Several Takarans, his mother, and both his brothers had taken to playing a game of cards in the parlor. His father had retired for the evening, and so Aven remained, attending to the conversation absently.
“No, Dom—you can’t play that now,” Jerrin was saying after a card went down. Aven’s youngest brother was still learning to play. Or so he claimed. Aven suspected Dom might just be toying with the head ambassador.
“This one? No? What about this one?”
“Dom!” Thel snapped, after his youngest brother had shown nearly all his remaining cards to the group.
“Sorry!” Dom laughed.
The game did not seem to be going terribly well.
“Prince Aven,” Teron said, “your mother mentioned you are quite a fan of the stars.” Teron was Jerrin’s second, one of the highest ranked in the group, below only Jerrin. What exactly any of them were in charge of, Aven could never seem to get them to say. His skin was darker than Jerrin’s, sporting the usual brown of Takar and then some, and he had a friendly smile.
“Well, yes. I’ve studied them very much. A hobby of mine,” Aven said, pleased to talk about something interesting.
“Shame you see them so rarely, then!”
“Truer words have not been said.” Aven chuckled.
“I have dabbled a bit as well; the sky in Takar is mostly the same as here. What are your favorite stars? Surely you have some.” As it came to Teron’s turn, he laid down a card, but his attention was focused on Aven.
“Well, in a sea of beauty there is a lot of competition, but I do have a few. It’s hard not to appreciate the glitter of Neka, so bright and low in the sky. The clusters of the Muses and Erepha have such lovely, strange shapes.”
“Arts and sciences—good stars to guide your life by. Indeed, it’s hard to find fault with any of them,” Teron said, grinning. “Anefin is a favorite of mine, the star of prosperity.”
“Ah, yes, the stories behind them all can make some better and some worse. The story of Anefin being coaxed into the sky is one of the best! But Casel, to the south—it has a certain strange twinkle that I quite like. That might be my favorite. Yes, I think so.”
“Casel! Excellent choice. Yes, I know the strange twinkle you mean, like it’s winking at you. The star of deliverance, of liberation. A mighty star.” Teron gave him a broad, genuine smile. “That one makes sense for you, my lord. Your guiding star, I’m sure of it.”
An odd comment indeed. “What makes you say that?”
“Ah, just a gut feeling, I suppose,” said Teron. Aven felt distinctly sure there was some subtext, some hidden message Teron was trying to communicate that Aven wasn’t catching.
Could they know? But what did stars have to do with any of it?
“And what is your guiding star, Teron?” Jerrin asked.
“He doesn’t need another—Anefin of prosperity indeed!” Aven’s mother said, laughing. “He’s won the whole hand without paying attention.”
Teron chuckled. Aven found himself smiling at his book. Could it be their guests were growing on him? Teron’s words were as good a compliment as he’d ever received. Certainly better than Evana’s had been. He had never thought of a star as a guide, but if he had to choose one…
Teron stood from the game and strode to fetch two books from a table across the room, then handed them to Aven. “I thought of this subject because I have been immersing myself in your wonderful library. These are absolutely brilliant. Have you read them?”
Aven took the leather volumes and turned them over in his hands. He couldn’t recall ever having seen them before, and he was no stranger in the library. “Actually, no. Where did you find these?”
“There is a high shelf by the tall eastern windows you can reach with two ladders—do you know the area?” Teron spoke quietly, subtly separating their conversation from the rest of the room.
“Yes, but I can’t recall ever looking there.”
“It was terribly dusty, I must say, so that makes sense. I think no one had been up there in quite some time. I find sometimes the most valuable things are hidden right there in plain sight. Wouldn’t you agree?” Teron’s words had an odd emphasis, as though he was trying to communicate more than he was saying. His smile spread into a grin, and he folded his arms across his chest. The other Takarans busied themselves with the cards, books, other things, as if their conversation was entirely uninteresting.
Aven’s eyes locked with Teron, and he didn’t look away. He didn’t care what awkwardness it might create. Teron, ever the diplomat, knew how to smile and shift his weight to ease the moment more than most would have been able to, entirely comfortable under Aven’s gaze. What could he be referring to? He was trying to tell him something, but what?
Could it be… ?
Could he know? If he did, he had a strange way of showing it.
“This one,” said Teron, pointing to one with a blue leather cover inlaid with copper designs, “is about Casel in particular.”
Aven opened the book and flipped through the pages. How strange. It seemed to be partly in another language he didn’t recognize. And as part of his duties, he knew enough of nearly all languages to recognize them on paper.
“Excuse me,” Teron said, “but I must get a touch more brandy.”
All too conveniently, Aven was alone with the books. He looked more closely at the lovely cover, the metal inlay illustrating Casel and her sisters shimmering in the dim firelight. Was it his imagination, or did they glisten brighter than the fire should let them? He propped his elbows on the arms of his chair and leafed through the pages.
A folded sheet of paper slid out of the book and fell in his lap.
He unfolded the thick, rough paper. A map of stars and constellations was scrawled in an ancient hand in blue ink. Strange notes adorned the margins in an old, old language—Serabain. He knew it, but very little.
“Prince Aven!” Lord Dyon’s voice made him jump in surprise in the quiet parlor. Teron, who had been talking to Steward Fayton near the door, moved casually as though to look at an artifact, putting himself between Dyon and Aven. Was it his imagination, or was Teron blocking Dyon’s view of the books?
Aven hastily folded up the paper and slipped it into his pocket as he stood.
“Yes, Lord Dyon,” he said.
“No, Dom—you can’t play that now,” Jerrin was saying after a card went down. Aven’s youngest brother was still learning to play. Or so he claimed. Aven suspected Dom might just be toying with the head ambassador.
“This one? No? What about this one?”
“Dom!” Thel snapped, after his youngest brother had shown nearly all his remaining cards to the group.
“Sorry!” Dom laughed.
The game did not seem to be going terribly well.
“Prince Aven,” Teron said, “your mother mentioned you are quite a fan of the stars.” Teron was Jerrin’s second, one of the highest ranked in the group, below only Jerrin. What exactly any of them were in charge of, Aven could never seem to get them to say. His skin was darker than Jerrin’s, sporting the usual brown of Takar and then some, and he had a friendly smile.
“Well, yes. I’ve studied them very much. A hobby of mine,” Aven said, pleased to talk about something interesting.
“Shame you see them so rarely, then!”
“Truer words have not been said.” Aven chuckled.
“I have dabbled a bit as well; the sky in Takar is mostly the same as here. What are your favorite stars? Surely you have some.” As it came to Teron’s turn, he laid down a card, but his attention was focused on Aven.
“Well, in a sea of beauty there is a lot of competition, but I do have a few. It’s hard not to appreciate the glitter of Neka, so bright and low in the sky. The clusters of the Muses and Erepha have such lovely, strange shapes.”
“Arts and sciences—good stars to guide your life by. Indeed, it’s hard to find fault with any of them,” Teron said, grinning. “Anefin is a favorite of mine, the star of prosperity.”
“Ah, yes, the stories behind them all can make some better and some worse. The story of Anefin being coaxed into the sky is one of the best! But Casel, to the south—it has a certain strange twinkle that I quite like. That might be my favorite. Yes, I think so.”
“Casel! Excellent choice. Yes, I know the strange twinkle you mean, like it’s winking at you. The star of deliverance, of liberation. A mighty star.” Teron gave him a broad, genuine smile. “That one makes sense for you, my lord. Your guiding star, I’m sure of it.”
An odd comment indeed. “What makes you say that?”
“Ah, just a gut feeling, I suppose,” said Teron. Aven felt distinctly sure there was some subtext, some hidden message Teron was trying to communicate that Aven wasn’t catching.
Could they know? But what did stars have to do with any of it?
“And what is your guiding star, Teron?” Jerrin asked.
“He doesn’t need another—Anefin of prosperity indeed!” Aven’s mother said, laughing. “He’s won the whole hand without paying attention.”
Teron chuckled. Aven found himself smiling at his book. Could it be their guests were growing on him? Teron’s words were as good a compliment as he’d ever received. Certainly better than Evana’s had been. He had never thought of a star as a guide, but if he had to choose one…
Teron stood from the game and strode to fetch two books from a table across the room, then handed them to Aven. “I thought of this subject because I have been immersing myself in your wonderful library. These are absolutely brilliant. Have you read them?”
Aven took the leather volumes and turned them over in his hands. He couldn’t recall ever having seen them before, and he was no stranger in the library. “Actually, no. Where did you find these?”
“There is a high shelf by the tall eastern windows you can reach with two ladders—do you know the area?” Teron spoke quietly, subtly separating their conversation from the rest of the room.
“Yes, but I can’t recall ever looking there.”
“It was terribly dusty, I must say, so that makes sense. I think no one had been up there in quite some time. I find sometimes the most valuable things are hidden right there in plain sight. Wouldn’t you agree?” Teron’s words had an odd emphasis, as though he was trying to communicate more than he was saying. His smile spread into a grin, and he folded his arms across his chest. The other Takarans busied themselves with the cards, books, other things, as if their conversation was entirely uninteresting.
Aven’s eyes locked with Teron, and he didn’t look away. He didn’t care what awkwardness it might create. Teron, ever the diplomat, knew how to smile and shift his weight to ease the moment more than most would have been able to, entirely comfortable under Aven’s gaze. What could he be referring to? He was trying to tell him something, but what?
Could it be… ?
Could he know? If he did, he had a strange way of showing it.
“This one,” said Teron, pointing to one with a blue leather cover inlaid with copper designs, “is about Casel in particular.”
Aven opened the book and flipped through the pages. How strange. It seemed to be partly in another language he didn’t recognize. And as part of his duties, he knew enough of nearly all languages to recognize them on paper.
“Excuse me,” Teron said, “but I must get a touch more brandy.”
All too conveniently, Aven was alone with the books. He looked more closely at the lovely cover, the metal inlay illustrating Casel and her sisters shimmering in the dim firelight. Was it his imagination, or did they glisten brighter than the fire should let them? He propped his elbows on the arms of his chair and leafed through the pages.
A folded sheet of paper slid out of the book and fell in his lap.
He unfolded the thick, rough paper. A map of stars and constellations was scrawled in an ancient hand in blue ink. Strange notes adorned the margins in an old, old language—Serabain. He knew it, but very little.
“Prince Aven!” Lord Dyon’s voice made him jump in surprise in the quiet parlor. Teron, who had been talking to Steward Fayton near the door, moved casually as though to look at an artifact, putting himself between Dyon and Aven. Was it his imagination, or was Teron blocking Dyon’s view of the books?
Aven hastily folded up the paper and slipped it into his pocket as he stood.
“Yes, Lord Dyon,” he said.
