Page 17 of Aubade Rising
Her face softens at my question and she chews on her bottom lip before making a decision. She holds her hand up to quiet me and I feel a strong breeze blow past me, whistling through the stacks behind. Haelyn cocks her head, listening intently. As the wind returns – blowing my hair in my eyes – she nods, satisfied. “We’re alone, we can speak freely.”
A faint scent of parchment and pine lingers in the air as my brain stutters. “That was an impressive piece of magic.”
“Thanks. My attitude is what secured me the role here. Unfortunately, using it is necessary for this conversation; I can’t risk us being overheard. You have to promise not to share thiswith anyone?”
“Your attitude?”It’s the first time I’ve encountered the term.
“I’ll explain later. I guess I owe you that much after avoiding you. Do you promise?” I notice the dark circles under her eyes and nod quickly. I wait patiently for her to continue and she gestures for me to sit. She’s at home hidden amongst the books.
“Kevren Gwir meansold truthin old Mordrish. It used to be the name of a fanatic group that believed in a different way to channel and wield magic. They believed magic should be for everyone. I’m talking about a long time ago though, over a hundred years. I found out about them because I stumbled across a reference to them in a text in Tanwen Library, before I came here. The original uprising started there.” She takes a breath, her shoulders lower as she unburdens herself. “They were murdered. Disbanded during the last attempt at an uprising. But now they’re back. Or the rebels have taken that name to carry on their mission. Either way, I panicked when I heard that name. I was worried I’d come under suspicion. Bear in mind it’s my hometown. I am terrified of being accused of being a rebel. Things might be different with King Cado on the throne but people are still tortured for information.”
I privately grimace to myself, wincing at the memory of my muscles spasming and twitching under the Almanac’s instruction.
“Thank you for sharing. I won’t say a word.” I try to smile reassuringly but feel my face freeze halfway, unsettled by the memory of my interrogation. Haelyn returns my attempt at a smile, but our mouths fail to fully rise as we consider the implications of Haelyn’s position on the Concord and her association with the rebels, however tenuous.
“So, what is an attitude? Tell me more?” I try to change the topic but my effort at distraction is weak and Haelyn remains tense.
“It’s not a secret per se…” She looks around and I feel the artificial wind ruffle my ponytail and chill the back of my neck.
Evidently satisfied, she reaches into the bag resting at the foot of her desk and pulls out a large, aged tome.
“This book is the authority on the subject. Magical attitudes were well documented before the Difan was introduced.” King Feoh, was responsible for invading Trevesiga and putting Aubades in their rightful place. A paranoid dictator, determined to solidify power in Trevesiga, he created the first decree segregating our classes. Splitting people by magical ability and forcing subservience is easy when you have fathomless quantities of power at your fingertips.
“Every Mordros has an attitude although the ruling families are discreet about theirs. Few records exist of Zephyrs with them, even fewer of Aubades.” She coughs delicately, avoiding my stare. “I think there has to be a certain amount of magic stored for an attitude to manifest.”
“People’s power can manifest differently,” she continues. “They inherit a particular skill or trait, like the ability to use wind to sense other’s presence, to shut off breath and suffocate or to carry their voice in the breeze over large distances. These are Zephyr attitudes, but this book states the Mordros have them too.” Another way Aubades are outmatched then. “I’m starting to learn about them myself, I can lend you the book once I’ve finished.”
I half-heartedly accept in order to spare her feelings, not really wanting to learn more about what I will never achieve but recognising she’s offering me an olive branch to repair our friendship.
Chapter 16
I acknowledge I might be more than a little annoyed at the lack of progress when I come close to burnout for the third time this week. Pentargon Library declined my request to visit again. There’s no news from Howl on anything that could progress my research. Haelyn and I have tentatively made up but she’s starting to get suspicious when I won’t give details on what I’m researching. I don’t want to lose her again. Above all else, achieving the Gallos feels insurmountable. I refuse to let my paltry amount of magic be an obstacle for my research. I don’t even think it’s my magic that’s giving me problems. I can’t visualise it taking any other shape at all. It’s like imagining your arm is a leg, or something like that. My mind is completely blank and unless I’m directly looking at something in front of me, then I cannot begin to picture it in my mind. I spend hours upon hours, late into the night, trying to coax magic out of my body in individual strands so I can mould it in front of me: nothing works.
At least the weather agrees with me; the winter storms have given way to incessant, gloomy rain so after days holed up in my laboratory achieving nothing, I crave a change of scenery. As the leaden dawn breaks, I take my bad mood out of the palace and away from work to Koes Dowr. The iron gates welcome me over the bridge to the hidden garden, where a slice of serenity beckons. Each step over the bridge tempts me to leave my worries behind.
With the changing seasons, what was a gently flowing stream with stone pebbles to walk over, is now a gushing river with large parts of the garden made inaccessible. The storms are thewarning for the annual floods. Soon the entirety of the city will be swollen with river water. The reminder of how my parents perished is brutal. I’m careful to stay on high ground and take a new route through the garden.
The dark grey sky provides little daylight; the sun hasn’t fully surfaced over the high cliffs behind the palace and deep silhouettes drift in the winds. I focus on breathing slowly, to keep my fear at bay, reminding myself they are trees and branches, nothing more. Pushing on, I walk further into the garden, ignoring the cold rain on my cheeks. Though immersed in the little wood, I notice I’m not alone.
The King sits in the riverbed, unbothered by the rushing water or rain, legs crossed and hands submerged. His eyes are lightly closed and peaceful, but faint lines bracket his mouth and his jaw is tense. Damp clothes cling to his broad shoulders. He doesn’t only spend his days politicking in the palace, then. I’m relieved he’s not able to see my blush as I notice the cut of his arms and shoulders under the wet cotton.
Raindrops runs down his face, changing direction over his sharp cheekbones. Perhaps he was looking for solitude too.I lean against a pine and watch him meditate.
I don’t know what draws his notice but his eyes open and his body tenses. He turns and peers through the trees, now on edge. I move out of his peripheral vision, letting him see me, hands up so he knows I’m not a threat.
His bland half-smile is one I imagine he’s perfected when talking to his subjects. I suspect he expects me to apologise and back off.
But I have nowhere else to go and, besides, the garden’s big enough for us both. I step forwards to continue on my walk but the flooding means I have to venture closer to him first.
I can tell the moment he recognises me because the bland smile disappears and he arches his head. “We have somethingin common after all, Alchemist. We keep meeting when one or the other of us is in wet clothes.” His dry humour masks his emotions and I can’t tell whether he’s angry or amused.
“At least mine was an accident; intentionally choosing to sit in a river is a strange pastime indeed,” I call as I continue past.
“Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it.” He adds, “It was peaceful until you came stomping through.”
“Well, I’m sorry to have disturbed you, Your Highness.” I make sure my tone implies it but I am certainly not apologising.
As I walk off, he calls out, “Join me. You look like you need the company. I could push you in if you want it to look like an accident?”
