Call of Kythshire (Keepers of the Wellsprings Book 1) (14 page)

The full skirt cascades to the floor and shimmers beautifully in the low light of my bedroom. When I turn, the wide slits between the pleats show flashes of the glittering gold underskirt.  The sleeves puff out at the shoulders in the latest style, and then hug my arms until the light silk drips down to the floor. When I move my arms, the fabric trails along behind them like a dancer’s scarf. Looking at myself this way feels odd, like I’m a stranger in my own skin.

“Oh, if your mother could see you,” Mouli bawls, and when I go to hug her, she brushes me away. “No, no, I’m a mess, I’ll get you all smudged and rumpled.”

“Mouli...” I hug her tightly anyway. “Thank you.” There’s a knock at the door and Mouli claps her hands excitedly.

“That’ll be Rian!”

“Why’s he knocking?” I frown, “He knows he can just come in.”

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous!” Mouli shakes her head in exasperation and rushes down the stairs to greet him. While she’s down there, I steal into my father’s room and sit on the edge of the bed.

“It feels wrong, Da,” I whisper as I adjust the corset that digs into my ribs, “to go flitting off to the palace dressed like this, leaving you here, everyone is out there somewhere,” I sigh. “But I really hope that I’ll find some answers for us. If I find a way to break the curse, then we can go together and bring her home. I promise Rian and I will figure this out. In the meantime...” I let myself trail off. It’s so difficult looking at him lying here so still and silent. I know he’s not aware of me, but it makes me feel better to say the things out loud that have been weighing on me all day. My curls brush his face as I press my lips to his cheek. “I love you.”

“Azi, dear!” Mouli calls from downstairs.

“I’ll be right there!” I rush back to my room, suddenly remembering Flit’s diamond. She never really said whether she wanted me to bring it, but I’m sure she’ll want to be able to find me at the palace tonight. As I search the little trinket box where I had stowed it after the trial, I realize I haven’t packed a thing like Rian instructed me to. There simply wasn’t time. I start to panic as the stress of the upcoming evening and what might lie beyond blends with the fact that I can’t find the diamond anywhere. Mouli calls me again from below.

“Coming!” Panicked now, I spill the contents of the little box onto my dresser and sift through the little baubles and mementos I’ve collected over the year.

“Looking for this?” Flit appears on my shoulder. The diamond dangles from her hand by a woven bracelet of frayed, stained, rainbow colored ribbon. “Like it? I did it today.”

“It’s lovely,” I whisper as she darts down to tie it around my wrist. Its craftsmanship is childlike, but something about the contrast of the perfect diamond woven tightly into a messy nest of discarded ribbon makes me smile. When I lower my arm again, the long draping sleeve of my gown covers it. I shake my wrist, testing it, “Is it safe to bring it to the palace? Will it fall out?”

“Nope!” She answers, and she pops out of view before I can discern which of the two questions she was answering. Mouli appears in my doorway, looking quite annoyed.

“Azi!” she yelps and takes my hand, “You’ll be late!”

“
I’m coming, too.”
Flit whispers into my head as I descend the stairs, careful not to step on my delicate skirts or fall down in these wretched heeled shoes that crunch my toes together uncomfortably. I’m concentrating so hard on those efforts that I don’t notice Rian until I reach the bottom of the stairs and look up to see his eyes on me. He stares with a mix of awe and something else it takes me a moment to recognize, because I seldom see it in him: nerves. I grin and reach a hand out to him and he leans away dramatically and gestures from my head to my toes and shakes his head. He starts to say something and I start to stop him, but I don’t need to as he stands there, his mouth hanging open.

“Wow, is stinky actually speechless?”
Flit giggles. I ignore her. I am, too, as I take him in. He’s set aside his robes tonight in favor of a calf-length, midnight blue jacket cinched with gold buttons at his waist over a crisp white shirt. The Mage Mark that had curled up around his ear just yesterday has already faded so much that it barely peeks up over the edge of his collar. His black slippers are polished to a mirror-like shine, their gold buckles bright in the waning sunlight. Together, we’re perfectly coordinated. He offers me his arm and we say our farewells to Mouli, leaving her to bawl into Luca’s shoulder about how grown up we both look.

The road to the palace is decorated with curls of thousands of purple and gold streamers that sway gently in the breeze. A crowd lines the streets near the gates to watch as the attendees of the ball arrive. Most come in carriages drawn by horses or footmen, but we live close enough that we didn’t see the need. I regret that decision now, in these awful shoes, Thank goodness for Rian, whose strong arm I cling to in a concerted effort not to catch my heel in the cobbles and fall.

As we turn the bend and the palace rises up before us, we both gasp. Elegant lanterns line the walkway, floating like miniature moons, casting a soft light over the arriving guests. They remind me of the dazzle spell that Rian used during his exam the way they flicker colorfully. As we pass beneath them and I get a closer look at one, I can tell for certain that they’re held floating and aglow with magic. There are dozens of them, nearly a hundred, scattered across the vast lawns of the grounds as well. I glance up at Rian, whose jaw is tightly clenched as he takes in the scene. It’s hardly a reverential use of magic. Despite the soft and lovely effect of it, it feels ostentatious, edging on disrespectful. The other guests don’t seem to agree with me as they ooh and ah over its beauty and remark on how it’s unlike anything they’ve ever seen.

Inside, the receiving hall has been lined with live trees bedecked with tiny glittering lights. As we near them I realize the lights are actually hundreds of miniature fairy figurines of blown glass, enchanted to glow with colors that change in such a way that they remind me of Flit’s eyes. We file in behind the crowd of guests and make our way down the line, greeting the row of honored guests assembled to receive us, finally coming to the royal family just before the entrance to the ballroom. We meet Margary first and she tugs my sleeve excitedly as I curtsey down to her level.

“I have something to show you after,” she whispers, “once the music starts.” Her eyes twinkle as she grins at me.

“It must be something very important,” I say, “if it means you want to miss the dancing.”

“Oh, it is.” The tiara pinned to her hair sparkles brilliantly as she bobs her head.

“We’ll find each other, then?” I whisper as I rise from my curtsey and she nods again fervently before turning to the next guests in line.

“Squire Hammerfel!” Princess Amei takes my hand in her gloved one and squeezes it, obviously relieved to see a familiar face among the throngs. When Eron offers us a polite but cold acknowledgement, I’m glad he’s so dismissive. We move quickly from him to Sarabel, the guest of honor. I dip into a formal curtsey and rise again and the princess beams at me, her eyes sparkling.

“Oh Azi, isn’t it amazing?” She gestures to the decorations. “Eron and Margary dreamt it up and they had the Mages working all day on it.” She turns to Rian. “I hope you’re not still upset about it, Rian, now that you’ve seen it.” She rests a hand on his arm. “After all, it’s just a bit of display, and it isn’t hurting anything, right?” I look at Rian, who offers a cordial nod to the princess and a genuine enough reassuring smile. “You’re such a dear. I’ll save you a dance, then. See you inside,” she says to the two of us. Then she turns to the next in line, leaving us to curtsey and bow to King Tirnon and the queen.

“Good of you to come, my friends,” he says to us sincerely. “How fairs your father, Squire Azaeli?”

“He still sleeps, your Majesty.” I leave it there. This isn’t the time or place to go into further detail. When he offers me his apologies and his hopes that my father is well soon, I know in my heart that he’s being genuine. He then turns to Rian, who he offers a smile with a hint of apology. He must know that Rian’s been silenced, and he is respectful enough not to speak to him. Had he done so, Rian would have been obligated to reply. I notice as we turn to leave how very tired the king looks. It isn’t overly obvious, but I’ve seen it before in my own father: the hunch of his shoulders, the circles under his eyes from too much worrying.

Rian and I follow the crowd into the ballroom and I stare in awe. As if the grounds and the reception hall hadn’t been extravagant enough, the ballroom has been washed and draped in white. Thousands of crystals dangle from the ceiling by silken ribbons. They turn and sway and cast brilliant reflections across the shining floor. It has the same effect as the sunlight through Flit’s wings, and it’s just as dizzying, so much so that I have to hold tight to Rian’s arm to keep myself from tipping among the dancing beams.

“It’s absolutely stunning,” I whisper. Rian shakes his head and waves a hand dismissively at the décor, then points at me, leans down, and steals a quick kiss. I grin and feel my cheeks warm. A squeal of excitement shatters the moment. Over his shoulder, I see a team of giggling girls peeking around a pillar. “Brace yourself,” I say. Just then, the royal family files in and the musicians begin to play. The king and queen and Prince Eron and Princess Amei pair up together to start off the ball, and a page taps Rian on the shoulder.

“Her Highness requests you join her on the dance floor,” he says. Rian flashes me a helpless, wide-eyed look before he turns to meet the Princess’s request. I try to hide my disappointment as he bows to Sarabel and takes her hand. If either of us had to dance, I truly hoped it would be together, especially for the first dance. I watch the three couples move gracefully across the floor and soon they are joined by more and more pairs until the crowd of dancers is too thick for me to see much. Occasionally I catch a whirling glimpse of him. It’s then that Princess Margy tugs on my skirt and looks up at me, feverish with excitement.

“Let’s go now. Nobody will notice. They’ll just be dancing.” She takes my hand and we weave together between the guests and the pillars of the ballroom until she waves me in through a hidden door off the side of the ballroom. When she pulls it closed behind us, the sounds of the ball beyond are blocked out completely.

“What is it you wanted to show me?” I crouch to her level. She looks perfectly in place here amongst the exquisite furniture, dressed in her lavender silk gown that shimmers with silver embroidery and drips with pearls. The walls are lined in dark, ornately carved paneling, and warm fire crackles merrily in the hearth. The room is otherwise empty.

“Not here,” she whispers secretively, and leads the way out of the room and through a narrow corridor lined with the occasional pair of palace guards.

As she passes each guard, Margy calls out to them: “’lo Fen. “’lo Mari.” “’lo Vince.” In turn, the guards wiggle their fingers at her and offer her a smile, and their eyes scan over me appraisingly. After dozens of similar greetings through the winding corridors, the princess stops at an elaborately painted door, pulls it open and then waves me through again. “Wait ‘til you see,” she whispers.

I step through the door into another richly decorated room, but this one is a little less pristine than the last. Here there are stacks of books piled about, and a half-finished needlepoint is draped on one of the velvet arms of a chair near the fireplace, where the embers have died to a quiet black crackle. Two large desks adorn opposite walls, set in front of shelves that stretch up so high that they require a rolling ladder to reach the top. I lift my skirts to step over a tiny model of the kingdom carefully arranged with miniature subjects. Across the room, Margy disappears behind a drape that’s stretched from the corner of the desk to the wall.

“I’m not sure I should be in here,” I say to her uneasily as I cross by the desk, which is piled with official-looking documents. Still, I’m hopeful. My goal tonight was to find the missing pages of those books to help us break the curse, and also any clues that might lead me to what Eron could be plotting. This is a perfect place to begin my search.

“It’s just our study,” she says. “It’s okay. Look here.” She waves me into the little cubby behind the curtain and I have to gather my skirts up in order to keep from bumping anything. The drape closes behind us and suddenly I feel as if I’m someplace secret and wonderful. This small corner of the room is the princess’s own, private space. Her colorful drawings are scattered over the walls, and the book shelves are piled with storybooks and dolls and stuffed toys. She kneels and peers at the little tarnished silver jewel box that had previously been in the garden.

“Twig,” she whispers as she kneels there, her hands folded neatly her lap. She grins. “Twig, it’s okay. Yes, she’s here.” she pauses. “Oh, you want me to show her that first? Okay.” She slides a children’s book from the shelf and hands it to me. “Will you read this to me?” she asks, and tucks her knees up under her chin beside me.

The cover of the book is plain and unadorned, but when I open it I’m enchanted by the fantastic illustrations that greet me. I turn the page and gasp at a drawing of a woman with a long, blonde braid dressed in shining armor. She wields a great glowing two-handed sword against a twisting, dark mass. The artist has drawn tiny glimpses of hands, feet, wings, and frightened faces spinning and whirling within the harsh black twisting lines of the mass. The warrior wears a grimace of determination as she arcs her sword to slice at the foe.