mother—”
“Would never refuse Grimoires our clan’s hospitality.”
The guard bowed again and stepped aside without complaint so that his companions could open the gate. Once it was open, he gave Roun and Sethra a performer’s bow, complete with a sweep of an arm. Roun and Sethra walked by the guard onto the stone path leading to the manse. Oyrivia had already stepped back inside, leaving them alone with Fane and the guards posted at the arching entrance.
“Nymth clan,” Fane said as they came to a stop beside him to gawk at the manse. It was at least four stories high, though the odd, artistic design included some spires and a few portions that seemed to go another floor higher. “The only thing they do better than earning wealth is show it off.” He shook his head, a sad smile on his lips, then it twisted into a scowl as he eyed them. “Librarian Exarch Kuro promised me he would help. Please don’t tell me he sent you two instead.”
Roun slowly frowned.
Fane closed his eyes and took a breath. “Tell me he at least explained what was going on?”
Roun and Sethra both sheepishly shook their heads.
Something flickered across Fane’s face, but he took another breath and seemed to calm down. “Just follow along for now, then, and I’ll find us a moment to sort this all out later.”
Roun swallowed the questions on his tongue and followed Sethra and Fane into the manse and through a quick series of hallways until they reached a dining chamber. A woman that looked like an older, more mature version of Oyrivia stood at the far side of the dining table, her face twisted into a smile so fake that Roun was almost certain she intended it to be noticed. The woman gestured towards the empty seats.
“Why, it surprised me to learn Oyrivia had even a single friend, yet here come another two!” the woman said. “Please seat yourselves, Honored Ones. I am Jeane Nymth, mistress of the estate and matriarch of our clan’s Rozarian branch. We were about to have our final meal together, though I’m sure my daughter would appreciate you all joining us.” She rose from her seat to bow, but it was quick and shallow, and she reseated herself before any of them took their own seats.
Final meal? Roun bowed back and followed Fane’s lead. Oyrivia and Sethra sat to either side of Jeane, while Roun sat beside Sethra and across from Fane.
“Thank you for having us,” Sethra said hesitantly.
An awkward silence fell over the chamber as the servants served the meal, which began with a bowl of clear chilled soup. Roun didn’t know what it was and had never willingly eaten soup cold before, but it was delicious. Sethra was delving into her own bowl just as eagerly, though her internal battle between habit and etiquette was so obvious that he couldn’t help but smile. Fane also ate, but Oyrivia rested her chin on a fist and stirred with her spoon. Meanwhile, Jeane glanced around with the same awkward smile she had greeted them with.
“So, I’ve already met your lover Fane—”
“Stop it, Mother,” Oyrivia muttered. “His temper isn’t so easily provoked. Trust me, I’ve tested it many times myself. I also already told you our relationship isn’t like that.”
Fane continued nonchalantly eating spoonfuls of his soup.
“Yes, of course.” Jeane said, her voice mocking. “You sneak him up to your room to do… what?”
“Talk?”
“Ah, is that what we’re going with, sweetie? I suppose there could be some talking involved in between your mouth being occupied, or perhaps while your flushed cheeks rest against a pillow.”
Sethra choked and Roun almost dropped his spoon, but Oyrivia ignored them and glared back at Jeane.
“Really, Mother?” Oyrivia hissed through clenched teeth. “Shouting at the servants to mind their own business isn’t what I’d describe as sneaking about, but, you know, I do seem to recall you bluntly offering Fane your own bed right in front of me.”
Roun’s head turned to stare at Fane, who looked more tired than anything else, but this time the other Grimoire let out a long sigh before dabbing at his mouth with a napkin.
“Mistress Nymth, I have a betrothed, as I’ve explained countless times already. Oyrivia is only a friend,” he said.
Jeane leveled her smile on Fane and leaned back in her chair. “Yes—a betrothed whose clan you refuse to name and who I have never seen. Besides, what kind of engaged man goes sneaking into another girl’s room?”
“I agree with Oyrivia in that it’s hardly sneaking,” Fane muttered. “And we only avoid you because you seem insistent on being asinine and keeping Oyrivia from seeing anyone. In fact, I fear you treat her rather poorly overall.”
“Th
at’s not true,” Jeane replied in a honey-sweet voice. “Does she not eat well? And look at that pretty dress and the pearls at her ears! She’s also always accompanied by our lovely servants, and I meet with her most days. She even visits her father and little brother every morning without fail, don’t you, dear?”
Oyrivia scowled and swiped her bowl from the table. No one spoke as the delicate porcelain shattered, and for a moment the only sounds were that of a servant hurriedly cleaning the mess and Oyrivia’s own quickened breath.
“That was very childish,” Jeane said. “Fine, let’s assume you are oh so very sad and lonely despite your mother’s best efforts! Well, you’re also a Grimoire, Oyrivia. What’s stopping you from leaving? Or, even better, why not kill me in my sleep, pay off the servants with your inheritance, and give the exarchs a sweet little smile while insisting no champion of Sothis would ever commit matricide?” Jeane laughed, and Roun couldn’t help but turn away from the naked anger and hatred he saw in her face.
“Mother, please,” Oyrivia whispered, all the fire draining from her own face. “Isn’t it enough that I obey your every wish? Do you need to torment me as well?” Oyrivia’s hands went beneath the table and her arms soon trembled. Roun could practically feel the girl’s fingernails digging into her palms. “Not so long ago, you never would have spoken to me like this.”
“And not so long ago, we were a happy little family, but I wasn’t the one who changed all that, now was I?” Jeane snapped, then snorted when Oyrivia flinched and looked away. She drank from her chalice and exhaled after a deep pull. “Goodness, where are my manners! As I was saying, I already know your lover—Fane of the ‘none of your concern’ clan, with a mysteriously absent betrothed.” She snorted again before raising her chalice in his direction, then eyed Roun and Sethra. “And you two darlings are…?”
Sethra grimaced. “I’m Sethra Velle.”
“Velle?”
“That’s right. It’s a small clan, but—”
“Sorry, that was my disappointment slipping free. I already know more about the Velle clan than I ever wanted to know, dear.”
“Wonderful,” Sethra muttered.
“Small and worthless, and, now that you’re a Grimoire, a bloodline that’s on track to sputter out like a spent candle.” Jeane ignored Sethra’s glare and turned to examine Roun with a raised eyebrow. “Well, young man, the only way you could disappoint me any more than she did is if you were clanless.”
Everyone else fell still.
Jeane glanced around, her eyebrow still raised, and asked, “What’s your name?”
“It’s Roun…”
“Yes?”
“Just… Roun.”
Jeane’s eyes slowly widened, then after a moment she burst out laughing. When Oyrivia glared at her mother, the Nymth matriarch only laughed harder and waved hysterically at a servant. One brought her a handkerchief while another refilled her chalice once Jeane calmed down and the final tremors of laughter left her. She took a deep drink.
“Oh, I was a little concerned that Avyleir would reward you for what you did,” Jeane said. “But they gave you the demesne’s throwaways as friends, it seems.”
“They’re Fane’s friends,” Oyrivia murmured. “I haven’t talked to them, not even once. I’m pretty sure they hate me at worst or think me odd at best.”
“Good,” Jeane said with a careless shrug.
Fane watched the servants clean away the soup and utensils, but when they began setting down the next course—some small morsel of meat and bits of leaves that was already disappointing Sethra—he stood and passed a hand down the front of his ornate tunic.
“May we be excused to the lavatory?” Fane asked.
Jeane raised her eyebrow again, her chalice pausing before her lips. “We?”
“Yes; Roun, Sethra, and myself. We’ve all suddenly been overcome by an urge to void our bellies, I think.”
Jeane rolled her eyes, but dismissed them with a wave. Oyrivia looked stricken, but Fane didn’t even glance in her direction while he waited for Roun and Sethra to join him.
The three of them walked a short distance away, but they didn’t get far before the arguing voices of Oyrivia and her mother reached them. They continued through the hallways until they passed through a side door that seemed to lead to one of the outer gardens. Guards were stationed here, but Fane led them out deeper into the garden before turning around to face Roun and Sethra and gave them an inquisitive look.
Night had already fallen, the sky a sea of black, but lamps and the orbicular lights set along the edges of the pathway kept the darkness at bay.
“That… was something,” Roun muttered.
“Makes things easy, at least,” Sethra said. When he and Fane looked at her in confusion, she shrugged. “We’re going to slap Jeane to death, right? Or is that just what I want? Because that was no way to talk to anyone, let alone your own daughter.” She crossed her arms and huffed. “I’ll give her flushed cheeks.”
“Not quite,” Fane said. He dropped into a garden bench and held his head in his hands. “I’m going to rip Oyrivia away from her mother tonight, willingly or not, and I won’t let her leave the library until she agrees to stop obeying Jeane.” He glanced up at them, his face twisted with guilt. “I’ve been a pitiful friend to her, but even worse is the fact that I’m the only one she has. She probably still won’t forgive me—or you two, if you end up helping.”
“What’s going on here?” Roun quietly asked.
Fane hesitated. “It’s a long story. If you don’t already know, Avyleir ordained Oyrivia the Grimoire of Shifting Petals, and—well, do you remember when I thought she could control time and Laeshiro corrected me?”
Roun and Sethra nodded.
“She can slow things down to the point where they’re frozen in stasis.” He waved his hand. “That’s still useful on its own, but she can also add momentum to any inanimate object trapped within her field, so that it fires like a slingshot when she lets go. It’s stronger if the object was already in motion, but it still works even if it’s sitting somewhere.”
“What does this have to do with Oyrivia and her mother?” Sethra asked, confused.
Roun, on the other hand, already had a good guess. “She killed someone with her arte, didn’t she?”
Sethra blinked in surprise and glanced over at Fane, who nodded.
“Our artes manifest more strongly when we first awaken and are almost impossible to control. That can be a very terrifying situation depending on your arte. I blew up half our home, but it was just me and my betrothed and she was out planting in the garden. Oyrivia wasn’t so lucky—she trapped everyone and everything around her in stasis and then unknowingly strengthened her arte’s ‘tension.’ Folk rushed into the room at the sound of her screams, but they couldn’t figure out how to help. Most got trapped in the stasis field along with the others, but it didn’t take long before Oyrivia’s arte ripped free from her desperate grip.” He shook his head. “Everything she sent shooting away had enough force to punch through walls, so they pretty easily ripped off limbs and left bodies missing pieces, broken, or full of holes. The lucky ones, like her little brother, passed right away, but Oyrivia had to watch her father die in her arms.”
Roun and Sethra stared for several heartbeats.
“What is it with you noble clans?” Sethra asked. “Laeshiro’s family sounds nearly as bad.”
Fane shrugged. “The Nymth aren’t a noble clan; just wealthy enough that they might as well be. A lot of lesser clans are already pledged to them though, so it’s only a matter of time before the Canton of Unity makes them one.”
“So Jeane is using Oyrivia’s guilt to torment her despite knowing it was an accident?” Roun asked.
“I wish that was all, because this is where things truly become obscene. See, there’s another quirk to Oyrivia’s arte. While it’s dormant, it protects her own body.” Fane rubbed the back of his head and blushed. “She’s admitted that it affects her bo
dy in, uh, several ways, but the important one is that it prevents her from aging.”
“That’s not special,” Roun protested. “Every Grimoire gains partial immortality, which also means aging more slowly.”
“True, but with her arte, Oyrivia is already ageless; or at least, she doesn’t age unless she uses her arte. When Jeane learned about this, she began trying to find a way to force Oyrivia into a Mage bond.”
“Then she’s lost her mind.” Sethra glanced back in the manse's direction. “Grimoires need to be around low Gold before they’re strong enough to forge a Mage bond. We’re all a long way off from that.”
“Gold,” Fane repeated with amusement. “Yes, it’s certainly costing her gold. Lots of it. I’m not sure if there is a way to allow a Grimoire to bond a Mage early, but if there is, then Jeane is intent on finding it.” He glanced up at the two of them. “A Mage’s partial immortality is weaker than that of their Grimoire, but Oyrivia should make her Mage just as ageless as her, and who knows how that aspect of her arte might evolve as she grows stronger? I’ve heard tales of those tempted by the promise of a longer life, and this is so much more.”
“Those kinds of people are one reason why the libraries are so against it,” Roun rebuked. “And also why there are laws like those that force a Mage to fight alongside their Grimoire.”
“I know that,” Fane snapped. “But do you think Jeane cares? Fate forbid, Roun, I’m not even sure Avyleir cares. You saw how Zareus and Yhul ignore her.”
“Tell me you’re not accusing Avyleir of taking Jeane’s coin,” Sethra said.
Fane eyed them. “Nothing else makes sense. After all, if the Nymth clan can pay off an Imperial Library, then they also don’t need to worry about something as trite as the law.” He laughed darkly.
Roun shook his head in confusion. “Why ask Exarch Kuro for help, then?”
“Because I was desperate, mostly, but also because I hoped Avyleir might abandon Jeane if they learned they would soon lose her coin—seems like another Nymth matriarch learned about Jeane’s plans and maneuvered her into a spectacular cage of blackmail, which brings us to tonight, the end of this whole mess, one way or another. Jeane doesn’t want to lose her daughter, but for all the wrong reasons, and I have a hard time believing another member of her clan wouldn’t use her just as carelessly.” He hesitated. “Oyrivia might decide it’s better to flee someday, but by then it’d only leave her an apostate. I… want to let her know she has another choice.”
Awakening Arte (The Eldest Throne Book 1) Page 18