Light of the Forebearers

There weren't always dragons in the Valley. Only clever machinations brought the reclusive creatures to the misty half-light of the Aether’s Valley of Sleep, where so many shadows and nightmares roamed.

The waking world thought the mythical beings extinct, yet there lay a dragon on the valley floor. Scales littered the ground around its carcass, torn from the beast as forms humanoid in shape had eaten it alive. Yet death shrouded those bodies too, the horde piled atop the beast’s remains like the stones of a funeral mound.

A pair of travelers approached the scene. The taller of the two drew a sword of crystal and bone from the sheath at his hip before cautiously stepping up to the corpses. He peered down with his one good eye, the other covered with a black patch.

“A harvest.” As he sheathed his blade, he kicked a nearby body with his boot. Black soot plumed into the air around them. “Burnt to a crisp and then sliced open. Looks like their hearts and stomachs were taken.”

The other traveler carried herself like someone accustomed to taking charge, keeping some distance as she surveyed the extent of the carnage. Her wise eyes were cold and plump mouth thin in disgust.

“Taken for charms,” she hissed with venom.

“But the Artesans don’t travel here.”

She shook her head, her normally bright hair dull in this realm where the sun never rose. “They don’t have to.”

“What are you suggesting?”

With fists clenched at her side, she grimaced at him. “I can think of one or two of our kind who would gladly assist with a massacre. For the right price.”

She motioned with her head their signal for retreat, and the pair resumed their trek across the Valley. They were still far from their original point of entry, the tear that allowed them to pass between the waking world to the Aether, and they were overdue to return.

“You’re going to report it, right?” He looked at her sidelong with his one eye. When she did not answer, he pressed her. “Bernadette? We have to report it.”

“I’ll lead the retrieval party for the bones myself,” was all she said.

***

It was still dark when Evelyn exited the barn at the edge of Rose Manor’s property. Frayed edges of the sun were only beginning to climb the vast, dark sky, and in the dim light she pulled errant pieces of hay from her mussed hair. She would have to re-plait it before she went about her chores.

As she crossed the fields back to the manor proper, the sweat on her neck and back chilled in the crisp morning air. She focused her sights on the modest residence to keep her body from being wracked with tremors. The thin muslin dress she wore every day did nothing to protect against the cold. Tempted as she was to cast a warming spell, Evelyn refrained. Any light from the activated spell would have been like a beacon, and the whole point of a rendezvous at the barn was to be discrete.

The sky was purple-pink by the time Evelyn neared the service door, and the many windows on its face flared alive with sight. They blinked down at her, the too-many eyes of a giant arachnid or a demon.

Evelyn shook her head to chase away the thought. She had spent too much time reading the horror novels Damon favored over his shoulder the past few weeks.

Something bright flashed in the corner of one of the upper windows. Evelyn started, then realized it might have been Lady Mihran preparing for the day. The thought was enough to spur Evelyn on.

The empty lower hall of Rose Manor greeted Evelyn with silence. She bee-lined for the small mirror near the entrance and made quick work of her hair before any sleep deprived staff roused from their beds and spotted her. The tie was barely back in place on Evelyn’s long, dark braid when Georgiana bustled in through the service door, her flaxen curls bouncing with every step, clutching a basket full of freckled eggs close to her chest.

“Sorry I’m late.” Evelyn rushed forward to grab the basket. Georgiana twisted the basket out of reach.

“Late to do my chores for me?” The blonde sniffed as she continued her path toward the kitchen. “It’s about time I had to go to the coop myself.”

“But you hate those hens.”

The rosy cheeks that betrayed Georgiana’s youth swelled as she pursed her lips. “And yet I managed.”

Evelyn spared Georgiana the compliment she knew her friend would hate and nodded as the pair fell into their well-practiced routine of bread and breakfast preparation. Their dance around the kitchen was better choreographed than any that could be found in a ballroom and better rehearsed in the fourteen months they had been partnered for morning chores. The simplicity of their tasks brought a smile to Evelyn’s face.

“So why were you late this morning?” The question came from Georgiana only once her flour stained hands finished loading the range with its daily commission of loaves. Evelyn avoided the younger woman’s searching gaze and focused on dishing scrambled eggs onto a serving platter.

“Is Lady Mihran awake, yet?” Evelyn asked instead.

There was a sigh. “Does the Taskmaster ever sleep? She probably knows you were out all night, too.”

When their eyes met, it was only long enough for Evelyn to motion toward the lower dining room with her chin and lift the platter in her hands. A frown obscured Georgiana’s pretty face.

“Please remember to eat breakfast today,” the blonde called as Evelyn strode away. The parting words had become a sort of mantra over the past year, said now mostly as ceremony than an attempt at reproach.

The staff dining room was already filling with the lower residents of Rose Manor, many yawning polite hellos as Evelyn placed the platter of eggs in front of them. Several remained standing – despite previous instructions not to do so – almost reverent as they waited patiently for her to complete her task. It was slightly unnerving to have so many watching her, when once it had been normal. Evelyn’s hands began to sweat at the thought of all those eyes on her. Best to drop the food on the table and dash, she told herself.

A knobby hand grabbed Evelyn’s wrist. The elderly woman nearby peeked up from under her powder blue kerchief and smiled with what remained of her teeth.

“Sit with me, child.”

Evelyn forced a smile. “Agatha, darling, I adore you –”

There was no opportunity to finish, because Agatha all but dragged Evelyn into the seat beside her, the woman’s overlarge dress disguising the strong arms of someone who had been hanging wet bedding to dry for nearly fifty years.

Evelyn made to stand again, but Agatha’s grip was firm.

“Stay.” Agatha nodded. “Your mother always used to.”

The old woman waved at the remaining staff who, befuddled, did not know what to do about breakfast from where they stood. Evelyn nodded, and that was permission enough. Soon everyone was seated and the room filled with the cacophony of voices and scraping cutlery.

What started as fidgeting escalated to extreme discomfort as the morning grew brighter. It was easier for Evelyn to ignore the smell of food when she was moving. She had even learned to ignore it when she was cooking. Now, however, confined to a chair with no distraction, the smell of the eggs trapped her in its snare. Her throat constricted painfully. She tried to insist she help Georgiana the few times her friend flitted in and out of the room with more food, but everyone ignored Evelyn and Agatha maintained a tight hold on her elbow.

“What are you doing here?”

Chairs scraped against the stone floor as everyone but Evelyn stood to attention at the sound of Lady Mihran’s voice. It did not require them to make eye contact for Evelyn to know the lady of the house spoke to her. The rest of the staff kept their eyes downcast – the stance of those accustomed to becoming invisible.

Grateful as she was to leave the eggs behind, Evelyn wished it was not under the enquiry of Lady Mihran. She stood and bowed her head. “I was just leaving.”

“Get on with it, then,” Lady Mihran said.

Though the lady of the house kept her ink-black hair in its customary tight knot, Evelyn was a surprised to see Lady Mihran wore a deep blue dress with gold trim around the bodice. It was too fine for this place, for the eye-sized marble she always wore on the long chain around her neck.

She paused at Lady Mihran’s side. “You look nice today.”

The lady arched a brow but did not meet Evelyn’s gaze. With a nod, Evelyn took her leave.

***

Rachel was already in a temper when she and Damon entered the library from the breakfast room. They approached where Evelyn sat at the writing desk, the young master with his nose buried in a book, Rachel hot on his heels.

“Do you know what it’s like having to dine with someone insistent on silence?” the young mistress fumed. She took her usual chair opposite the young boy at the instruction table and flipped her auburn locks over her shoulder. Her glare did nothing to encourage a response from Damon.

“Seth didn’t join you?” Evelyn stood and began to write the title of the day’s lesson on the freestanding chalkboard close by.

Rachel let out an exaggerated groan. “The traitor overslept.”

There was a pause, the chalk in Evelyn’s hand poised before the board as she considered turning to question Rachel. But before she could move, the so-called traitor appeared at the door adjoining the foyer.

Seth closed the library door behind him. “Sorry I am late.”

“That’s quite alright,” Damon said as he put his book down. The boy, barely twelve, blinked up at Seth as the young man loped over and ruffled Damon’s silver curls. Damon’s equally pale eyelashes and frosty blue eyes against his ebony skin gave him a perpetual look of wonder.

Rachel raised her freckled hands above her head. “Thank the Sages! He speaks!”

Though occupied as Evelyn was with shushing Rachel, Evelyn did not fail to catch the lopsided grin Seth flashed at her through his curtain of black hair as he took his seat. He normally wore his hair tied back now that it was past his shoulders, and she wondered when had been the last time she’d seen it down during the day.

Time crawled the rest of the morning, the four of them confined to the library as they always were. Not because Rachel and Seth were disengaged as they reviewed spells from the library’s tomes, since both were now eighteen and able to fend for themselves. Rather, Damon refused to comprehend the noble houses of Thayre and the rules of succession no matter how many times Evelyn explained it. And today marked her third attempt.

“Wait, the heir marries a foreigner and the kingship changes noble families?” The incredulity Damon expressed made both Rachel and Seth look up from their notes, the former with a growl and the latter with an amused smirk.

Evelyn did her best not to sigh. “Yes. It curbs any temptation for inbreeding and keeps lines of succession clear.”

“Unlike Uldeans,” Rachel sneered.

Seth elbowed her. “Unlike Estharians.” Rachel elbowed him back.

Damon, indifferent to the interlude, tilted his head as he looked at Evelyn. “Why was I chosen for the betrothal? Aren’t there other foreigners who are older than me?”

Everyone looked at Evelyn then, Rachel and Seth included, the gaze of the latter particularly heavy. It had been a long while since Evelyn felt so many differing opinions weigh on her in their three glances. She forgot how much she hated it.

The Estharian grandmother clock chimed noon from the foyer. With a silent thank you to their Forebearers, Evelyn smiled and said to Damon, “I think we can discuss that tomorrow.”

The young boy nodded once, then silently returned to reading the book at his side on the table. With a small frown, Seth went back to scribbling notes. Rachel stretched her arms above her head and sighed.

“How much longer until Georgiana has lunch ready?” the redhead pouted.

But Evelyn’s attention was fixed on Seth. His frown, although fleeting, had bothered her. She rose from the instruction table and took a few steps until she stood behind Seth. With only mild curiosity, she leaned forward to peer over his shoulder, her plait slipping between their bodies to brush his back.

“Restoration magic?” she murmured. Seth hummed affirmatively, the tip of his tongue poking out between his lips in concentration. The urge to lick her own lips nearly overcame Evelyn, and though she resisted it, she ultimately succumbed to the impulse to lean close and whisper in his ear.

What she would say, she was not sure and would never know. Because it was then that Evelyn noticed the piece of dry straw cloaked in the night-black hair closest to his ear. The sight made her stomach twist. With a careful hand, she reached forward and retrieved it, Seth leaning his head back to chase her touch as she withdrew.

Someone cleared their throat. Evelyn pocketed the straw in a fold of her muslin dress and stepped away from the table. When she looked to the others seated nearby, Rachel was pointedly looking at the floor while Damon’s pale eyes and white lashes peeked up at Evelyn from the top of his book.

“Lady Mihran is coming,” the boy whispered low.

How he knew was anyone’s guess, but Evelyn made sure she was at the chalkboard erasing her notes when the lady of the house glided into the library with a swish of her deep blue skirts.

“Lunch is on the table. Chop, chop.” A staccato clap of Lady Mihran’s brown hands accentuated her words. The occupants of the table responded like well-trained poodles. Rachel led the way, muttering something akin to it being about time, with Seth trailing behind Damon to ensure the lad did not run into any doorways while he simultaneously walked and read.

Lady Mihran and Evelyn were the last to follow, Evelyn taking the rear only long enough to exit the room before she slipped away to the stairs that led from the foyer to the upper floors.

Evelyn had only managed to ascend two steps, her body as far from the banister as possible to avoid detection, when Lady Mihran caught her.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

With a deep breath, Evelyn approached the railing to find Lady Mihran standing by the doorway Evelyn had hoped to avoid, her brown face severe in its expression. It took Evelyn longer than it should have to force a beatific smile onto her face.

“To continue my project in the attic,” she said.

“I don’t think so.” The lady of the house motioned to the dining room. “You will join us for lunch today. I insist.”

A sick feeling churned in Evelyn’s stomach. The recurring nightmare she had when she chanced sleep, the same images she saw when she did eat in secret, flashed in her mind’s eye. She retreated a few steps toward the stairs and raised her chin.

“You will not tell me what to do.”

An eerie silence filled the hall, muted only by the rhythmic ticking of the grandmother clock. A pounding in Evelyn’s head started up, timed perfectly to the clock. The effort of staring down Lady Mihran, who glared back, always caused Evelyn to strain. Though she did her best to maintain her smile, she felt it would fray at the edges before the older woman relented. Scrutiny had never been a good friend of Evelyn’s, though it seemed to call on her frequently enough in the form of Lady Mihran.

But then the lady of the house gave a long-suffering sigh, saying, "Fine, off with you,” accompanied by a dismissive gesture, and that was all Evelyn needed to feel free again. Swallowing her relief before it could betray her, Evelyn disappeared without another word.

***

The faraway sounds of cutlery on china and muffled chatter clung to Evelyn’s skirt as she ascended to the dusty upper recesses of the manor. As a child, this place had haunted her. She and her sister had made a sport of taking turns to dare or bribe each other to traverse it in the dead of night. Their aim had always been to see who would be first to cry in terror at the shadows and creaks in the floor. Now the attic seemed filled with nothing more than dust motes falling on lonely trinkets and chests full of dated clothes so moth-eaten they were scandalous.

In the months since their arrival at Rose Manor, each of the residents had fallen into a role, and Evelyn had settled on historian. With some occasional assistance from Seth, she taught Damon Thayren history and culture each morning, and in the afternoons scavenged for anything precious in the stacks and trunks tucked away here. There was much to find, she had been pleased to discover. Though the manor had not been occupied in over fifteen years, lifeless all that time, the interior still contained all the belongings of its former inhabitants.

Inhabitants like her long-deceased mother. It was bittersweet to touch the things Odessa Penrose had once owned. Evelyn missed her every day.

An assortment of tattered books, clinging to life by a scant dozen threads and blots of ancient glue, was the day’s focus. Evelyn collected a handful of stacks in one location with a few Pull and Push spells. The dust that accompanied it set off an unfortunate coughing fit. Once recovered, Evelyn sat and turned her attention to the books at her side.

If anyone had been watching, they would have seen a pained smile flit over Evelyn’s face as she pulled Estharian Legends for Young Mages off the top of the first stack. It was a book she had loved as a child, despite it being as thick as a dictionary. Chock full of the most well-known legends of her mother’s homeland, it told the tales of the Sages idolized by the people of Esthar.

Burdened with fond memories, Evelyn slowly turned the delicate pages until she found the entry she was looking for. Dressed in golden robes and a sunburst nimbus crowning her head, the depiction of the First Queen – or as Evelyn remembered calling her, the Faceless Queen – had always been her favorite. The lack of features on the marble-white face had never irked her as a child, which she found odd as a wizened adult of nearly twenty-one. Maybe it was simply because she had been mesmerized by the pair of winged serpents at her side, the beasts brutal and beautiful in their portrayal.

The story of the First Queen formed on Evelyn’s lips as she read to herself. A woman chosen by the Sages to be Herald to the land. A bringer of peace to a nation devastated by civil war, who then formed the Queendom of Esthar.

With a feather light touch, Evelyn traced the water ring at the top of the page with the tip of a finger. Once, she had foolishly left a cup of cold milk on the paper as she stared at the queen’s blank face and the creatures at her side. Then she closed the book and set it aside, certain Damon would love to see the pictures that accompanied each story in this book.

The rest of the first stack of books proved less interesting than her initial discovery. Some were old encyclopedias Evelyn would have donated. A few were histories of the surrounding kingdoms with notes in the margin – notes she suspected were in her mother’s hand. These she set aside to have mended. At least two were in languages Evelyn did not recognize. Not quite sure what to do with those, she settled on keeping them until someone could deem their worth.

Halfway through the third pile, Evelyn’s fingers and palms began to itch from all the dust. She levitated her finds to areas of the attic that she had designated for keeping or donating before wiping her hands on her skirt, less to get the dust off than to calm the irritation.

The hour or so that followed was spent elbow deep in random trunks full of battered tapestries depicting sleeping dragons, old china, twin daggers made of crystal and bone, and other items that, while valuable, were not of the sort she was after. It was not until Evelyn decided she was sufficiently late for tea – someone had called for her at least fifteen minutes prior – that something heavy tumbled out of a bag of silk scarves she had just upended.

An austere leather book had fallen like toast butter-side down, its pages open against the wooden floor. A shiver of cold ran up Evelyn’s arm as her fingers grazed the cover. She did not know yet that it was not leather in her hand when she picked it up, but a treasure, a jewel she had never dared hope to find.

***

– and then the little sprite turned on Eve and bit her full on the arm. Adelaide and Daphne keep reminding me that we were no different at the ages of two and five, and plagued me with stories of the atrocious things we used to do to each other as children. I don’t know how I ever forgot.

Time does that to memory, I guess. Daphne assures me it will get better. But how does she know? At least Adelaide has enough sense to keep quiet about things for which she has no experience.

Anyway, if my parents managed the three of us, and we seem to have turned out alright, then I can manage my two daughters. I just hope they learn how important their companionship as sisters can be.

Speaking of companions, just the other day, Fredrik decided –

Evelyn snapped her mother’s journal shut. She had no desire to read private thoughts about her father; she had enough of her own to last a lifetime.

The leather of the binding was cool to the touch, and something about it went waves of energy up her arm. It was certainly more than just journal, though what else was hard for Evelyn to determine. There were sporadic entries about Evelyn and her sister throughout, but it was mostly full of sketches – one of the twin blades Evelyn had come across earlier that afternoon – magical runes she did not recognize, and more writing in languages foreign to Evelyn. She had only known her mother to speak Common – the language she and her sister had grown up speaking and used throughout Thayre – as well as modern and olde Estharian. While Evelyn could speak and read modern Estharian, olde Estharian was something she could only recognize without comprehending. There was some of that in the book, but apparently her mother had known other tongues, and wrote in them, too.

Hoofbeats on the driveway had Evelyn scrambling up, shoving the journal into a pocket of her dress and then striding to the lone window. Outside, the staff who worked in the gardens and the surrounding fields were racing to the manor, some with their gardening tools raised in the air, others with the animals they herded in tow.

The whinnying of horses drew Evelyn’s attention to the manor’s entrance below. Three large stallions stomped their hooves, and the humans they transported were already disappearing from her line of sight, but not before she saw what they wore.

Palace livery.

Somewhere in the manor, animated voices were speaking. Evelyn thought she heard screeching – or was that squealing – from a female voice. Probably Rachel.

And then they called Evelyn’s name.

Dread turned Evelyn’s heart stiff and her blood razor sharp as it slowed in her veins. Palace guards could only mean two things. The king was dead, or she would be in the king’s presence by sunrise the next day. Though one reality was certainly worse than the other, the prospect of seeing the king alive did not appeal much to Evelyn, either.

With a deep breath, Evelyn counted to ten. Just before she descended the stairs, she scooped up Estharian Legends for Young Mages, clutching it to her chest like a pitiful soldier brandishing a worn shield. Then she made her mourner’s march down, down to the ground floor, down to where they waited. Each step was a nail in the coffin for her time at Rose Manor, and though it was less intuitive than it had once been, she did her best to school her features into one of neutral grace as she met with Fate.

***

Evelyn recognized Francois’ gravelly voice before she saw him. The captain of the guard was speaking in hushed tones to Lady Mihran, while Rachel and Seth spoke more openly with the two palace guards who accompanied him. Damon stood sullenly in a corner by Georgiana, whose pale hand gripped the boy’s wrist. The flour coating his dark skin stood out like a brand.

All quieted when Evelyn appeared. Rachel beamed up at her with a joy so bright, it reminded Evelyn of the days they spent together as young girls after their mother’s death, once they had learned to adore each other as sisters.

“We’re going home,” Rachel sang.

Beyond the shoulders of those gathered in the manor’s foyer, Evelyn could see the rest of the staff outside through the open front door. Most looked in with tears staining their faces. At least one or two pairs had turned to hug each other.

“Tell me,” Evelyn said, voice soft and solemn. “Is my father well?”

“Yes, Your Highness.” Francois’ bow was deep. The other guards bowed even deeper.

She could not help herself – Evelyn turned her head, her heart lurching. Not because her father was alive, but because when she had awoken that morning, she had been certain there was still time left for her to enjoy her life at Rose Manor.

When Evelyn looked back at the gathering, she forced her face into a serene smile. Many smiled back at her. All except Seth, who watched her through his brows, silent and still as a fawn. Francois and the guards stood upright just as Lady Mihran clapped her hands.

“About face, everyone. We have a lot of work to do if we’re to leave tonight.”

The staff outside, palace guards themselves, cheered and clapped each other on the back as they dispersed. Rachel flew past Evelyn and up the stairs to her room, presumably to pack. Seth touched Evelyn’s elbow as he moved past her, but she could not acknowledge it, not with so many eyes on them. Her grip on the book in her hands became vice-like.

“So soon?” Evelyn asked Lady Mihran, who stared at her through narrowed lids.

“Yes, Princess Evelyn.” It was Francois who answered. “King Fredrik is expecting you.”