The journey to reach the Queen of Gennark took much longer than Michael expected, so when the nurover finally came to a halt in front of a gated, relic-looking building, he was grateful. He was also very hungry, having still not eaten all day.
“Finally here,” he groaned, as Jan opened everyone’s doors with a twirl of his casting-gloved index finger, and Michael, Nario, and Dobbins all got out. The place had a sort of “haunted house” feel about it, with a pale mist shrouding the entire building, and menacing gargoyle statues erected beside the front steps. If not for the fact that the lawn was so finely manicured (it would’ve put Montague Lane Ct. to shame) Michael might’ve thought the building itself was abandoned. It also didn’t help that they appeared to be in the middle of nowhere, completely surrounded by miles of dense greenery and a backdrop thicket of untamed forest.
“Yes!” said Dobbins anxiously as he opened the tall gate. “Her Majesty is waiting.”
He was sweating underneath his armpits, and as he ran up the building's steps and made his way inside, he tripped to the ground. Michael tried his hardest to suppress laughter.
“He always gets a bit nervous around the Queen,” whispered Nario.
“Yeah I see,” smirked Michael, though he had to admit Dobbins’s jitteriness to meet his boss was starting to make him feel slightly nervous. Stepping into the building, Michael found himself standing in an ornate hallway, with marble flooring, grand chandeliers, and dozens of portraits adorning the walls around a spiral staircase.
“Where are we?” he said in a shocked voice. Considering how gloomy the outside looked, this level of opulence hadn’t been what he’d expected to find.
“This is Rowling House,” said Nario as they followed Dobbins up the staircase. “For countless generations, this estate was one of the favorite residences of the Avahnairian royal family…even your father spent a great deal of his childhood here.” Nario then gestured toward the many portraits on the wall. “Most of these are of your ancestors. Ah! Look there’s your grandfather!” He pointed towards a portrait high above the rest, and Michael glanced up to see a salt-and-pepper bearded man with a crown resting on his head. It was as though he were staring at an older, wiser-looking version of himself. Both he and his grandfather (who was magnificently dressed in a bemedaled uniform) had the same eyes, mouth, and forehead. Even their noses were practically identical. Below the portrait was a gold-lettered inscription that read:
HIS MAJESTY KING HENRY VI OF AVAHNAIR
DYNASTY: ADE
Michael was so used to his last name being on detention and suspension forms, that seeing it coupled with the word: “dynasty” almost felt like a prank. As much as he still didn’t believe he himself looked like royalty, he certainly couldn’t deny how much his grandfather (at least in this portrait) embodied the word “king.”
Dobbins then gave a loud throat-clearing cough (“Hem, hem!”). They looked to the top of the stairs to find him tapping his foot impatiently in front of a closed door.
“Whoops! Sorry about that Dobbins, just a little history lesson!” said Nario as he climbed the rest of the steps two at a time, and Michael followed. The door was palatial and grand, with an elaborate crown designed on its knob, and as light seeped through its cracks, voices could be heard talking on the other side. Dobbins, who looked as if he were on the verge of passing out, wiped the sweat from his brow, cleared his throat again (“Hem, hem!”), and knocked twice.
At first, there was silence. Then a female voice said: “Enter” and Dobbins opened the door.
Walking in, Michael saw a woman sitting quite casually on a mahogany desk, in the middle of the room, along with three men surrounding her. The woman was tall and thin and was wearing a long white dress, with a bejeweled tiara on her head. She was handsome rather than beautiful, with chiseled cheekbones, and liberal streaks of gray hair wrapped in a bun, and as Michael came into her view she immediately flashed a radiant smile. She opened her mouth as if to speak, but Dobbins hastily cut across Michael, cleared his throat (“Hem, hem!”), and bowed before her.
“Your Majesty,” he said in a booming voice. “I present to you, His Royal Highness the Crown Prince of Avahnair!”
Dobbins then turned to Michael and gestured toward the woman.
“Your Royal Highness! I present to you, Her Majesty Queen Annelise the Second of Gennark!”
“Oh Dobbins enough with the formalities, this is a family reunion!” said the woman, jumping from the desk and rushing towards Michael. She then kissed him twice on the cheeks before locking him in a bear hug. “Please just call me Annelise! Or Anna if you’d like!”
Like Nario, she too spoke with a distinct accent, though hers was slightly different.
“F-f-family r-r-reunion?” said Michael’s wobbly voice, as Annelise lifted him from the ground and swung him like a carousel. He tried to break away, but it was no use because she was much stronger than her thin frame suggested.
“Mom!” said a voice suddenly from behind. It was coming from one of the three men, and by the looks of it, he was the youngest. “If you don’t let go soon, there’s not going to be anything left of him!”
“Oh yes, you’re right Gregory!” said Annelise, releasing Michael from her stranglehold. His back felt like it’d been split in two. “I’m so sorry Michael! I’m just very happy to see you again! Look at how much you’ve grown!”
She turned to Nario.
“Thank you so much for bringing him back!”
“It was my pleasure, Your Majesty!” said Nario, as he too bowed, and Annelise resumed gazing at Michael as though he were an expensive car. It was the same way Nario had looked at him the first time they met.
“You probably don’t remember me, do you? Well of course not, how could you? The last time I saw you was thirteen years ago when you were still a baby!”
As though she couldn’t help herself, Annelise took hold of Michael again and continued with her hugging.
Well, that does it, he thought to himself, while she swung him from side to side.
She’s definitely not going to chop my head off.
Suddenly, there was another throat-clearing cough, but this time it came from the oldest of the three men. He too was tall and slightly gray and was wearing a burgundy uniform decorated with various medals and a sash. He adjusted his glasses as he glared sternly at Annelise.
“Oh! Where are my manners?” she said, releasing Michael again (who’d thought he was on the verge of popping) and beckoning for the three men to come closer. “Forgive me, I should’ve done introductions! This is my husband, Prince Marcel…like me, you probably don’t remember him!”
The older man stepped forward and they shook hands (his hands were so big they completely swallowed Michael’s grip) and when they pulled apart, Marcel stared intently at the markings on Michael’s palms before finally letting go.
“And these two,” Annelise continued as the other men came forward, “are our sons—Crown Prince Erik and Prince Gregory.”
Erik and Gregory, who both looked to be in their mid-twenties and whose features seemed to be a perfect mixture of Annelise and Marcel, were wearing the same uniform as their father.
“Jeez Mom!” retorted Gregory with a hint of disgust, “crown prince...you just had to throw that one in there, didn’t you?” He then leaned closer to Michael and whispered loudly: “My parents love Erik more because he’s the heir, and I’m the spare. He’s always been their favorite!”
Annelise and Marcel shook their heads.
“Second born, second place!” smirked Erik as he ruffled his hand through Gregory’s hair. “I still love you though bro!”
Both men were exceptionally handsome, and Michael couldn’t help noticing, with a tinge of dread, how much more they looked like “princes” than he did.
“Please ignore him,” sighed Marcel. “Gregory is the baby of the family, and unfortunately still acts like it.”
“Oh the abuse never stops!” said Gregory in a mock hurt voice, as he clutched his chest and the entire room burst into laughter. Even Michael had to smile a little bit. He wasn’t used to seeing a family have this much genuine fun together. It was a nice change from the constant ground-worshipping he’d always experienced with the Tolliver’s when it came to Taryn and Timothy. There was then another knock at the door, and Dobbins entered the room holding a covered silver platter, and a container of cyan-colored liquid. Michael, who hadn’t even noticed that Dobbins had been gone all this time, watched keenly as he placed everything down on the nearest table. The smell from the platter made his stomach growl.
“Thank you!” said Annelise as Dobbins bustled from the room again and she lifted the platter's cover to reveal hundreds of golden-crusted rolls. “Please eat! I’m sure you must be starving!”
Without even thinking to ask what the rolls were made of, Michael grabbed one and stuffed it into his mouth. Instantly there was an explosion of flavors: rich succulent sausage (or at least that was what it tasted like) spicy red peppers, and warm buttery flakes. It was by far the best thing he’d ever eaten.
“What is this?” said Michael between mouthfuls.
“Meat rolls,” said Nario, as he too helped himself, “made with Biseradon loin.”
Too hungry to care what a “Biseradon” was, Michael jammed a few more into his mouth.
“These rolls are a delicacy in both Gennark and my native country of Trantz,” said Marcel proudly.
“And if you think those are good, try this!” said Gregory, as he passed around glasses full of the cyan liquid. Michael’s mouth was burning from eating so many of the rolls at one time, and he drained his in one gulp. It tasted like a root beer float, mixed with butterscotch and mint chocolate chip ice cream—with a dash of s’mores. Whatever the case, it was amazing.
“It’s so good!” said Michael, unable to help himself. This was much better than that Altitudon Potion.
“Freshly squeezed Lopaberry juice!” said Gregory triumphantly. “You can buy it in stores, but there’s nothing like having it homemade!”
“Well now that you’ve eaten, and my mother is letting you breathe again,” began Erik slyly, as he too downed his own glass. “Congratulations are in order!”
“Congratulations?” asked Michael. “For what?”
“It looks like you made quite the spectacle today,” said Annelise. She then clenched her right fist, and a red casting glove materialized on it out of thin air.
The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.
“Whoa!” gasped Michael. “How’d you do that?”
“It’s called conjuring, Your Royal Highness,” whispered Nario. “It’s a very simple piece of summoning magic, where a summoner can call their casting glove to them if it’s not already on.”
“Oh,” muttered Michael, now embarrassed he’d shown such a reaction. He had to stop doing that. After all, he didn’t want everyone to know he was (as Nario put it) a “late bloomer.”
Annelise then held out her hand to the wall in front of them and a large television screen suddenly revealed itself. Michael (who’d just stopped short of saying: “I didn’t know there were TVs in the summoning world!”) watched as she turned it on with a flick of her wrist. Gregory however was not fooled.
“Surprised to see summoners using TVs like edoes?” he asked, as Annelise began flipping through channels by wagging her index finger. “Well of course we do! The only difference is ours are powered by spirit energy! How else would I catch reruns of The Fresh Prince of Vel Rare?”
Annelise stopped at a channel in the middle of a news report talking about Michael and the madness at the airport. Replays of him being pulled around like a rag doll flashed across the screen.
“And it’s not just there!” said Erik, as he too conjured a casting glove, and began scrolling. “It’s been on every major news station since you arrived!”
Michael watched as the same replays were broadcasted everywhere Erik went, with some variation of: “THE RETURN OF AVAHNAIR’S CROWN PRINCE” as the headline. One thing was for sure—the news he was back was definitely not a secret anymore.
“First day and you’ve already got fans fighting over you!” chuckled Gregory, after a clip of two girls body slamming one another was shown. “Now that is impressive!”
“It didn’t feel very impressive,” winced Michael. “And I’ve still got the scratches on my neck to prove it.”
“All the prices of fame I’m afraid!”
At this, everyone except Nario burst into laughter again as he turned to Annelise.
“Your Majesty, please forgive me…somehow our arrival was leaked! All of this press attention is exactly what the Band was hoping to avoid, and it’s my fault it happened. I should’ve used better judgment when we landed.”
“Oh, nonsense!” said Annelise, turning off the TV with another casual flick of her wrist. “There’s no blame here Nario—the news was eventually going to get out anyway.”
“Yeah, don’t beat yourself up too much,” said Gregory coolly. “It’s not like you’re mister-perfect-Crown-Prince-Erik or anything!”
“And what’s that supposed to mean?” barked Erik playfully. At this, the two brothers began putting one another in headlocks (nearly knocking over Nario and a nearby chair in the process) as Marcel shook his head sternly. Annelise meanwhile, gently took Michael by the arm and led him to the opposite end of the room, where even more portraits hung from the wall.
“This is my father,” she said at once, gesturing towards the portrait of a furrow-faced man, with the inscription:
HIS MAJESTY KING ERIK IX OF GENNARK
DYNASTY: VALENTIN
“I succeeded to the throne when he passed away a few months after the war. As you can probably tell from this portrait he was very ill at the time.” When she’d finished speaking, Michael realized that Annelise’s eyes suddenly looked watery and he hastily stared in the other direction. What was he supposed to do if she broke down and started crying? He wasn’t good with that kind of mushy stuff. Luckily, when she spoke again, however, her voice was steady.
“So, how do you like being in Rowling House? I trust that Nario has told you of its significance?”
“Er, yeah he did,” said Michael quickly, grateful the potentially awkward moment had passed. “Something about it being a favorite residence?”
“That’s correct! But it was also used as headquarters during the war. Your grandfather, King Henry of Avahnair, loved Rowling House so much he thought this would be the perfect place.”
“How do you know all of that?”
“Because I was there! I too fought in the war,” said Annelise, pulling up the hem of her dress to reveal a long thin scar, running all the way down her leg. “I got this one in a particularly nasty battle.” She then pointed towards a plaque in the middle of the wall that read: “THE BAND OF HINAVIN.”
“What’s the Band of Hinavin?”
“That’s what we called ourselves. Hinavin is the Avahnairian word for hope. During the war, my husband, along with my parents, and so many others, fought for the Band as well. At that time, my father and mother were the King and Queen of Gennark, but when it came to the Band of Hinavin…Uncle Henry was our leader.”
“Uncle? My grandfather was your uncle?”
“Yes, he was! Didn’t you hear me when I said this is a family reunion? He married my father’s younger sister, Aunty Maria, who was herself a Princess of Gennark by birth. They eventually became the King and Queen of Avahnair, and years later had your dad…who also happened to be my favorite cousin!” Her voice then broke off as she smiled wistfully, and Michael worried her eyes might start to tear up again.
“I miss them all very dearly, and you remind me so much of Jistun and Uncle Henry. You’ve even got the markings…” She stared at Michael’s hands, in the same way Marcel had earlier, and rubbed her chin.
“I remember when General Dumeka first told me they were on your body after everything had happened at the coronation—”
“Who is this Dumeka guy anyway?” interrupted Michael. He remembered Uncle Terrance saying this name on the night of his kindling.
“General Antonius Dumeka,” said Annelise, a little sharply, “is the head of the Paxcasters, and is considered by many to be the most powerful summoner alive today. During the war, he too fought for the Band of Hinavin, and was second to only Uncle Henry in command and strength.”
“Oh...” said Michael stiffly. He had no idea Dumeka was so important, and before he could even ask her what the “Paxcasters” were, she had turned her attention towards the portrait of a bald man with a gray goatee and inscription that read:
GENERAL ANTONIUS DUMEKA
Much like the portrait of Michael’s grandfather, Dumeka’s had a regal bearing about it that certainly backed up his lofty title.
“Yes, the General is a great summoner indeed,” said Annelise, as she straightened Dumeka’s portrait. “I used to be one of his students when I was a young girl and he was teaching in Gennark. I remember he used to always tell me, Princess Annelise, developing spirit energy is rather like having a stubborn piece of food stuck in your teeth…it may require that extra bit of effort to get it out!”
She chuckled.
“I never quite understood what he meant by that back then! Anyway, once the war began he left his teaching post to join the Band of Hinavin at Uncle Henry’s request. They were best friends you know? Grew up together…did practically everything together…and when the war started they fought side-by-side together…like brothers.”
All the while she continued adjusting the portrait, as though dead set on getting it perfect.
“So I’m guessing the Band of Hinavin was there when it happened?” said Michael, after a long pause.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean when my parents and grandparents died. Nario told me they were killed during the war…”
He paused again.
“And what’s this war you and Nario keep talking about anyway?”
It’d been mentioned so many times and in such a casual manner, it hadn’t even occurred to Michael to ask this until now. The Queen, for her part, stopped what she was doing at once. It was as though a dark shadow had come over her.
“Oh…well no…not all of us were there…” she sighed. “We—”
She glanced to the ceiling, her eyes looking watery again.
“I’ve spent most of the last thirteen years trying to block all of that out…especially the day your family died.”
“What happened to them?” said Michael quickly. “Nario only told me they were killed, but he didn’t say how.”
From across the room, the sound of an angry Marcel telling off his still wrestling sons (“Will the two of you please act your ages for once!”) could be heard as Annelise took a handkerchief from her dress and dabbed her eyes.
“It was in the palace at your parents’ coronation,” she said quietly. “On the day your father and mother were to become the new King and Queen of Avahnair. The war had just ended, you see, and Uncle Henry was stepping down for your father to take over. Then, before they could be crowned, Roidaiku appeared out of nowhere and attacked the five of you. It was frightening how powerful he was that day…”
There was a tremble in her voice at this last bit as she dabbed away even more tears.
“Up until that point, we’d all believed Roidaiku was dead…but it was a lie. He killed your father and grandmother first then your mother—”
“So you’re saying they were murdered…and I was there?” said Michael in disbelief. His entire body had suddenly gone numb.
“And who is Roidaiku?”
“What’re you two over here looking at?” came Gregory’s voice abruptly. He was walking over to their side of the room, and if the state of his hair were any indication, it looked as though he‘d lost his mini-wrestling match with Erik.
“Oh nothing son,” sighed Annelise, quickly wiping her eyes as Nario and Marcel joined as well. “Just showing Michael the Band’s old plaque.”
She looked relieved at the interruption and before Michael could press her any further on Roidaiku, Dobbins burst into the room again (this time without even bothering to knock) looking frantic.
“Dobbins?” muttered Annelise. “What’s the matter?”
He said nothing at first before speaking in a strange language Michael couldn’t understand. Marcel, Erik, and Gregory, all raised their eyebrows the longer he talked.
“He’s speaking Gannish,” Nario whispered, though judging by his expression, Michael could tell he was just as confused as to what Dobbins was actually saying.
“Well then,” said Annelise, as Dobbins finished, panting desperately. “I’m afraid I must cut our time together short. It appears I’ve been requested at the Council of Summoning.”
“Your Majesty?” said Nario, a hint of concern in his voice.
“Just a meeting Nario,” said Annelise waving an airy hand. “No need to fret.”
She tried to force a smile but Michael could tell a part of her was worried.
“What about Roidai—” he started to say, but she cut him off.
“I guess I’ll be seeing you all again at the banquet! I’m sure you’re excited.”
“What banquet?”
“Oh, I forgot to mention!” said Nario. “There’s going to be a banquet held next week to celebrate your return to Avahnair! Representatives from all over Esfaira will be in attendance! In the meantime, we’ll be staying here.”
“Hopefully you’ll be safe from your fans!” added Erik.
“Maybe,” shrugged Gregory, looking skeptical. “But if word gets out that the Crown Prince of Avahnair is in Rowling House, there’ll be no stopping them! And wait until you start school at Ravenskraft—it’ll be even worse there!”
“Oh…can’t wait…” grumbled Michael. With everything that had happened since his arrival, he’d almost forgotten about the whole “being a student thing.”
“And make sure you use this time to get ready for your first class with Callahmore!” continued Gregory. “She’s the Dean of Alchemy, and it’s a nightmare!”
“She’s worse than that!” grinned Erik. “Gregory and I studied abroad for two semesters at Ravenskraft when we were a little older than you, and trust me when I say she’s the toughest teacher there! She’s really demanding of students that are royal, and she’ll be extra hard on you—being an Ade, and the grandson of the last Avahnairian King! Mom always says your dad was one of her best students!”
At that moment Dobbins (now tapping his foot so fast he looked like Thumper from the movie Bambi) got everyone’s attention again with another throat-clearing cough (“Hem, hem!”).
“Right—it’s time for us to go,” said Annelise firmly. “And please don’t listen to my sons…Dean Callahmore isn’t that bad.”
She didn’t sound very convincing, and feeling queasy in his stomach all of a sudden, Michael realized this was the first time in his life he’d ever been intimidated by the mention of a teacher. But then again, he’d never had a teacher before who was a summoness either.
“Take care Michael,” said Annelise, bending down and kissing him twice on the cheeks. Marcel, Erik, and Gregory then shook his hand in turn. As they did so, Michael caught each one of them glance at his markings.
“Your Majesty, Your Royal Highnesses,” said Nario, nodding and bowing as he too said his goodbyes to the Gannish royal family. He then made to open the door but was beaten to it by Dobbins (whose nervousness appeared to be back in full force) as he fumbled over the handle a few times before finally being assisted by Marcel. Annelise was the last to exit the room, and though he wanted to ask her more questions about Roidaiku and this mysterious war, Michael noticed how grave the expression on her face was as she turned back to look at him and decided against it. A quick glance at Nario as the Queen left told Michael they were thinking the exact same thing: whatever Annelise might’ve said—it appeared this meeting at the Council of Summoning was the source of more panic than she wanted to admit.