Undiscovered

Grimswald echoed his way across the cold stone floor of the library, hunching desperately over a cane that looked much too thin for a man his size. His face was old and well-worn, with creases resembling the deep chasms of an ocean floor. Thick round eyeglasses framed his bearded face, yet he still squinted as he searched my eyes skeptically and critically.

"Lock up when you're done." He said gruffly, tossing me an old key on a worn leather cord.

I looked down as it thudded at my feet. I wanted to retort, but thought better of it, and instead simply bent down to clutch it in my hand. The key was heavier than I'd anticipated and it felt warm in my palm, almost magical if I didn't know any better.

I looked up at the man looming over me, at least 6 feet tall, perhaps taller- or at least comparably so- as I became increasingly aware of my slight frame. I brushed my hair out of my face and glanced at the looming stack of papers on my desk.

"You can't truly expect me to finish transcribing all these tonight, can you?" I regretted my words as soon as they'd left my lips. Grimswald, who'd begun walking away after he'd spoken, turned on his shiny leather heels to face me again. His eyebrows furrowed and I felt fire licking at my very being as he bore into me with dark, uncaring eyes.

"I can't, can I? It'd be a shame if I told the king that the lowly scribe couldn't even transcribe a few measly court documents, wouldn't it? You'll finish, and you'll lock up when you leave. No more, and certainly no less. Do I make myself clear?" He hissed into the silence of the back corner of the library.

I gulped, fearing that he may hear my heartbeat as it pounded purposefully against its space in my chest, realizing he was only inches away from my face as he spoke. No longer confident in my ability to form words without trembling, I simply nodded, and held my breath until he walked away once again. I didn't move until the clicking of his shoes and cane faded, and I heard the heavy wooden door slam shut behind him.

The light outside had long since faded and I worked by lamplight alone. The mess of parchment gave evidence to the cause of the shaking muscles in my forearm. I dipped my quill in the well of ink and came up nearly dry. Reluctantly, I readied my skirts and traversed to the desk at the front of the library to refill.

Approaching the desk, I bent down to where I knew the ink was kept, but something else caught my eye. Amidst the myriad of tattered and worn literature in the estate's library, there sat an oddly pristine black leather book. It was sitting on the shelf just the same as the rest, yet it somehow stood out in a manner I can't quite express. All I know is that I was so drawn to it that I felt myself reaching out towards it without giving my hand consent to do so. It was as if a magnetic, nearly magical, force was propelling me. I ran my thumb along the cover and the pad dipped into a key-shaped indent that looked like...

"A perfect fit." I whispered aloud in disbelief as the weighty library key flawlessly filled the void.

My hands warmed as the tangible power beneath them sprung into existence and I became aware of my own sudden inability to relinquish the book from my grasp. The book sprung open as if it had somehow been awaiting my touch. However instead of being faced with a wall of elegantly-penned words, my consciousness was instead transported to a different place entirely, with the book still in my hand as the only remaining shred of reality.

I looked around at a dark dungeon-like room that I'd never seen before; I certainly wasn't in the library anymore. I looked further into the room and I noticed there were people, seemingly unaware of my presence. Taking inventory of the scene I could clearly see the king, standing beside a woman I didn't recognize, laying in a bed. At her other side was Runesfeld Vandergras, the soft-spoken son of my incorrigible librarian boss. My eyes shifted to Runesfeld's arms and I saw he was carrying something, appearing to be a baby wrapped in a tattered blanket. The men looked down at the woman somberly and I began to grasp the scene I was beholding.

"You will take her to the chambers we discussed, where she will be looked after by the servant woman in the north wing. We will inform the people, my people, that they both died in childbirth. This will be told as the story of my heir's tragic death. No one shall know or speak of this... this bastard child conceived of your seed. " The rage evident in the king's voice as he hissed his orders to Runesfeld. He looked him up and down, taking in every inch of the man who he had once considered a friend. Making a visible concerted effort to shake those memories away, he instead focused on the fact that Runesfeld had an affair with his wife, and that decision's direct correlation to the death of his Queen. The King wasn't naive, no, he knew that his marriage to Eleanor had always been political; merely the aligning of his family of status and hers of wealth without title. Still, though, a drunken indiscretion such as this one… empires have come undone over less.

Runesfeld, seemingly startled by the sudden noise of the bundle in his arms, looked down at his crying child.

"Arabella," he whispered, voice shaking with emotion "your name would have been Arabella Priscilla Vandergras, and you'd be the rightful heir of Bramswaite upon my death."

The king looked at him, impervious to the pain he was experiencing.

"You've done enough, Runesfeld." He practically spat out his words, a mixture of anger and sadness colliding in his tone.

Runesfeld turned to leave as the king pulled the sheet over the Queen's lifeless body and looked down wistfully. As the pair turned, the baby's face flashed towards me and I saw a single fiery-red curl sticking out of the tightly-wrapped swaddling clothes. I slowly reached up with a shaking hand, feeling my own mess of ruby curls. I felt a connection to this baby that I couldn't explain, but I didn't have time to consider it before I felt a familiar sensation, as I was whisked to yet another foreign wing.

Looking to my left I saw Runesfeld and the infant, this time accompanied by a fair-skinned woman in maid's clothes, with her back turned to me. Anguish on his face, he handed the bundle to the woman. The two were speaking intensely, but in hushed tones.

"Please," Runesfeld pleaded, "one day, when the time is right, give her this book." My eyes fell on the leather book that I was holding in my hands after having found it in the library.

As the woman turned to take the book, light from a nearby window bathed her profile, illuminating her facial features. My jaw fell slack and I blinked a few times, unable to believe who stood before me. It couldn't be...

"I promise. I will do everything in my power to protect her, and I will do as you have requested, my Lord." Runesfeld caressed her face and they locked eyes for a moment, but she quickly looked down at the baby as if pulled from her contentedness by the realization that he'd betrayed her trust once before. Why then, would she honor him by raising his illegitimate child in secret when his reputation deserved ruining. Why would she lose the man she loved, and raise a baby she knew her barren womb could never have provided him. Why should she toil away with this constant reminder of her lost love, while he went into his own self-imposed exile.

She turned wordlessly, visibly closing off her emotions towards him in acknowledgement of their futility. She moved to close the door behind her, stopped only by Runesfeld's boot-clad foot.

"One more thing, Ravena. I want you to save this for her, until her 16th birthday. " Assuming he meant the leather-bound book, she nodded quickly, but he stopped her, handing over an envelope.

"What is this?" She asked, both curious and skeptical, not to mention altogether eager for his departure yet fully dreading his absence.

"You and I both know that the truth about her origins can never be revealed. It would undo the empire, it would ruin the reputation of the royal family, the kingdom of Cadellia, and shake the faith of the duchy Bramswaite in turn. But we also know I'd give anything for this child, or for you." He placed his hand delicately on her arm as he spoke. "I want you both to be taken care of. I want my daughter to make a respectable life for herself. The envelope contains 100,000 Shellecs, around 40,000 USD I'm told." He looked her in the eye as he added that last bit, knowing she'd dreamed of a life in America and wondering if she'd raise the baby there instead; a fresh start. "Half of it is for you to use as you see fit- consider it payment for agreeing to raise my daughter. The other half is for her, for her future. Save it, and tell her simply that her father loved her, even if she never knows who I am."

The room started spinning and I fell to the floor in a cold sweat as though I may faint. I watched the image of Ravena- the servant woman who I'd always believed was my mother- fade away as the library faded back into view. Hot tears stained my cheeks, a stark contrast against the cold stone beneath me. I wasn't Aria Eloise Marcellas, daughter of the king's servant woman, whose father had died in battle before my birth. I was Arabella Priscilla Vandergras, the heir of Bramswaite, daughter of the late Queen Eleanor, and of Runesfeld Vandergras. I looked down at my hands and saw the leather book in one, the key having fallen to the floor, but the other held an old, yellowed envelope bearing the name "Arabella'' in elegant scroll. I furrowed my brow as I considered the vastness of what my eyes and heart beheld. The very bedrock of my existence was eroding beneath me, and I wasn't even sure I could or would do anything about it.

With the knowledge that Runesfeld hadn't stayed away as he intended, I hesitated to open it, knowing what it contained. I knew he was still ruling Bramswaite, his father having been long since sent away from their lands, for reasons I wasn't privy to, as early 19th century European politics didn't really interest me much. Was it regarding my existence? Did Grimswald know that his own granddaughter was his weekday charge? Surely he couldn't, right? Startling me out of my thoughts, the clock tower struck midnight in the square nearby.

"Happy 16th birthday, Arabella." The clear, deep sound of man's voice spoke from nearby. I started visibly, then turned, unaware of anyone still being in the library.

"Sir, how did you get in--" I trailed off as I turned and looked at a face that I'd seen before, but never like this. Torn between anger, disbelief, confusion, and perhaps other emotions I didn't possess the eloquence for, I shakily squeaked out one word:

"...Father?"