The Blessed City

Their room was in the west wing and it was enormous. It took everything to force her inside it. Between rage and astonishment and the fact that she and Rhys were to share a room, Maleah wrestled to hold her tongue.

A single, large plush bed sat on the far wall under a floor-to-ceiling window. The bed itself was larger than her cell at the borstal. Four posts suspended the bed several inches off the ground. At least half a dozen pillows were fluffed and arranged to decorate it. More were plopped over cushioned chairs and seats in front of a cobblestone fireplace. Gold trim lined the walls, traced them to the ceiling's point. A powder room rested off to the side behind an open door. On the table in front of the fireplace were two folded outfits and a note. Rhys read it aloud when they were alone.

"Sleepwear," she said. "Leave your uniforms outside the door to be taken care of. Here, take your preference."

Maleah said nothing as she snatched the forest green set and disappeared into the powder room. There the tub was carved from white stone and sat on four golden legs. It was large enough to fit her entire body in it. A smaller washtub jutted from the wall under a magnificent mirror.

Drawing herself a bath, Maleah hoped to drown her rage. But anger followed her into the hot water. Trust is earned, she hissed. She had given hers to Rhys over and over again. Rhys saved her, opened up to her. Maleah trusted her and she received betrayal in return. Had she not earned the same, though? Fighting alongside her, traveling for a month through wastelands and barren tropes, sharing pains, and risking everything to fulfill a promise.

All in vain, she growled. Swallowing air, she sunk under the water. The world swayed in the water.

The reason behind her deception baffled her. What was the purpose of lying? If Rhys had only told her of Doc - Drocomir, she corrected - plans, she would have complied. Wouldn't she?

Perhaps not, she thought. 'Twas an insane thought that she'd be the one the king wanted. Twice over naturalist is a rarety. For that, she could not discount. But it wasn't her. Couldn't be.

She appeared on the other side of the tub. Shocked, Maleah plunged up from the water and gasped. The woman sat on the edge and made no movement to avoid being splashed.

The woman smiled simply. "You made it."

"How did you get in here?" Maleah rubbed her hands over her face, removing the water from her eyes and reaching for something to cover herself.

Ignoring her, she stood. "The anger you feel is valid. You feel deceived, betrayed, misled even. But she was only doing what she was told. There is much for you to learn still. Much that you couldn't have locked away in that place. But you won't be able to learn anything if you go on blinded by anger. You must be careful which emotion you let lead your life as fear and love are the most powerful emotions."

"I have spent my whole life living with anger. It is as much a part of me as the hair that grows on my head. I cannot dispense of it so easily."

"You can and you must. For what comes next will require it of you."

"What comes next?" Maleah asked after a moment.

"Humans have a habit of asking questions they don't want to know the answer to." She looked at her with sympathy.

"But I want to know. Surely I must know what I am to do next."

"Let the twins guide you. Let this place become your teacher. Learn to forgive and trust again." She turned to the window and began to leave. Resenting the woman for disappearing and leaving her with unanswered questions, again, Maleah dressed and returned to the common room.

The room had darkened fifty shades and was lit by fire and candles. Through the windows, Maleah saw the moon had risen to greet the night. Its light cast the world outside into silhouettes and shadows. She found Rhys reading on one of the seats in front of the fire.

"I will not apologize for I have done nothing wrong. Nor will I force you to forgive me." She stopped in her steps and stared. Rhys closed the book and looked up. "You never would have gone with me if I had told you the truth. Doc told me of your inability to trust easily so I forged a story that forced you to make a choice. Luckily for us both, Doc was right about you and you chose to leave."

Rhys stood to face her. "We are to see the High Court again tomorrow. I think I will get some sleep. The bed is large enough to share if you so choose. Goodnight."

Maleah said nothing as Rhys wiggled under the duvet and turned in for the night.

. . .

The silver-haired man stood in his library. Turning the book over in his hands again and again. Studying the strange language written within and finding himself growing tired with frustration. The library was enveloped in the moonlight and accented by the grand fireplace. Hundreds of books lined his shelves. A collection of years of study, research, and intrigue. Fresh leather and ink scented the air and was his best remedy for calm.

Here he was among his most precious treasures. Books, yes, were invaluable to him as inside each contained history, imagination, and more. But there was much more hidden away in nooks and chests. Framed maps of Dianmoore, some in glorified detail and others in vague descriptions hung on the walls. Chalices - saved and preserved from the ruins of war - decorated the mantel above his fireplace. Treasures from his home that he hadn't the heart to leave were tucked in a wooden vanity.

Now, though, he held the most profound acquisition of his very long life. The book. And it was of no use to him for he could not read it. Disheartened, he placed the book delicately on the table.

He paced to the carpeted wall and removed the fabric with a wave of his hand. In the small of the wall sat a clear blue pool. The podium was made of stone and the old language was written into its sides. White wisps swam through the glass. Gazing into the scry, he waited.

But when it did not move, he pushed back. Exasperated, he jumped when the door hinged open and shut.

Turning, he saw the silver-haired woman enter. "What is it Rowena?" he asked.

"There is much to discuss, brother."

"Yes, yes I know. But it can wait 'til the morning."

"I have sent word for Arik to retrieve the newcomers before breakfast. I fear we have only now." Annoyance flittered between them. Used to his disgruntled manner, Rowena shrugged it away and moved around the grand table to him. "Rohan, you know as well as I how much Drocomir sacrificed to get this book to us. More still as now we have the key to read it."

"But how can we trust these children? Just because they know our name, speak our words, and possess gifts does not make them who Drocomir wishes them to be."

"Perhaps not. But it does not change the fact that they are here. We trusted Drocomir to leave us for his prophecies. Why must our trust change because they have manifested at our doors?"

"Do not patronize me, sister. There are consequences to letting them stay and you know it."

"There will be even more if we let them go." She laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Rohan, please consider yourself. We have spent the better half of two centuries waiting for this. Now that we have the keys, we can find the others and restore what was broken. Just as Drocomir had seen. We can reclaim our seats with the others. We could go home."

"Is this not home, Rowena? Do we not live well?" He spun from her and sunk into his leather chair by the fire.

She shook her head, frowned. "It is not our home. We do not live here. We survive and we protect. But we do not live. In the least, consider using her. If she can read the book, then it is she we will need to find the others."

"She is a child," he countered.

"She is our last hope." Sighing, Rowena rounded the chair Rohan had sat in, sat on its edge. "It is not easy to lay all our faith in a stranger. I understand that. But if we choose to lay none and we are wrong, we doom us all."

Rohan pressed his fingers to his eyes. "I hear you, sister. I do. Yet I find I am grappling with this more than I should."

Sensing his hesitancy stemmed from a different source, she offered consolation. "You felt it, too." When he nodded, she wrapped her arms around him.

"I am shaken. I have not been in the presence of something so strong and powerful since we last rivaled the king."

"He was strong, yes. But today . . . today was different. Does the scry show anything?"

Shaking his head, he said. "It is as empty as ever."

"Then we must trust ourselves. If Drocomir believed her to be the one, then we must believe in him. Perhaps the stars have finally aligned in our favor."

"For the hope of all the gods, I certainly hope so."

They sat in the heavyweight of duty as they always have: together.