The Teller Sage blinked, frowned, and inclined his head toward Arya. “Your Highness. This is not a place I expected to find Fyrest’s princess.”

“I’ve come with questions,” Arya answered.

“No doubt.” Talys turned his gaze to Garrin and sized him up warily. “Sire. I apologize for not recognizing you. You were quite young the last time I saw you.”

Garrin lowered his hood, still reeling from the sight of Arya’s eyes in the Teller Sage’s face. “You have nothing to fear from us. We’re not here on council business.”

“Then why are you here?” Talys’s voice was plain, if a little sharp, and Garrin found himself both taken aback by and appreciative of his bluntness.

“What do you know about Anarya Ellysen?” Arya asked.

Talys’s eyes snapped back to her. “Where did you hear that name?”

“I didn’t hear it,” Arya said. “I simply know it, the way I know that the sky is blue and the snow is cold. It was a part of my memories when I first opened my eyes. But I don’t know who she is.”

The Teller Sage frowned thoughtfully. “Then it’s true: the knowledge is generational. They’ve tried erasing her from history, but they cannot destroy her memory in those touched by the goddess.”

They who? The Architects? How could a single woman be so dangerous that her enemies would want to wipe her completely from history? Garrin buzzed with questions, but Talys’s eyes were still on Arya, studying her like a text he couldn’t decipher.

“Please,” Garrin said, drawing the old man’s attention. “All we have is a name, and that she was an Architect. If you can tell us anything—”

“I’m a Teller, aren’t I?” Talys interrupted. “I’ve always been a little more storyteller than scholar. That’s why the council dismissed me, if you check the record. But that’s only part of the story.”

“Then tell us the rest,” Garrin pressed.

Talys sighed and gestured toward the door. “I’ve been looking for someone to listen for fifteen years—I suppose I can’t afford to be picky now. Sage, close the door. Maybe you’ll learn something new.”

Obediently, Dellon shut the door and stood shoulder to shoulder with his sister. “I am eager to learn, sir.”

Talys snorted. “We’ll see. Where to start? The beginning, I suppose. Well, the beginning is Anarya herself.”

“She was an Architect?” Arya said.

“One of the first.” Talys sat, shuffling aside a pile of papers and resting his elbows on his desk. “She developed much of the process for creating the king’s companion. In fact, she based the first queen’s appearance on herself.”

Garrin looked at Arya. The princesses always bore a strong resemblance to the queens who came before them, but he’d always assumed it was because they were created to match their princes. Maybe he had it backwards. Maybe Arya looked like his mother because his mother looked like Anarya Ellysen.

But that didn’t explain Talys. “I can understand Arya’s resemblance to the previous queens,” he said. “But why do you look like them too?”

A half-smile turned up one corner of Talys’s mouth. “Anarya was my ancestor. I’m told I have her eyes, though that’s impossible to prove. Over the years, the Architects have destroyed every likeness of her except the princesses.”

“But why?” Arya breathed.

Talys steepled his fingers together and narrowed his eyes at her. “Is Aremus still the head Architect?” At Garrin’s nod, he continued, “His father was before him, and his before him, and so on. In fact, most of the Architects have inherited their positions. They pride themselves in their lineage and the power and knowledge that has passed down from father to son for generations. The only men able to create life.”

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

“But it wasn’t their fathers who created life,” Elonie said. “It was Anarya.”

Dellon crossed his arms. “That’s why they wanted to keep Anarya’s contributions a secret. If they destroyed her memory…”

Talys gave them an approving look. “They could claim the accomplishment for themselves. And they did. They stole her work, they stole her livelihood, and they stole her legacy. The first Architects prevented Anarya’s daughter from joining their ranks, but eventually the Sages welcomed her great-grandson into their organization. Unfortunately, my family has always held a reputation for dissonance. It has since caught up to me, leaving me in the situation you now witness. Aremus was overjoyed at my dismissal. I was the last remaining tie to Anarya Ellysen, besides the queen.”

“And now Arya,” Garrin said.

The Teller Sage nodded. “Over the years, various Architects have tried adjusting the princess’s looks to destroy the resemblance, but it has never worked. They used to refer to it as ‘Her Rebellion’, as though Anarya is still choosing to act against them.”

“That doesn’t explain why Marshal Renton wants to keep Anarya a secret,” Dellon said. “He isn’t an Architect. Why does he care if Prince Garrin learns about her?”

“He’s likely afraid of Anarya’s curse,” Talys said.

“Curse?” Arya repeated. She sounded far too interested for Garrin’s liking.

Talys seemed to catch her enthusiasm; his eyes gleamed with amusement as he answered. “Legend claims Anarya spoke a curse against the men who had wronged her, saying that one of her own would rise against them and reclaim the power they had stolen. Of course, it’s a ridiculous fear—the Architects have kept each princess docile and complacent, and I am Anarya’s only living descendant. They have no more to fear from Anarya’s own.”

Garrin glanced at Arya. She was anything but complacent, and if Renton suspected her skills and knowledge, it would certainly explain his desire to keep Anarya’s history from them. “Thank you,” Garrin said, his stomach churning uneasily. “You’ve helped us a great deal.”

“I simply told a story,” Talys shrugged. “As I have always done.”

“History is full of stories,” Dellon said.

A smile touched Talys’s lips. “So it is. Be careful of who you say that to, young Sage, or you’ll end up with a dual role like me.”

Though Talys’s voice was light, Dellon nodded seriously. He opened the door and led the way into the hall, glancing back at Elonie and beckoning her to follow—giving Garrin and Arya a chance to speak with the Teller Sage alone.

And he wanted to. He wanted to confess everything he knew about Renton’s conspiracy, about the way the council had kept his father under their control and how they wanted to do the same with him. But Arya’s wary expression made him pause, and before he could think of a way to phrase his concerns, Talys was waving a dismissive hand.

“Thank you for speaking with us,” Arya said.

The Teller Sage opened a book and nodded without looking up from it. “Come and see me again. Things have been dull of late.”

Garrin pulled his hood back up as he left Talys’s office, pausing outside to wait for Arya. “Do you think Renton suspects me?” she asked quietly, closing the door and casting a worried glance down the hall.

“It’s possible,” Garrin said. “But not because of anything you’ve done. I’m sure he would suspect any new princess.”

“Then it’s even more important that we make sure there’s nothing for him to suspect,” she said firmly.

“You haven’t done anything,” Garrin pointed out. “It’s me he’s watching.”

“We know he’s watching you,” she corrected. “That doesn’t mean he isn’t watching me. We have to be careful.”

Or we have to leave. If he was going to leave anyway, wasn’t now the best time? Let Renton run the kingdom, if he wanted it—Garrin was tired of trying to unravel a conspiracy that was decades in the making. Generations, really. Maybe it was best to cut his losses and live the life of adventure he’d dreamed about.

But then what about Arya? She’d be in danger if she stayed in the castle, assuming Renton’s threats extended to her. Would she come with him?

Did he want her to?

She’d gotten ahead of him and had joined the others in the lobby, adjusting her hood while she spoke softly to Elonie. A torn feeling held him still as he watched the women talk. He hadn’t really considered Arya in any of his plans, other than how she could serve his needs. He hadn’t asked if she wanted to rule in his absence, or whether she preferred to come with him, or if she wanted to do anything else. It hadn’t even occurred to him that he should. In that respect, was he any better than Renton?

The thought chilled him. He couldn’t go on that way—if he wanted to live up to the examples set by his heroes, he needed to do things differently. Arya deserved to decide her own future the same way he wanted to.

As soon as they got back to the castle, he would ask her. He would involve her in his plans rather than dictating his decisions. For the first time, he would treat her the way she was supposed to be treated, the way Anarya Ellysen intended.

As his partner.