The High King's Tomb
Page 69
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“I see no flaws.”
“I am but an ordinary woman.”
“A woman, yes,” he said. “I had noticed that. But ordinary? I think not.”
Estora should have blushed, but she could only sigh. She had heard it all before, all the flattery from so many men. Only F’ryan ever reached her with his words.
He gazed boldly at her. She had seen the hunger on the faces of men before, from the promise of power a marriage alliance would secure, or raw lust for her body. Amberhill carried something altogether different in his demeanor. Yes, the desire was there, but allied with a cocky self-confidence and a residue of…of mockery?
He chuckled and shook his head. “You take yourself much too seriously, my lady.”
Estora’s mouth dropped open and she did not know what to say.
“I must be off,” Amberhill said with surprising brusqueness. He gave her one of his graceful bows. “It’s been an honor.” He strode off and she could only watch him go, his gait fluid like a cat’s, sleek, belying tautly corded muscles ready to pounce.
How dare he? she fumed. And when she realized how much she was admiring the view of him from behind, she turned away, her cheeks warming.
To accuse her of taking herself too seriously and then run off? How dare he?
Coward.
She set off along the garden path at a furious rate not caring where her feet led her. Why did she allow him to prickle her so badly? She paused and took some breaths, willing calm to blanket her. He had been playing with her. And perhaps he prickled her because he was right: she took herself too seriously.
She started along the path again, but at a more sedate pace. There was no other way to be. Only F’ryan had lifted her cool introspection from her. He made her laugh like a girl; his lovemaking took her to the core of her being, made her real. He unlocked her true self.
She had been drawn to F’ryan by his roguish charm, his reckless humor, and his bald honesty. With a start, she realized that Xandis Pierce Amberhill exhibited something of F’ryan’s roguish nature, and he had been nothing if not honest.
A QUEEN’S PLACE
Amberhill’s abrupt departure did little to improve Estora’s humor. Feeling rather damp and chilled, she abandoned the gardens for the indoors, but she could not bear to return to the family quarters and her mother’s crowded chamber where the women must surely still be sampling the wines and dainties.
She often walked the castle corridors, especially when the weather was inclement, and after so long as a resident, she’d grown to know them well, from the dwellings of servants and the bustling administrative wing to the plush monarch’s wing, of which one day she would be an inhabitant.
She made now for the castle library with sure steps. Often it was a quiet refuge that few took advantage of. She could not imagine why, for it contained an impressive collection of books both rare and common, covering histories, herb lore, poetry, fiction, and more. She especially enjoyed leafing through ancient manuscripts, painstakingly lettered by hand and illuminated with bright inks and gold leaf. These eldest of texts were written in Old Sacoridian, so she understood very little of the content, but she was drawn to the artistry. The printing press, with its movable type, made books more widely available and in greater quantities, but they contained little of the visual beauty of their predecessors.
The library was located on the west side of the main castle, not far from the monarch’s wing. To her relief, she encountered few people along the way and those who she did simply nodded courteously as she passed by and did not hinder her.
When she arrived at the library, she found the great doors wide open, and bronze light puddling beneath the arched entry. Her silent Weapon slipped by her and into the library chamber to ensure no dangers awaited her. Perhaps a venomous bookworm? A tome of vicious intent overhanging its shelf ready to pounce on her head? She smiled and entered.
Whenever she stepped into the library, she always had a sense of the castle walls falling away, an enormous space expanding around her. The main chamber was circular with marble columns supporting a domed ceiling, which was painted with constellations, accentuating the feeling of vastness. Colorful book bindings lined the walls, starting from the floor and soaring up two stories. The upper levels were accessed by spiraling stairs and narrow walkways that looked over brass banisters to the main chamber below.
On each level, books on high shelves could be reached by rolling ladders. Despite the extensive proportions of the chamber, Estora was not intimidated, but rather seduced, for all the books housed there contained inestimable amounts of knowledge just waiting to be discovered and devoured.
She glanced about in pleasure, as she always did when entering the room, and found Master Fogg, a man of middling years, poised over his desk, scrutinizing a tall stack of volumes. When he noted her presence, he hopped off his stool and bowed to her.
“My lady! Such an honor to see you again. Is there anything with which I may assist you?”
“No, thank you,” she said. “I’m going to browse the stacks.”
“Very good,” he said. “Please call me the instant you have a need.”
“I shall.”
A fire blazed and flickered in the grand hearth which was tucked into an alcove. A pair of comfortable chairs were situated before it, a Hillander terrier sprawled across one of them, its legs twitching in a dream. With a start, Estora realized that where there was a Hillander terrier, there was likely to be the king. She glanced around again, seeing only a pile of books on one of the tables in the center of the chamber, and a black cloak draped across a chair. If it was indeed the king, then he must be in the long room beyond the main chamber, which was also filled with books.
“I am but an ordinary woman.”
“A woman, yes,” he said. “I had noticed that. But ordinary? I think not.”
Estora should have blushed, but she could only sigh. She had heard it all before, all the flattery from so many men. Only F’ryan ever reached her with his words.
He gazed boldly at her. She had seen the hunger on the faces of men before, from the promise of power a marriage alliance would secure, or raw lust for her body. Amberhill carried something altogether different in his demeanor. Yes, the desire was there, but allied with a cocky self-confidence and a residue of…of mockery?
He chuckled and shook his head. “You take yourself much too seriously, my lady.”
Estora’s mouth dropped open and she did not know what to say.
“I must be off,” Amberhill said with surprising brusqueness. He gave her one of his graceful bows. “It’s been an honor.” He strode off and she could only watch him go, his gait fluid like a cat’s, sleek, belying tautly corded muscles ready to pounce.
How dare he? she fumed. And when she realized how much she was admiring the view of him from behind, she turned away, her cheeks warming.
To accuse her of taking herself too seriously and then run off? How dare he?
Coward.
She set off along the garden path at a furious rate not caring where her feet led her. Why did she allow him to prickle her so badly? She paused and took some breaths, willing calm to blanket her. He had been playing with her. And perhaps he prickled her because he was right: she took herself too seriously.
She started along the path again, but at a more sedate pace. There was no other way to be. Only F’ryan had lifted her cool introspection from her. He made her laugh like a girl; his lovemaking took her to the core of her being, made her real. He unlocked her true self.
She had been drawn to F’ryan by his roguish charm, his reckless humor, and his bald honesty. With a start, she realized that Xandis Pierce Amberhill exhibited something of F’ryan’s roguish nature, and he had been nothing if not honest.
A QUEEN’S PLACE
Amberhill’s abrupt departure did little to improve Estora’s humor. Feeling rather damp and chilled, she abandoned the gardens for the indoors, but she could not bear to return to the family quarters and her mother’s crowded chamber where the women must surely still be sampling the wines and dainties.
She often walked the castle corridors, especially when the weather was inclement, and after so long as a resident, she’d grown to know them well, from the dwellings of servants and the bustling administrative wing to the plush monarch’s wing, of which one day she would be an inhabitant.
She made now for the castle library with sure steps. Often it was a quiet refuge that few took advantage of. She could not imagine why, for it contained an impressive collection of books both rare and common, covering histories, herb lore, poetry, fiction, and more. She especially enjoyed leafing through ancient manuscripts, painstakingly lettered by hand and illuminated with bright inks and gold leaf. These eldest of texts were written in Old Sacoridian, so she understood very little of the content, but she was drawn to the artistry. The printing press, with its movable type, made books more widely available and in greater quantities, but they contained little of the visual beauty of their predecessors.
The library was located on the west side of the main castle, not far from the monarch’s wing. To her relief, she encountered few people along the way and those who she did simply nodded courteously as she passed by and did not hinder her.
When she arrived at the library, she found the great doors wide open, and bronze light puddling beneath the arched entry. Her silent Weapon slipped by her and into the library chamber to ensure no dangers awaited her. Perhaps a venomous bookworm? A tome of vicious intent overhanging its shelf ready to pounce on her head? She smiled and entered.
Whenever she stepped into the library, she always had a sense of the castle walls falling away, an enormous space expanding around her. The main chamber was circular with marble columns supporting a domed ceiling, which was painted with constellations, accentuating the feeling of vastness. Colorful book bindings lined the walls, starting from the floor and soaring up two stories. The upper levels were accessed by spiraling stairs and narrow walkways that looked over brass banisters to the main chamber below.
On each level, books on high shelves could be reached by rolling ladders. Despite the extensive proportions of the chamber, Estora was not intimidated, but rather seduced, for all the books housed there contained inestimable amounts of knowledge just waiting to be discovered and devoured.
She glanced about in pleasure, as she always did when entering the room, and found Master Fogg, a man of middling years, poised over his desk, scrutinizing a tall stack of volumes. When he noted her presence, he hopped off his stool and bowed to her.
“My lady! Such an honor to see you again. Is there anything with which I may assist you?”
“No, thank you,” she said. “I’m going to browse the stacks.”
“Very good,” he said. “Please call me the instant you have a need.”
“I shall.”
A fire blazed and flickered in the grand hearth which was tucked into an alcove. A pair of comfortable chairs were situated before it, a Hillander terrier sprawled across one of them, its legs twitching in a dream. With a start, Estora realized that where there was a Hillander terrier, there was likely to be the king. She glanced around again, seeing only a pile of books on one of the tables in the center of the chamber, and a black cloak draped across a chair. If it was indeed the king, then he must be in the long room beyond the main chamber, which was also filled with books.
