The Essence
Page 38
a pet?
“Avonlea,” I whispered to no one, my teeth clenched.
“What did you say?” Florence asked, holding his bowl halfway to the table, soup dribbling from the corner of his mouth.
“Her name. It’s Avonlea.”
“Are you sure, Your Majesty?” Zafir asked as Florence set his bowl all the way down now and wiped his chin on his sleeve.
“Why not? It’s a good name. It once belonged to a queen of Ludania.” I glanced up at the woman and her eyes lifted to meet mine. They were soft and gray, just a hair away from blue. And for a moment, when I thought she might smile, the skin around them bunched up, crinkling like the gathers of Angelina’s pettiskirts. I said it to her, then, this time with finality. “Avonlea.”
She stood there for a moment, soaking it in. “Avonlea,” she finally repeated, with a voice that sounded unaccustomed to use, ragged and untried.
“Thank you for the soup, Avonlea,” I said, and then directed my attention to Florence. “Now tell us everything you know.”
I was still having a hard time piecing everything together, but I was glad to finally be alone with Zafir.
After dinner, Florence had shown us to a room he called a bedroom. It was barely bigger than a closet, but we could sleep in it nonetheless.
On the floor, there were two worn and musty bedrolls that looked as if they’d seen better days. Tired as I was, it didn’t really matter how they smelled. Besides, I’d slept on worse.
I collapsed wearily, my head falling against the lumpy pillow. Even from all the way in here, I could feel the cold night air seeping in from beneath the door—air that had found its way in from a crack in the base of the front door and was filling the entire house. I pulled the covers closer and rolled onto my side to look at Zafir, who was studying the map.
“I’ve seen that language before, you know?” I thought of the beautiful script work on Zafir’s sword—Danii, a weapon forged of steel and blood. It was an exact match to the handwriting on the map.
The corners of Zafir’s eyes crinkled. “I imagined you would recognize it.”
“Can you read it?”
He shrugged. “Some. My father tried to teach it to me when I was a boy. He thought tradition was important.”
“You’ve never told me where your family comes from, Zafir. What’s your heritage?”
There was a long pause, and then, “They fled from the eastern region during the Carbon wars. The language is Gaullish, but it was the prevailing language of at least a dozen countries in that region at the time.”
I eased myself into sitting position. “And now? How many of those countries still speak it?”
“Four. Maybe five. That leaves several million people who could’ve made this map.”
I chewed on that for moment, and then met his gaze. “Well, somehow that person has found an insider in the palace to work with. We have a traitor in our midst.”
Zafir looked at me, his expression grim when he nodded. “I suspected as much,” he answered before turning his attention back to the map.
I wasn’t sure what to make of that. I supposed I’d wanted Zafir to convince me that everything would be all right. To tell me my suspicions were wrong, because I wanted so badly to be wrong in this instance.
“I’m sure we’re safe for tonight. You should probably get some rest,” I tried, but I knew it was pointless.
“I don’t trust him. Not entirely. I’ll feel better once we’re on our way again.”
He was right, of course. Not that I didn’t trust Florence, necessarily. Of that, I still couldn’t be certain. Yet I didn’t care for him, really. He was vulgar, which made no difference to me one way or the other. I could handle vulgar. It was the way he treated the girl, Avonlea, and his son that made my skin itch with resentment.
But he’d made arrangements for us to leave at dawn, providing us with horses and men that he assured us we could trust to take us north, to continue on our way to the summit.
I’d assumed we’d be heading back to the palace, but after hearing Florence out, after the information he’d revealed about a potential assassination attempt, both he and Zafir had come to the conclusion that it made sense for us to keep going, to keep me away until Max cleared things up at home.
And I desperately hoped that would be soon, because I missed my family. And, most of all, I missed Max.
“How long will it take us to get there?” I asked.
“Assuming the other riders don’t slow us down and we ride hard enough, we should make it to the ferry in about two days’ time.”
I grimaced. “And assuming I’m one of the riders?”
Zafir smiled, a small, knowing look. “Three days. You can do this; I have faith in you.”
I did my best to smile back at him, but the idea of three days on horseback made my stomach knot. “At least one of us does.”
There was a soft knock at the door and Zafir stiffened, his hand moving involuntarily to his sword, which he’d insisted be returned to him. Florence had stopped arguing when he realized the guard wasn’t messing around, that his very life was at risk.
I raised my hand as I crept closer to investigate. “Who is it?” I called out.
The pause was prolonged, and I thought that maybe whoever had been there had changed their mind and gone. But then I heard a voice, slight and hesitant. “A-Avonlea, Your Majesty,” she said at last.
“Avonlea,” I whispered to no one, my teeth clenched.
“What did you say?” Florence asked, holding his bowl halfway to the table, soup dribbling from the corner of his mouth.
“Her name. It’s Avonlea.”
“Are you sure, Your Majesty?” Zafir asked as Florence set his bowl all the way down now and wiped his chin on his sleeve.
“Why not? It’s a good name. It once belonged to a queen of Ludania.” I glanced up at the woman and her eyes lifted to meet mine. They were soft and gray, just a hair away from blue. And for a moment, when I thought she might smile, the skin around them bunched up, crinkling like the gathers of Angelina’s pettiskirts. I said it to her, then, this time with finality. “Avonlea.”
She stood there for a moment, soaking it in. “Avonlea,” she finally repeated, with a voice that sounded unaccustomed to use, ragged and untried.
“Thank you for the soup, Avonlea,” I said, and then directed my attention to Florence. “Now tell us everything you know.”
I was still having a hard time piecing everything together, but I was glad to finally be alone with Zafir.
After dinner, Florence had shown us to a room he called a bedroom. It was barely bigger than a closet, but we could sleep in it nonetheless.
On the floor, there were two worn and musty bedrolls that looked as if they’d seen better days. Tired as I was, it didn’t really matter how they smelled. Besides, I’d slept on worse.
I collapsed wearily, my head falling against the lumpy pillow. Even from all the way in here, I could feel the cold night air seeping in from beneath the door—air that had found its way in from a crack in the base of the front door and was filling the entire house. I pulled the covers closer and rolled onto my side to look at Zafir, who was studying the map.
“I’ve seen that language before, you know?” I thought of the beautiful script work on Zafir’s sword—Danii, a weapon forged of steel and blood. It was an exact match to the handwriting on the map.
The corners of Zafir’s eyes crinkled. “I imagined you would recognize it.”
“Can you read it?”
He shrugged. “Some. My father tried to teach it to me when I was a boy. He thought tradition was important.”
“You’ve never told me where your family comes from, Zafir. What’s your heritage?”
There was a long pause, and then, “They fled from the eastern region during the Carbon wars. The language is Gaullish, but it was the prevailing language of at least a dozen countries in that region at the time.”
I eased myself into sitting position. “And now? How many of those countries still speak it?”
“Four. Maybe five. That leaves several million people who could’ve made this map.”
I chewed on that for moment, and then met his gaze. “Well, somehow that person has found an insider in the palace to work with. We have a traitor in our midst.”
Zafir looked at me, his expression grim when he nodded. “I suspected as much,” he answered before turning his attention back to the map.
I wasn’t sure what to make of that. I supposed I’d wanted Zafir to convince me that everything would be all right. To tell me my suspicions were wrong, because I wanted so badly to be wrong in this instance.
“I’m sure we’re safe for tonight. You should probably get some rest,” I tried, but I knew it was pointless.
“I don’t trust him. Not entirely. I’ll feel better once we’re on our way again.”
He was right, of course. Not that I didn’t trust Florence, necessarily. Of that, I still couldn’t be certain. Yet I didn’t care for him, really. He was vulgar, which made no difference to me one way or the other. I could handle vulgar. It was the way he treated the girl, Avonlea, and his son that made my skin itch with resentment.
But he’d made arrangements for us to leave at dawn, providing us with horses and men that he assured us we could trust to take us north, to continue on our way to the summit.
I’d assumed we’d be heading back to the palace, but after hearing Florence out, after the information he’d revealed about a potential assassination attempt, both he and Zafir had come to the conclusion that it made sense for us to keep going, to keep me away until Max cleared things up at home.
And I desperately hoped that would be soon, because I missed my family. And, most of all, I missed Max.
“How long will it take us to get there?” I asked.
“Assuming the other riders don’t slow us down and we ride hard enough, we should make it to the ferry in about two days’ time.”
I grimaced. “And assuming I’m one of the riders?”
Zafir smiled, a small, knowing look. “Three days. You can do this; I have faith in you.”
I did my best to smile back at him, but the idea of three days on horseback made my stomach knot. “At least one of us does.”
There was a soft knock at the door and Zafir stiffened, his hand moving involuntarily to his sword, which he’d insisted be returned to him. Florence had stopped arguing when he realized the guard wasn’t messing around, that his very life was at risk.
I raised my hand as I crept closer to investigate. “Who is it?” I called out.
The pause was prolonged, and I thought that maybe whoever had been there had changed their mind and gone. But then I heard a voice, slight and hesitant. “A-Avonlea, Your Majesty,” she said at last.
