A few days later, far away in King Hanor’s palace, a man with white hair brushing into the brown at his temples sat behind a carved cherry wood desk. The hands which held the parchment before him were weathered and worn, decades of wielding a scepter no easier on him than the previous decades of bearing a sword. His steely gray eyes rose to meet the blue ones of his chancellor.

“The Captain’s report is as full of foreboding and inconclusive as always.” The king sighed. “He is able to come to no fixed fact, and neither are we.” He thrust the missive away from him in disgust. “Hamstrung! We sit in our towers and he in his woods and the neither of us are able to find out anything!”

He put his hands together and sank his bearded chin onto their support. “We must assume that the same traitorous rabble that leeched Othira’s lifeblood, while harbored in her very court, would not hesitate to sneak into ours.”

The Chancellor nodded.

“And therefore we must maintain the utmost secrecy.” The king sighed. “But what we are being secretive about, I wish someone would tell me! We find out nothing!”

He tugged at his beard in frustration. Battles and crops he understood, but this sneaking death was beyond his power to pinpoint.

“And we must do all that we can to aid our brothers, but… Treachery!” He exploded out of his chair and stalked the room. “How are we to fight that?” He beat his fingers against his opposite palm. “How is mortal flesh and blood to fight what cannot be seen?”

The king wheeled on his audience of two. “How can we aid Othira when we know not who her enemies are?”

The young lady sitting straight as a poker on the left of the desk was silent. Her hand held the ribbon that the letter had been tied with, her fine fingers gravely stroking it smooth again where it had been tied into a knot.

Her dark hair, with highlights of red and gold glinting in it from between an intricate silver binding, lay on her neck and her simple blue-grey dress did nothing to belie the keen look of royalty that shone in her gaze.

“Father, if I were to marry…”

“No!” the king commanded, knowing what she would say before she said it. He wheeled away from her. “We cannot risk it. It could bring attention; even if we tried to keep it secret, secrets get out. That would ruin everything for good.” Then he strode to her chair and laid a gentle hand on her shoulder. “We must wait and see, my love, wait and see.”

She put her hand over his and lowered a loving check against them both.

“It is hard to be so helpless,” she said quietly. “Just waiting.”

“I know,” her father replied. “If you think being separated from your beloved is agonizing, try being separated from a new husband.” His face fell into sadness. “Ah! How well I know!”

After a moment he sighed again and turned to his chancellor in resignation. “Write a reply. Naturally we will do all that he requests, and yes we will send the men with him to the south border. Though what they will find there is more than I can tell.”

“I will have it ready in the morning, sire.”

“And ask that he reports on that, too.”

“I shall.” The Chancellor nodded. He turned and seated himself at the desk, drawing out a fresh parchment.

The king stood a while staring at him, at his strong bearing, more solid of late with the years that had passed. The silver mixing heavily now with the gold in his hair, the creases in that brow that had been smooth when they first had taken on these dilemmas. The Chancellor looked up and caught his gaze.

“You have oft advised me, old friend,” the king said. “Why is it you can think of nothing now?”

The Chancellor’s face broke into a wearied smile. “My king,” he said. “We are all of us blind in this.”

The carriage jostled along in a companionable way, the ladies inside used to this type of travel. Fia looked up from her book.

“I wish I could ride!” Jithra sighed heavily and gazed wearily out the window. Instead of simply asking politely if she could ride, she used childish tactics like sighing and wishing, well within hearing distance. Sometimes Fia had the impulse to slap her sister for her melodramatics.

But Mother would be shocked at such behavior. Instead Fia glanced around, and saw no sign of anybody even registering their younger sister’s existence. That was the way Jithra was handled. Ignore behavior you don’t like, and maybe it’ll go away.

How come they don’t ignore my bad behavior? she thought acidly, and then realized… she didn’t have any, anymore. Not for years now. Back when she did, Mother had been more strict.

Fia was now what Jithra considered boring.

…And that young lady was what Fia considered a pain.

Much of the time.

But, with Estha only recently returned from her apprenticeship at Weaver Slendale’s, Jith was the sister nearest in age and she had been the sibling Fia spent the most time with for a while now. Before turning ten Jith had been viewed as a child to be strictly avoided… but in the last three years she was supposed to be growing up.

And, Fia grudgingly admitted, Jith wasn’t that bad most of the time. And she did make life more interesting.

But her melodramatics were irksome. Why couldn’t she just shut up and deal with life?

Fia turned back to her book. She for one didn’t wish she could ride. She kept her head bent over the page and shut out the nervous tendrils curling up her spine at that thought of the last time she’d been desperate to ride.

It had been a young racer stabled at the Manor for a fortnight. She was red as flame; sleek and trim and way too fast for an intermediate rider. Fia’s next oldest brother Orril had been unable to resist the smooth fire in her every line, and his cautious attempts at riding her had resulted in such exultant thrills that he had wanted to share the experience with his younger siblings. The three sisters had already fallen under the spell of the delicate nostrils and the large, liquid eyes, and were beside themselves for a chance to sit such perfection.

They had all taken a turn riding the beautiful filly in the pasture behind the grove. Fia had been dutifully last while the younger ones had their turns first, for Orril had declared the gorgeous creature quite safe and even-tempered. Unfortunately, the filly’s patience had been worn too thin by the time Fia got on. Something had sent her bolting, a stray leaf or slanting sun ray… She grabbed the bit and flew. Her speed was intoxicating, but uncontrollable. The filly had taken a few full laps around the grove and then darted through it… with disastrous results.

Fia couldn’t remember exactly what happened in the trees, and the witnesses were too slow to have seen it. All she recalled were dark, shadowy mists before her eyes and the strange sensation of floating. Her limbs refused to obey her; then the hurried, panicked voices of the others.

She remembered being laid out flat in the sick room while long, tense conversations went on outside, and the sudden panic attacks that only subsided as utter and inexplicable exhaustion overwhelmed her. She had not walked on her own for three days, her head fuzzy and her balance wobbly.

Orril had gotten the whipping of his life, despite his age. He had previously been considered too old to be whipped, but it was suddenly discovered that he wasn’t.

The filly had been returned to the owner, who took her and departed, unaware of the damage she had left behind.

Fia’s head had cleared somewhere about the fifth day, but her balance had taken a few years longer.

And the thrill of speed? It had vanished forever.

Fia had ridden again, deliberately pushing her fears back. But they had never completely gone, and their sudden returns were one reason she stayed close to home and studied harder than usual.

Now she turned the page and tried to disappear into the words there.

“See if one of the boys would give Jith his horse for a while,” Mother said.

Brown-haired Ialla, the eldest, leaned out the window and waved one of their brothers over. She was a vastly pretty girl, medium-tall and slender with a quick wisdom to her dark eyes. Her steady good sense and keen wit made her a trusted advisor to all around her… even her mother. But no one had earned her hand in marriage, and sometimes Fia wondered if Ialla was too good, too smart, and too truth-loving to be an encouraging prospect for suitors. After all, men had the tendency to want someone a little “less” than themselves.

Truly great men weren’t like that, of course.

But truly great men weren’t easy to come by. Maybe at court there would be someone wise enough to notice the greatest catch of the century when he saw it. Fia hoped so. Ialla deserved a really amazing husband.

The carriage slowed to a walk and Jith opened the door, hanging out of it while the switch was made. Orril rode his horse parallel to the carriage door, and leapt off into the opening while maintaining a hold on the ends of the reins. Once he was safely inside, Jithra made the leap into the saddle, and then Orril handed her the reins.

“Thanks!” Jithra flashed a smile, and swerved away to pass the carriage and join the riders ahead. Her dark eyes glowed and Fia noticed her curls were slipping out again, to dance in the breeze. She’d hate to have to comb that hair tonight.

“You’re welcome!” Orril replied. “Gives me a chance to eat. I’m hungry.”

He plunked down next to Fia.

“What’re you reading?” he asked.

Orril was a torment sometimes, but they shared a love of hand-worked things. He loved wood and they’d once carved a set of small knights and their chargers for the youngest two siblings. It was among Fia’s favorite life accomplishments so far. She tipped the book up.

“History of Gems & Jewelry.” He peered at the filigreed title. “Where’d you get that?”

“I found it in the boxes behind the closet in the library.” One of their father’s weaknesses was books, and the manor had an impressive collection. “I’d run out of interesting ones… and this is really fascinating! I’d like to get an apprenticeship with Raylor, if I’m good enough. ”

Their only married sister had accepted a proposal from a son of a house of jewelers in Tolsern. Raylor had come riding in singing during his teenage years, and he and Arya had never been able to look at anybody else since. Harrin & Lark were well-respected jewelers, and Raylor had joined in the family business with a will.

“You finished that bracelet blank he gave you?” Orril chomped on his apple.

“Yes. Though it was a squeeze. I thought I’d have more time… but I think it came out good enough.”

The Brithins had all been pleased when Arya had found such happiness, although they were sad to see her move so far away. But her life was now a pleasant and a busy one. Living so differently from her woodsy upbringing seemed to agree with her well enough. She said she missed the old Manor at times, but not so much as to shadow her new home in Tolsern. The smile on her face whenever she looked at Raylor proved it.

Orril settled back in the seat and accepted a sweet roll Ialla handed him. His eyes were not so dark as hers, but the family resemblance was definite. His had a little more of a gleam, an irrepressible turn to look on the bright side of everything.

“So, tell me what’s so fascinating.”

There was something about Orril that made Fia always happy to pause what she was doing and take the time to include him in it. And when she was able to combine jewels and history, or even legends… she needed little prodding.

“This section is on famous jewels.” She thumbed the pages with her finger. “Some so extraordinary that their existence is doubted. There’s the tale of the Great Stone of Erinbara, which was as large as a man’s hand, all gleaming green, as deep as the ocean and as bright as summer trees. And the Adamant of Orupir, that had been cut with a hundred thousand facets and shown in the sun like a million sparkling fountains all at once, twice as large as a hen’s egg, and as pure and clear as spring water.”

“Aren’t all diamonds crystal clear?”

“Oh, no. Many are murky and often have specks in them, not that any but a jeweler can notice them.”

“Like water that isn’t pure.” he offered.

She grinned. “Yes. But only one gem in a thousand is perfect, and to be of such size at the same time… that’s something unheard of.”

She went on. “All diamonds are the hardest stones ever, which is part of what makes them so interesting. But some,” her eyes lit up with an inner glow, “some, now, have color. Very rare, but it happens. Sometimes it’s just a murky yellowish cast, but others… it’s true color, and beautiful.”

“Color?” He bit into an apple.

“There’s been some blue, and red… usually they’re small, sometimes as small as a needle’s eye after being cut. But there was one…” her smile put roots deep down into her now, this was one of her favorites, “…that was pure golden yellow… so it says. It was called the Sunlight Stone, and it would nearly fill a room with golden light if you held it where the sun shone on it.”

Her words painted magic in her listeners heads.

“It was cut very carefully, to show the color best. It was never set, but kept free to be just what it was. And it was rather big! It wouldn’t have made a comfortable ring.”

“How big?”

She held out her hand, palm up, fingers gently curved as if they cradled the famous gem. “If it was sitting right here,” she tapped her palm, “it would fill my hand.”

He leaned closer, peering at the imaginary stone. “That’d have to be worth a fortune.”

“Yes, it was. Well, if it existed.” She returned to the present. “Nobody has been able to prove if it did or not.”

“You mean they might have made these up?”

“Well… yes. To add prestige to the old courts, things get embellished. That one was supposed to have belonged to Othira long ago.”

At the mention of that they both glanced at their mother.

Merithin smiled, but it seemed a little forced. “Another apple?”

They shook their heads and returned to the book. Sometimes it seemed like the fighting that Evin and Arolin were involved in wasn’t real. Not here with the sun shining down on green hills and the horses clattering over the road, as eight-year-old Eilma covered a un-lady-like yawn with a definitely lady-like hand.

“When will we be there?” Eilma asked.

The trip would take a while with the whole family, their bundles and baggages, unloading at inns in the evenings, and gathering everyone back into the coaches in the morning.

“Several days,” replied golden-haired Estha, five years Fia’s elder. Quick-witted and sweet-natured, she was deeply loved by her siblings as the source of compassionate wisdom. “Don’t think about the distance. Just sit still and practice patience and it will be a lot sooner than otherwise.”

Merithin produced strings from her carrying bag, and Estha and Eilma played cat’s cradle intermittently while their mother discussed what Tolsern would be like, what was expected of guests at the palace, and how to behave well in royal company. Although she had taught them all to behave with the best of manners, she was concerned that their rural upbringing might have induced a laxness that ought to be thwarted before their royal encounter.

As the days passed away the conversation wandered from one topic to another until it had nearly covered the entire kingdom. Thrown in at unexpected moments would be a strict question towards one of her offspring, as to how a given situation ought to be properly met. To her credit they always knew the answer, but the pressure of her entire family’s first appearance at court (where she had been a young lady-in-waiting) had given her a bad case of nerves.  

At last the coaches drew near to the journey’s end, the horses galloping up the long, low incline that led to the city of Tolsern, occupying the whole of the plateau before and above them.

But this unhurried metropolis with wide streets, large trees, and growing things everywhere in sight, sprawling comfortably atop the plateau, was not where the king resided… and only the first sign of their destination.

The King’s Hall was nestled into a fold in the hills on the other side of Tolsern, allowing the city life to keep its own hours while not disrupting the comings and goings of the political concerns of the crown. The only infringement on the townsfolk’s time were those court-bound travelers coming from the opposite side of the kingdom who most often passed directly through Tolsern, but that was little bother to the bustling citizens, if the innkeepers did regret the loss of a night’s lodging.

Eilma, gleeful at entering the capital, leaned close to the windows to see the sight, and her siblings were only slightly less obvious in doing the same.

Tolsern was not a heavily fortified city; it held too many people, at the same time being too airy and open a metropolis to be a good fortress. But it still had stout walls encompassing its girth, like reeds around a lake, which would serve as somewhat of a barrier against a hasty assault. There was little thought of such anymore, and the walls were mostly in homage to the traditions of the past when fortified cities had been indispensable. Now, though, there had been a general peace amongst all the neighboring kingdoms for generation on generation. There had been occasional wars, true, off and on in the past, but they were fought on battlefields, and only fitfully broke into being.

The carriage halted next to one of the side streets, and Merithin and Fia alighted. They would stop in on Arya and Raylor while the others went on. Fia’s sisters could take care of settling in and getting arranged and the family would not be presented at court until the evening meal, so there was time for a little visit.

There was only a short walk to the house of Harrin & Lark, nothing at all compared to the distances they were used to back home. Fia was quick to catch a good look at all the beautifully decorated buildings and the occasional passerby along the quiet and cheerful street.

Although she was tired from traveling Fia’s excitement rose as they ascended the six steps from the cobbled street up into the elaborate facade of the jeweler’s house. The interior was all polished woods and elegant settings, for a jeweler’s trade was one of the highest toned of any in the merchant sector. Harrin & Lark was a very old house of jewelers and enjoyed a well-deserved reputation. Their craftsmanship was rarely excelled and the artful designs of their pieces placed them well in the high end of all the jewelers in the kingdom.

A bald-headed man in the entryway greeted them kindly and informed them that Arya was in the kitchen, though they could have simply followed the lark-like singing and found her just as fast. The two returned Mr. Harrin’s welcome and then climbed the steps to the third floor, the upper floors being devoted to living quarters.

“Mother! Fia!” Arya exclaimed as she flew up in a flurry of pink cheeks and floured apron and caught them both in a hug that declared that the visit, though unexpected, was very welcome. “How good to see you! When did you arrive? We’ve been expecting Father, of course, any time now for the yearly report, but you are here!”

She rang a bell for Raylor to alert him in his workroom, and then sat them down around the counter where she had been baking pies. She brought out her best teapot and set the muslin bag filled with herbs to steep in it, chattering gaily all the while.

The busy talk and laughter of reunited family members filled the kitchen, but after a few minutes Fia slipped away quietly and went downstairs. She smiled and nodded to Mr. Harrin as she passed through the street level on her way to the basement, to find Raylor in the workroom below.

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