Once I return to the James estate, it is time for a treat. What I have been looking forward to most about our journey to the north, though I never considered it to be an option when we discussed our plans.
A long time ago, a Tome marched with the knights of Victory to face the Lords of Winter. Accustomed to negotiating with beings of supreme power, they hoped a summoner’s expertise would allow them to broker peace, or at least some measure of understanding. My ancestor returned to the south without success and no Tome has taken up the task again.
Amazingly, I’ve just learned of this legendary feat recently. And, more importantly, as summoners tend to do, the summoner made a record of it. A record the duke has offered to let me see.
I hum as I follow a nervous blonde woman through the halls of the estate, feeling an urge to skip but smothering it. I recognize my guide as the third of the duke’s wives but can’t recall her name. It doesn’t seem important as she hasn’t made any attempts at conversation, though she does glance at me now and again when she thinks I don’t see.
I’m quite excited. This has all kinds of implications. Did they involve a Tome as a simple negotiator? Or do the Lords have something to do with another realm? Are they elementals? I’d dismiss the idea as ridiculous before but Geneva has enlightened me to the knowledge that there are ways for elementals to stay in realms beside their own without a contract. Or maybe they have a contractor, one who’s lived for nearly five centuries.
If the north is held by powerful elementals, it’s no wonder the residents of Victory are having so much trouble in their conquest. They are fighting what they believe to be powerful and perhaps unnaturally intelligent manabeasts when the true threat can be something else entirely. Something incomprehensible.
Saints save us all if there’s another creature like Geneva waiting on the other side of the snow.
“Here.”
The quiet word takes me out of my thoughts. We’re standing before two large wooden doors with thick, brass handles. I recognize them from Alana’s tour. The James’ family library. Both an obvious and underwhelming place for such valuable writing. I suppose I can’t expect others to appreciate my family’s work the way I do.
Seeing the third wife’s skinny arms, I quickly step forward, encountering a brief snag as I try to open the doors before pushing them instead. The library is plain and functional, which seems to be the trend in the north. Interestingly, the books rest on shelves carved out of the stone walls as opposed to sitting on wooden bookcases, rising from the floor to the ceiling.
In the middle of the room is a plain table and a single basic chair. It certainly doesn’t inspire one to curl up on a cold night with a warm story. This is a place of work and purpose. It almost rejects the cozy atmosphere most other reading spaces attempt to capture. As expected of the James.
Stolen novel; please report.
The third wife moves across the room, crouching to grab a wooden box from the lowest shelf on the far wall. I follow her as she sets it on the table, removing a key from a well-hidden pocket on her dress. She turns the lock and opens it, before stepping aside. I eagerly take her place.
“You want the journal at the bottom,” a quiet voice advises me. “Careful. The papers are old and fragile. Don’t remove their coverings, please.”
I mumble understanding, well used to handling delicate summoning records. I move with the gentleness of a lover as I move aside the ancient writings until my fingers find the hard binding of a book. I carefully remove it from the box, marveling at the crumbling but still intact leather. A quick look at the pages shows browning at the edges but they’re in good condition and I have no problem opening it to the first blank page.
“Please do not take it from this room.”
A sudden spike of anger makes me frown. “This is my ancestor’s work.” This should have been given to my family. They certainly have no use or appreciation for it, keeping it locked away in a box. Who are they to tell me what to do with it?
“Your ancestor’s work on behalf of the north and the duke of the time.” Despite arguing, her voice is void of aggression and she hangs her head, shoulders hunching like a scared animal.
I let out a deep breath, the anger having already faded. Of course, I understand I don’t have a real right to snatch this journal. It’s not like it’s a priceless heirloom. I didn’t even know about it a month ago. I just get a bit emotional when it comes to summoning.
“I understand.” I circle around the table and sit in the chair. As I’m about to delve into the journal, I notice Ariza is still standing in the same place. She’s relaxed a little but is still tense. “…is there something else?”
“Yes. Um…I was wondering…if you would be interested in a banquet?”
My brows jump up at the suggestion. “I didn’t take Victory as the type of place to hosts banquets.”
“Mm. They aren’t common, normally held in honor of great battles. As…unusual as it was, your March would qualify. You would be the guest of honor so…I thought I’d ask.”
“Considerate.” I lean back against the stiff chair and sigh. “Truthfully, I’m not fond of banquets. I also don’t see the point. We have so much to do.”
“I’d take care of the details if you want,” the quiet wife says quickly. “It’d be good for you. And Alana. As a commander, she’ll have to interact with the other field commanders. Better if she meets them socially before then. Same for you.”
You can take the knights out of the capital but you can’t take the capital out of the knights, I suppose. Court follows the powerful wherever they go, even the supposed saint-forsaken north. I have no illusions I’ll enjoy hobnobbing with the elites of the fort but if it’ll help Alana… “Have you asked Alana?”
She turns her head. “I was hoping you would. We don’t have the best relationship.”
“Is it so bad that you can’t ask her a simple question? I’m not doing it if she isn’t.”
The woman nods. “I suppose…I will ask her.” After a few moments of silence and my quiet stare, she jumps. “Ah. I will leave you to it.”
She scurries from the room, opening one of the doors and closing it softly behind her. I shake my head. What a strange woman. I’d never imagine a noblewoman with her title, a literal duchess, having the spine of a mouse. More strange that a hard man like the duke would be interested in that type of woman, given he could have anyone in the north. To each their own, I suppose. There are those that’d be horrified by Kierra’s affections.
Putting the thoughts of wives out of my mind, I turn to the journal, gently flipping through the rough pages.