The Silvering of Loran (8 page)

“You’re taking
her
view?”

Before Rolam could respond, Loran rose to speak.

“Did you think I would claim deceit had I lost to the strategy you employed against me?”

“Listen to her, Gervest,” Rolam advised. “Our sister has revealed a great skill to us today, a superior understanding of strategy. Congratulations, Loran, you have won your respite from your duties.”

With the passing years, Gervest had grown an intense temperament, and the smallest of defeats would often leave him sulking—as did this one. He was prepared to let Rolam know of his displeasure in honoring the bargain with Loran.

“Then
you
meet with the visiting women and chambermaids and discuss . . .” Gervest waved his hands in frustration. “I don’t know
what
they discuss and I don’t ever care to.”

A lone rider rode into their gathering. Michael Kileson had originally been part of their riding foursome when they cast the wager. However, not being as skilled as the Avileens on horseback, he trailed long behind them.

“So, shall we arrange for your companionship while I return to my province?” Michael asked Loran, the confidence of her reply assured in his mind.

Gervest brusquely mounted his horse and directed him past Michael with vigor.

“Gervest?” yelled Michael. The confusion in Michael’s eyes was temporary and faded with Loran’s next four words.

“No, we shall not.”

* * *

A
young chambermaid, newly stationed in the castle, worked her way around the bedchamber of Gervest with a duster made from the feathers of a bird—who had long since provided sustenance to the castle occupants. Alongside a recent portrait of Gervest dressed in armor, were paintings of warriors and battlefields that hung prominently. When she came across a particularly gruesome battlefield depiction, she scrunched her face in revulsion of the carnage. The chambermaid had neither knowledge nor care of the artist, but a discriminate eye could tell these were
not
the work of Holt.

She maneuvered to the table alongside the massive canopied bed. A bottle of grayish, luminous liquid on the floor, almost hidden by the bedframe, caught her eye. She bent down to retrieve it, and when she raised it to her eyes, it glistened in the sunlight that passed into the room. The bottle tilted by her hand and she was fascinated with the sluggish movement of the contents. A furtive glance around the room was her first impulse, before she slipped the bottle into her pocket.

* * *

A
s the Avileen children reached greater ages, the dining hall had become less of a gathering place for family to share meals and conversation; it had transitioned to a utilitarian purpose that was void of the laughter of family, in favor of the formality of guests. But on this day, Gilvius would not sit at the head of the table without the company of the present generation of Avileens in attendance. He had called for his family to join him on this night—for an evening that would ultimately surprise and disappoint those present.

Loran was the last to arrive. She viewed the variety of food dishes spread on the table, but it was with great unease she took her seat next to her mother. It was rare in these times that her father would insist on all being present, and with his appearance of a man fifteen years beyond his natural age, she feared the worst.

“I am pleased to see all of us once again gathered in a place that holds great fondness in my memory,” said Gilvius.

Leanna reached to touch her husband’s hand; her face did not disguise the ache in her heart for his grim appearance. He responded with a weak, but warm smile.

“Do not fret, my love. I am not yet willing to relinquish myself to eternity. But it
is
time to consider the ascension of one of our sons as sovereign.”

The realization that her father would soon no longer guide the Avileen Empire left Loran numb, unable to oppose the inevitable. However, Gervest’s eyes lit up with eagerness and he found it difficult to contain his excitement.

“Rolam, my son, you have demonstrated your willingness to learn from my advisors, and in doing so, have gained their trust and respect,” praised Gilvius. “You have firmly grasped the intricacies of governance.”

Gervest didn’t like the direction of his father’s words and slipped his thumb inside his vest pocket—Gilvius responded as if a sudden burst of adrenalin coursed through his veins.

“The regions outside the eight provinces will require a firm hand to unite them into the empire, and I fear war may arrive ahead of peace, said Gilvius, redirected in his thoughts. “The protection of the eight provinces will need a strong sovereign, with the will to demand submission from our enemies.”

In their glances to each other, Loran and Leanna exchanged shock of the words Gilvius spoke. Rolam remained attentive to his father’s eyes.

“You will make an excellent
counselor
to your brother,” said Gilvius to Rolam. “Guide him well in all matters originating from the council of advisors.”

If Rolam was in any way disappointed, he did not reveal it to the gathering.

“As you wish, father, I shall respect your judgment and offer what advice I can to the sovereign.”

“Gervest, the next council meeting is in six months,” said Gilvius. “At that time I will announce your ascension. Until that day, you would do well to acclimate yourself to the knowledge your brother possesses.”

“I will not disappoint your vision of the sovereign, father,” Gervest proclaimed, as he removed his thumb from his pocket and wiped a small trace of blood on his pants.

Gilvius nodded without expression while Gervest beamed. The rest of the family sat in stunned silence.

* * *

L
eanna propelled herself through the main hall and lifted her dress just enough so as not to impede her hurried pace. Loran followed her and struggled to sustain her momentum—since her shoes persistently slipped on the marble floor.

“Wait, where are you going?” Loran asked.

Leanna did not answer, the determined look on her face drove her further towards the curved stairs that lead up to the family chambers.

“What is happening?” Loran yelled out in desperation, now trailing just a few steps behind her mother.

When Leanna reached the inner sanctum of her chamber, she finally turned to Loran—who had arrived mere moments behind her. Loran stood confused and waited for her mother’s explanation.

“There is something that has occurred here that is
very
wrong,” Leanna declared, greatly concern.

“Why was Gervest chosen over Rolam?” asked Loran. “There is no reason to—”

“That was just the final confirmation of a lengthy suspicion I have held over many years,” interrupted Leanna.

“What suspicion?”

“That there is something here we have not seen since the great castle war.” Leanna spoke with a determined will, shadowed with alarm. “I fear for us all if what I suspect is true.”

Loran considered her mother’s words with care as she observed her slow rhythmic pacing in the room. Loran stepped to Leanna and gripped her hands.

“I do not scare easily, another trait I received from you, for which I am immensely grateful, but I now see in your eyes reason I should embrace fear,” said Loran.

Leanna smiled and brought her fingers to her daughter’s face.

“Do not discount the qualities your father passed on. Gilvius’s bravery is renowned in our history. It was through
that
trait that I fell in love with him.”

Loran had heard her mother speak affectionately of her father before. Throughout the provinces, Leanna’s love and loyalty was reflected in her every deed and was admired with great regard, but she had never heard her speak of Gilvius’s bravery. It was only when she felt a tear flowing across her cheek did she realize how much she treasured her mother’s revelation—especially in the face of her father’s increased frailty.

“Tell me what you suspect,” urged Loran.

“This isn’t the time,” Leanna declared and peered around Loran at the open entry to her chamber. “Meet me in the library tonight after all the others have retired . . . I hope I have not waited too—” Leanna stopped herself. “Just meet me tonight,” she confirmed, as she squeezed Loran’s hands once more.

* * *

L
oran paced in her chamber, anxious for the night to capture everyone so she could join her mother. She walked to the balcony and assessed the activity below; it was still, with no guard in her view. When she could delay herself no longer, she made a direct path to her door and snatched her wrap from her bed on the way.

Loran had just descended the chamber staircase when she met Gervest in the main hall.

“You’re skulking about late this evening,” snarled Gervest.

“I’m a little hungry,” said Loran. “The dinner meal didn’t sit comfortably, so I thought some bread and jam might settle me.” While her statements were true on their own merit, Loran had become more cognizant of how easily she relied on deception.

“I did notice an abundance of food was left untouched. Perhaps the excitement of our father’s announcement quelled your appetite.”

“Perhaps,” Loran replied, unflustered as she turned to leave.

“Loran!” Gervest called out, delaying her exit.

Loran halted and breathed a quick sigh before she rotated to face Gervest.

“I sense you do not approve,” said Gervest.

“I didn’t realize my approval carried such potency.”

Gervest could not remember a time when verbally sparring with his sister left him unscathed, but then again, he wasn’t going to be the sovereign in six months in those previous skirmishes.

“I trust you realize
my
approval as sovereign, does.”

“And, your meaning?”

“For one, I think you have avoided marrying for far too long, don’t you agree?”

“Shall I assume this will be an immediate agenda when you ascend?”

“It will.”

“And you have someone in mind . . . from the Kileson province?”

“A joining with Michael, and the children from your pairing, will bond two of the most advanced provinces by blood. I can think of no better fulfillment of your destiny.”

Loran edged close to Gervest’s face.

“My . . .
destiny
. . . is mine to guide,” declared Loran, before she turned her back and made a rapid exit.

With a satisfied grin, Gervest began climbing the stairs.

“Only for the next six months, Loran!” Gervest yelled to his sister—who had already distanced herself far down the hall.

Loran was fuming when she reached the library entrance. She had let her purpose for being there escape her mind when she threw the closed doors open. The room was dark, but for the light from the full moon that spilled through every window. The coldness of the library in its current view seemed appropriate to Loran; the bleak setting captured the isolation she felt in her heart.

Loran had just finished igniting a fourth oil lamp when she sighted Leanna, slipping silently through the still open entry doors. Leanna pressed the doors shut with gentleness, designed to avoid drawing attention to the room. After viewing her movements, Loran was embarrassed for her earlier carelessness.

“I was descending the chamber staircase when I heard voices below,” said Leanna.

“It was me and Gervest.”

“Yes, I heard the last of your words.”

“So, you know his intentions for me.”

Leanna strolled to the center table and Loran followed.

“I don’t think Gervest’s development over the years has been without interference,” said Leanna.

“Interference? From who?”

Leanna took a deep breath and organized her thoughts before continuing.

“I must first present an apology to you for withholding knowledge you had every right to know. It was agreed long ago to allow our children the opportunity for a life unimpeded by . . .” Even now, Leanna hesitated to reveal the word forbidden to exist in the provinces. “Magic.”

“You mean magic such as Topen possesses.” Loran spat out the words without thought. Indeed, she felt relieved to share the knowledge of magic that had dominated her memory since she was twelve.

Ever since Leanna had viewed the portrait of Topen Loran commissioned from Holt, she suspected her daughter concealed some awareness of magic. So, she wasn’t shocked by Loran’s nonchalant remark—simply surprised that she had never revealed her knowledge before this night.

“Would you like to tell the secrets you hold of Topen?”

“Very much.”

Over the span of half an hour, Loran recounted every detail of her first meeting with Topen and of the stone he had entrusted to her. Her eyes showed as bright in the telling as they did when she was twelve—when she relived the experience of being invisible. With every passionate detail, Leanna finally understood her daughter’s desire of Topen. And when Loran revealed what had taken place in the receiving room, those many years ago, no doubt remained in Leanna’s mind of the validity of her suspicions.

“Do you still hold the stone in secret?” asked Leanna.

“No one else is aware.”

“For all you have known, there is so much more to tell,” Leanna revealed. “But we now need the help of Topen, and you have half of the means to contact him.”

Loran was excited at the prospect of Topen’s return, but nervous as well. So much time had passed, and now that
she
was soon to be twenty-eight, she realized that Topen could have married or maybe he was married all along; it was a question she had never considered asking her mother. Loran pressed the painful thoughts deep into her subconscious and focused on her mother’s last words.

“Half? Do you not have the ability to call for his aid?”

“Not anymore,” said Leanna. “Gilvius had several stones that passed from his grandfather, and eventually to him, but they, and the sole bottle of
the silvering
we held, no longer reside in the hidden compartment in this room. To my knowledge, only Gilvius and I knew of the secret place that concealed them.”

“The silvering?”