Two Queens (Seven Heavens Book 1) (25 page)

Greer

My grandfather. Greer. Orion's finger slid down the page, touching each line. He didn't recognize all the words—“fashion,” “fickle,” “sensational,” among others—but knew enough. His fingertip thrilled at the rough touch of the paper. The rest of the room fell into shadow. He saw a man's hands give a girl much like Adara the book. She opened it and read, then looked up. Orion could not see her expression but felt it in the poise of her shoulders and the line of her hair. She set the book aside and embraced the man. He was taller than her but stooped that he could not see his face for her hair.

She turned and looked at him and he saw his mother's face. But it was his face as he had never known before. No lines of worry tarnished her face. From it joy sprung radiant. He saw her, though she remained in her father's embrace, somehow hand the book to him.

He looked at the book in his hands and felt its weight. He glanced up quickly but she was no longer there, just an empty grate with no fire. He sighed and flipped the page.

On the left a single picture covered the full page. A young man stood dressed in the tunic of rough cloth with a rope for a belt. His right hand held an oaken staff and on his left shoulder a raven stood, wings half spread as if it had just landed. His hair was black and his eyes dark, a fiery dark much different than the raven's dusty blue-tinged hues.
“Apollo”
was inscribed below.

Orion looked at the text. It was daunting, a full page of block print. His head throbbed warm with the rest of his body cold. This was no time to read. He flipped through a couple pages. A line caught his eye – it had been underlined.

“I must live to bring freedom not only my sister but all sisters and all brothers, for only in doing so will I be free.”
In the left margin someone had written,
“Would that he lived again. We need him, again.”
The script, angular like wood chips, matched the dedication from the first page.

The next line was underlined as well, but with a different pen and less faded.
“I swear I will die before I let myself be enslaved.”
In the margin a note clarified:
“Will anyone understand?”
This script was different. The letters were round like water droplets.

He flipped forward some more pages, seeing both forms of writing, both angular and round. Sometimes they sprung up apart; more often they nestled close to each other. He turned the pages back to see if he had missed any early on but before he made it back to the quote he saw another picture.

This one was of a young woman. Her black hair fell straight and disappeared behind her shoulders. Her lips were redder than the apple in her dainty hands. A long red dress of many folds cascaded down to the short-cropped green grass. Half hidden by its train Orion noticed a chain, broken. He thought it odd.

He heard a noise next door. Boots tramping his way. He grabbed the papers and stuffed them in his clothes, cringing as he crumpled them. The door burst open and he looked up, frozen.

Adara sat in the dark. She heard Cora calling for her. She called back. Cora went on calling as if she hadn't heard. Adara's tears started once more. There was nothing worse than being halfway found only to remain lost. Lost? How could she be lost? Trapped.

She rested her cheek on her palm. Something brushed her wrist, something cold and hard. She remembered the necklace. Was this it? Had this been enchanted? She shuddered at its touch. Grabbing it in her fingers she tried pulling it off her neck but she could not. It was too small. She kept on pulling anyways, seeing if brute force could break the thing.

She gulped then coughed. A hasty pull had half choked her. She sputtered then breathed quickly, drinking in the life-giving air. Her distaste for the chain grew. She wondered why Cora had put it on her. She remembered the clasp. Her eager fingers fed the chain through and felt for the device but couldn't find it. She kept on searching. Adara tried holding the chain at one place with her left and feeling every link with her right. It was no use. The chain had become like the rooms: one long loop without exit.

Cora had mentioned enchantment. Perhaps this chain was enchanted. It must be. Theo had told her stories of this and that sorcerer or enchantress. She didn't pay much mind as Simon found this annoying. He didn't put much stock in such things. But then again, wasn't her way a sort of enchantment? Was she enchanted, or her family? From what Orion said his mother—her mother—had it too.

Had. Her mother was dead. And she—she had broken her enchantment, if that is what it was, somehow. Perhaps her gift had a condition. Everything did, it seemed, according to Theo. One small step awry and down came the wrath of the gods. What had she done? She couldn't remember much of that time, she thought she still did what she usually did. Her mind was occupied with Orion, wondering if Simon would let him go. If there was something she could do to persuade him.

Then that cruel morning when Simon did change his mind. That her long service had purchased their ransom. That they were free, with his blessing. She was a fool to have believed him.

And a fool still. Her fear of Evandor had decreased and she had almost forgotten Orion in her pleasure and shock at the extravagant new wardrobe. Had she forsaken him? She wondered who owned him now or if Simon still had cruel tricks to play. She dreamed she would meet him someplace, somewhere, in Avallonë. That their eyes could meet. That, no matter what had happened to her, she could smile to let him know that all was well.

And if he could smile back. She knew he'd still be a slave, worked hard at whatever his master chose, but she'd believe the smile as he would believe hers. And so time would go on but life would have stopped, only bound in a few sweet memories, the last hurried look.

She touched the chain. Perhaps it had a condition too. One she did not meet. Maybe it was not malicious will that trapped her here. She thought she sensed a whisper of a change in the chain. It seemed a hair lighter. But that was just foolish.

She thought back to her gift. I am broken. Something about this pleased her. That no more Simons might use her for evil ends. It was all moot now: she had lost her brother. However petted or dolled up she might be there would be nothing but sorrow within. She could enjoy nothing, now.

The thought struck her. Perhaps that is what broke her. Simon had used her, poured her out upon group after group of mistreated slaves. All of them she had delivered to Avallonë and, occasionally, Kyriopolis in full health. But she had been satisfied in the sacrifice. Orion's coming changed her. Broken her condition.

She felt used, empty, and alone. Why try to escape the rooms? Physical hunger could not be worse than this soul-starvation. And it would bring the end. Her lips pursed into a tight line. In the very moment that she thought all was despair a chink broke in the darkness and a single shaft of light flowed in. She remembered Orion's promise and fully disbelieved it. What could he do? This was no game with a few men in the middle of the country. They were in a city of stone with thousands.

But she believed it, all the same, as if someone other than Orion had said it. She knew not whom.

The steward stepped in. He looked at Orion. “My lord Paris requires your attendance,” he mocked. Orion went.

“What? No resistance? No sullen looks? Perhaps you've seen the error of your ways.” The steward left the door open behind them and guided Orion down a hall to another room, one Orion had not been in before. The steward opened the door. “My lord.”

The room inside had dark furniture and paneling. The only light came from a seven-flamed candelabra on a large pine desk. The corner to the far left, the furthest Orion could see beside the open door, had two large chairs, padded and stuffed, of a sort Orion had never seen before. The whole far wall seemed covered in cabinets. But what caught his eye was a large brick chimney on the right and Paris, standing precariously upon a chair, pushing a brick into place.

The steward grabbed Orion and pulled him back, at the same time shutting the door. His shoulder felt strange with the steward's fingers pinching next to his neck. He shook him, looking down. He felt dizzy.

He heard the door open. “Yes?” Paris's voice cut into the fog.

“I'm sorry, my lord, I thought you expected us. I didn't mean to interrupt.”

“Interrupt what? What's the matter with him?”

Orion raised his hands to his eyes. “Dust,” he blurted out. He wiped his eyes and looked at them. The steward looked ashen, Paris inquisitive. He put what he hoped was a blank look on his face.

“Fool.” Paris turned to the steward. “Call my carriage then help me dress. I have an engagement at the palace. If I catch you asleep on my return you will regret it.”

“Yes, sir. What about the boy?”

“What about him?”

“Am I to watch him too?”

“He can watch himself,” Paris thundered. “Why do you have to disturb me with your housekeeping?” A serene smile crossed his face. “My carriage, steward.”

They walked out of the room. Paris turned to lock the door then muttered under his breath. “Where's that key?”

“Shall I help you look for it, sir?”

“No, there's no time. You can look for it later. The palace requires me.” He sailed down the hall, leaving them alone.

The steward shoved Orion into a wall. “If you try any tricks, boy, I'll make you wish you hadn't. Get on,” he let him up and shoved him down the hall, “back to your room.”

Orion went on. He wouldn't do any tricks, least ways not right now, and so he sauntered back to his cheerless room. He pulled out his papers. They were badly creased but not much worse for the wear. He smoothed them out and tried reading some.

It wouldn't work. He kept on thinking of the loose brick in the chimney. What did Paris hide there? He had to find out. Would he really put the ring there? Orion laughed at himself. To think he could take the ring and escape as easy as that. But it would be something.

He felt anger and then pleasure. He wondered at this. Did he wish to hurt Paris, even if nothing came of it? Yes. Even if he remained enslaved, if he never saw his sister again, he wanted to hurt that malevolent thief in whatever way he could.

A thought of his father came to him, the one who could see Riley and his men in the light of day and consent to serve them. His father would be disappointed.

He brushed the thought aside. It wouldn't be hurting him to find out. He could decide once he found out what was there—money to hide for later use, a secret perhaps.

He hid his secret, his precious sheaf of papers, under a torn piece of carpet. He walked about in nervous energy, peeping out of the doorway. He couldn't see where the steward was. He waited.

Soon he heard horses. He drew back from the door as Paris strode by, now in different attire, with the funniest looking hat on and a coat, dark blue, that fell to his feet in two strips. It made Orion think of a blue-jay and he choked a laugh. The steward bowed him out, promising anew to find the key.

Orion took his chance. He slipped up the hall and darted into the next room. It wasn't much but it took him out of sight of the front rooms. He waited, hoping the steward would not check his room. Please, please, he whispered in the darkness.

He heard a door shut and papers rustle. The steward must be in the room opposite. Orion imagined his fingers getting mushed apple all over them as he searched for the lost key and quietly walked up the hall.

Within moments he stood outside the door. He feared it would open noisily but it did not. Luck was with him. He walked into the room and, seeing the chair still in its place, climbed up on it. Now where are you? He felt the bricks, forgetting which one Paris had replaced. He was about to dismount his chair and refresh his first glimpse when he felt one move.

He wiggled it with his fingers. It scraped and he stopped immediately. Don't be so scared, the steward can't hear me this far away. He jiggled it some more and started pulling it out. It felt lighter than it should. His excitement rose.

It caught like a poorly crafted drawer. He tugged harder and it came free. He shuddered, catching his balance on top of the chair. He took a long breath and lowered the brick. He could hardly believe his eyes.

Adara perked up her ears. “...is where I left her.” Cora's voice.

“What were you doing there?” an angry man's voice said. She guessed Evandor but wasn't sure. She hadn't heard that tone before.

“I took her to the mirror over the mantel in the Wood Room. I was just showing her what she looked like.”

“The Wood Room?” the man exclaimed.

Almost the moment he said it Adara saw Evandor step through the doorway. She stood up. “Please, sir, I'm sorry.” she stopped speaking. What was he angry about? Trespassing? Attempted theft?

“Oh you're alright.” Relief flooded his face. “My dear girl, if only you knew,” he walked toward her, arms lifted in embrace.

She cringed.

He paled and bit his lip. “No, I'm sorry. Let me take the necklace off and put it where it belongs. Then we'll get you back to your room.”

Adara blushed, embarrassed at having mistaken him. Did he think she thought him such a man?

Cora copied his tone. “Yes, and a hot bath and a nice cup of tea. You'll be fine in a moment.”

Adara turned around and held her hair out of the way.

“Let me,” Cora said. Adara felt her fingers fiddle with the chain. “Now where is the clasp?”

“You may not be able to find it,” Evandor said in a low voice. Cora gave a little shriek and dropped the chain. She backed away. “No, no, the chain's perfectly harmless.”

Adara felt large fingers touch her neck. She shuddered from the strain of trying not to. A mere second was all it took: he had the chain by one end and showed it to her. “All fixed now. Cora, please heat some water for Miss Adara's bath.”

With a “Yes'm” she rushed away.

Adara would have found being alone with Evandor awkward but for the urgent look on his face. One that said he had information for her, and her alone.

“I see you understand more of this then Cora does. She's a good sort but quite superstitious.” He set the chain back where it came from. “Long ago I played in these rooms. I found out the hard way, like you, that there is strong enchantment here.”

“But you said it was harmless?”

“I said the chain was harmless. It is these rooms. The year before me the tutor had a student who left shrouded in mystery. Not much was known why or wherefore. He had only been here a few months before his return, away to Kyriopolis, whereas most spent years, such was the privilege of Hermes' tutelage. Ah, and so I fall into spreading the same gossip I abhor in others. Anyways, when I asked Hermes, in all innocence, he said nothing but gave me such a look that I dare not question further.