~¤ PREFACE ¤~

Drip.

Thud. Drip.

The cloister shivered with each footstep, casting icy droplets of water across my hair. The long, polished hall of the receiving house stretched away me, forlorn in its luxuriant adornments for the wedding. Pale, watery rays of sunlight tumbled from crystal windows onto the dove-grey carpet as diluted shadows cowered in any available corner. From where I huddled behind the pillar, I heard the windows crack, and I could see the carpet by the door begin to fray.

Thud. The sorcerer had overturned another dais; he violently cast the furniture aside with a spell, smashing a wooden chair to splinters. From a window, a tendril of cold fell gasping into the hall before being swept aside by the man’s frantic search.

“Where is it? Where is it?”

I held my breath. My heart was pounding so hard. Did he know where I was hiding? I was sure I’d ducked behind the pillar before his chase led him here. Close to my feet the carpet suddenly grew stricken, snapping against the stone floor before collapsing in individual threads.

Maybe it hadn’t been a good idea to swallow the pendant. I scrabbled inside my caftan for my dagger. The bronze was eerily hot against my skin.

“Curse you! Alenta, I demand that you show yourself! Where have you taken it?”

He would discover me soon. I closed my eyes. Why had I left him like that? Some saving could help right now.

I stepped out from behind the pillar, bronze dagger raised in defence.

Boom. The hallway echoed with the sound of a table falling heavily on its side. The glass décor and fresh-cut flowers shattered on the ground. Pale-faced, the sorcerer stopped short at the sight of me.

“You know what they say about mages,” I called. “You’ve been tricked.”

~¤ CHAPTER ONE ¤~

The day that I first saw magic was also the day of my sixth birthday. Plian, my nursemaid, had brought me to the city faire to celebrate.

I remember that afternoon well. I was unbearably excited and unable to stand still as Plian tried dressing me, until she spoke up irritably, “Will you stop moving, Alenta? Now everyone in the Palace will know I am taking you out.”

I settled down and let her button down my dress, buckle up my shoes, and tie a white ribbon in my hair. The ribbon matched my dress, which had white lace edging the pink fabric, meticulously sewn together by Plian.

Finally, with her hand around mine, we walked through the Palace. It was still sleepy from the ball the night before, and was very, very quiet. I walked carefully, lifting each foot clear of the floor lest I made a shuffling noise. The Queen wouldn’t like my going out to the city, much less to the faire. When we were clear of the Palace’s outer walls, I abandoned all furtiveness and, hand still in hand with Plian, I began to skip down the cobblestone road.

At first, I wasn’t sure if I liked the smell of the city. The air smelled acrid with cooking smoke, damp after the summer rains and musty from the grime on muddy roads. It was cool this early in the morning and a drizzle pattered lightly around us, but Plian had brought an umbrella. Few people walked the streets, and those who did hurried to their destinations without looking up.

It was the first time that I’d visited the city. Father always made sure I stayed home in the Palace. The closest I’d ever come to it was just outside the Palace walls, on the banks of the swiftly flowing Tiada River. The city faire was held in the oldest sector of the capital, usually called Cinarra. Before the Rejeans came a little more than century ago, Cinarra had been the capital. Now it wasn’t a city, but the oldest, poorest sector of the new capital, Madrigal, and connected to its wealthier counterpart by the Grey Bridge, which we now crossed.

From the highest point on the Bridge, I could see the tall, boldly painted posts and garish flags of the faire, set right next to the wharves. I tugged eagerly at Plian’s hand, but she kept her pace steady. She had her eyes trained on the flags too, and a reluctant smile tugged at the corner of her mouth.

The first thing she did was buy me a candy apple and a rag doll just the right size for my arms. It was dressed in cheap, brightly coloured cloth, and topped with a shock of custard yellow hair, like me. It had wings too, like a fairy.

For hours, we toured the sights of the faire. We saw a man with a grinning monkey that could juggle and play the drums. There was a woman who twisted herself into fantastic shapes while her younger brother folded himself over and fitted into a foot-wide tube painted with blue and white stripes. There was even a “tournament”, where men dressed up as knights and ran at each other with flimsy twig lances. Music strained everywhere; if a minstrel fell out of earshot, we ran into another band of musicians, caterwauling parlour songs into the clear summer air.

Plian found an elf woman who taught us to braid coloured string into bracelets. Though my fingers were clumsy and awkward, Plian guided me through a simple pattern, and I remembered each and every knot and twist. Dangling the unfinished bracelet before my face, I was thrilled with my work.

As I was braiding another bead onto the end of the bracelet, there was a sudden squawking of unskilled trumpeters; the noise was outrageous, and very loud! I looked around: there was a crowd forming at a wooden stand nearby.

“Plian, what’s that?” I asked, but she had already turned to the elf woman with the same question.

The woman nodded, smiling faintly. “It is Sake, the sorcerer from the east. He has come to demonstrate his magic.”

Magic! “Let’s go see!” I tucked my bracelet into Plian’s pocket and began dragging her over.

The crowd was very thick, so Plian lifted me to her shoulders. Even then, because she was also young, I could barely make out the stand above others’ heads. But when Sake appeared with a puff of purple smoke, there was no more need to strain. The crowd around us gasped in astonishment.

The sorcerer was immensely tall, hugely tall. Thin as a needle, dark purple robes hung off his frame like the Palace drapes over windows. He raised his hands, and his heavy sleeves tumbled back to reveal bony arms. Two large, round asters appeared in his palms. The people around me cheered, and he tossed them to his audience. I raised my hands to catch one, but a woman behind me snatched the flower. I settled back on Plian’s shoulders, disappointed.

My dismay lasted less than a heartbeat before I was once again enraptured. With extraordinary grace, Sake conjured magic that defied the imagination. He filled an empty glass with water from his fingertip, and upon its precarious perch on the back of his hand, it overflowed until there was not a droplet remaining in the glass. He planted a seed in between the planks of the stage, which grew into an enormous white tulip that blossomed and released yellow butterflies into the sky. He sprinkled sand over the stage and danced across it barefoot—without leaving footsteps. He even played a fiddle without holding one.

The sorcerer’s audience swelled with each act and soon, the entire courtyard was bursting with men, women, and children alike. With the finale of each trick, their roars of amazement echoed throughout the entire faire. I remained quiet, rather intimidated by the raucousness; but when they raised their hands in appreciation of Sake, I reached up as well, hoping he would see me. And for a split second, I swore he did.

After finishing a complex enchantment that resulted in two Sakes, the sorcerer and his double bowed deeply. Before the applause ended, both left the stage in another puff of purple smoke. There was a collective cheer from us, and then they began to disperse. Plian waited for the courtyard to empty before letting me down.

“How’d he do that?” I demanded eagerly. I wanted to do magic.

She shrugged. “I don’t know. He’s a sorcerer. That means he’s not human, and he can do magic.”

I was sorely disappointed. “Oh. Well. He looked human.”

She patted my head comfortingly.

We returned to the elf woman, who helped to tie a final knot on my bracelet. Plian was counting her money to pay when the woman pulled something out of her waist purse. It was a small glass vial.

“Give me your wrist, child,” she said, and I extended the wrist with my bracelet. She dripped a shining purple liquid on the bracelet. I smelled lavender and vanilla.

“For good luck,” she explained, and winked.

With our bracelets wrapped around our wrists, Plian bought me dinner. We carried it to Cinarra’s old town square and took a seat on the empty fountain’s lip. I opened my warm package of food: roast pigeon stuffed with vegetables and nuts. The smell was delicious, and I dug in eagerly.

Plian watched me eat before opening a small metal canteen. She handed it to me. I smelled some sort of fragrant cider and took a gulp.

“Plian, why aren’t you eating?”

“I’m not hungry.” She smiled.

Usually, Plian didn’t smile as much as she had today. I liked it when she smiled. Perhaps for that reason, I didn’t question her further. It didn’t occur to me then that she had spent almost a year’s wages on me today, and that was why she did not eat dinner.

When the smoky rays of dusk fell over the city, we began to walk home. I couldn’t stop talking about magic for the rest of the evening, even as she undressed me and tucked me into bed. When it was time for my bedtime story, I chose a story about a magical princess who could understand birdsong. As she mended a torn seam in my gown, I fell asleep with my doll in my arms.

--

That was the last day that I saw Plian. The next morning before I woke, the Queen dismissed her. Years later, I heard several different stories from servants who witnessed what happened that morning. The only fact that stayed the same was how Plian, at her tender age of thirteen years, had met the Queen’s fiery glare steadily and protested not one word against her fate. As if she had known.

When I woke up, I found my mended birthday dress hung up behind my door and her cot, once beside it, gone. On my desk was something new. I walked over to look.

It was a book, one so heavy and big I could not lift it off the table. When I stood on my chair and began flipping through it, I found each page to be richly illustrated, the text flowing and elegant, written entirely in Tennan. Although I could not read, I knew that she had left behind a book about magic.

--

I begged Father to bring Plian back. He was at loss for words, unable to comprehend ways of contradicting the Queen. By the third hour of pleading, she stormed into Father’s office and slapped me smartly across the face. I stopped in mid-sentence, and she left just as angrily. Father looked stricken, and he asked if I was all right. But I fled from him.

--

I spent the rest of that day in my rooms. Without Plian, I didn’t know what to do with myself. After an hour’s struggle with buttons, I succeeded in changing out of my nightgown and into my birthday dress. I set up my doll, which I named Plian, to play, then pulled out paper and drew pictures of us in charcoal. When that failed to interest me, I went to my new book and flipping through it, I tried to admire the illustrations.

I was a little scared of the emptiness of my rooms. Without Plian, I realized that I did not know anyone else at the Palace. It was terrifying to be alone.

As evening came around, I left in search of food. I asked some servants, who politely ignored me. After what seemed like centuries, a visiting knight took pity on me and brought me to the kitchens. He managed to persuade the cooks to serve dinner early for the both of us, then he carried his tray and mine to a table, and we sat down.

I ate the stew quietly, eyes downcast. My cheek still burned from the slap. Never had I felt so ashamed. I almost didn’t want to eat, but I was too hungry for even shame to deaden my stomach.

I felt the knight’s eyes on me, but I could not bring myself to look at him.

“Princess Alenta, are you all right?”

I shook my head. “I’m not a princess, sir knight. I’m Alenta.”

He hesitated, then reached over and rested a hand on my head. “I’m sorry. Alenta, are you all right?”

I shrugged.

The knight settled back before his dinner, but he picked at his food. Finally, he admitted, “I have a son two years your elder. It is distressing to see you sad.”

I started. He looked too young to be a father. I scrutinized him a little closer; maybe, he looked in his late twenties.

“What’s your name?”

He smiled. “Sir Niam of Kainsdor. It’s nice to meet you.”

“Nice t’meetchum,” I mumbled. I was sinking into despondency again. The conversation did not seem so interesting anymore.

Sir Niam of Kainsdor reached into his pocket and drew something out. Curious, I watched as he extracted a small, wooden puppet from his pocket. It had been so cleverly made and so delicately painted, I leaned forward immediately.

“Kainsdor is famous for their wood- and metal-workers,” he told me. “This is—was—my son’s favourite toy. I keep it with me as a memento when I’m away.”

He offered the puppet to me. After wiping nonexistent stains from my hands with my napkin, I gently took it into my hands. Holding the crossbars, I twitched the strings, and the puppet twitched in response.

After playing with it for some time, I handed it back. Sir Niam accepted it with a nod, but he did not put it away. Carefully, he settled the puppet so it stood limply on the tabletop. I heard him say a word, then the crossbar and strings sprang from his hand, and the puppet began dancing on the table.

He laughed when he saw me gaping. “It’s little magic,” he said. He snapped his fingers, and the puppet froze. When he touched the floating crossbar, the doll slumped on its strings. “Did you like it?”

“Yes!” I exclaimed. “Very much so!” I kneeled on my bench, leaning forward excitedly, oblivious to my sleeve, which trailed precariously near my stew. “Where did you learn that?”

Sir Niam set the puppet down beside his plate, and after taking a bite of his meal, he leaned over as if to tell a secret. Delighted, I listened in.

“While I was visiting the elves, a mysterious peddler was there,” he explained. “And he taught me the trick.”

“Really?”

He nodded gravely.

I sat back down, astounded beyond my imagination. A mysterious peddler! And Sir Niam—a human!—was able to do magic!

“How?” I demanded. “How can you do magic, if you are not a sorcerer?”

As if by a silent order, Sir Niam’s hand went to his nape of his neck, but he stopped himself before he touched his skin. Puzzled, I watched him scratch him head, unsure of how to answer me.

“Well, no human can conjure magic like a sorcerer or fairy,” he said, choosing his words carefully. “But a human can do magic—that is, if they have a medium that can channel it for them. Then it is only a matter of manipulating the medium.”

I stared at him.

He tried to reword himself. “Do you know the story of Yanaya the Enchantress?”

I nodded enthusiastically.

“Yanaya had a wood staff,” he continued. “A magic staff. The staff controlled magic, but Yanaya controlled the staff.”

Comprehension sunk in, and I grinned widely at him. “But that means I can do magic too.”

“Of course. But it is difficult.”

“You learned it.”

He laughed. “I am a knight.” Sir Niam leaned forward and ruffled my hair. “And you are a daughter of the King.”

I didn’t understand what he meant by that, so I decided to ignore the statement. “Sir knight, what is your staff?”

“You mean what I have to use magic?”

I nodded. He looked uncertain as to how to answer me. Finally, he pointed to the steel band on his finger: his ring of Knighthood.

“This,” he said. I didn’t believe him, but I didn’t press him about it.

As he brought our dishes to the kitchen maids, I trailed along, pelting him with question after question. One maid, perhaps irritated by that, told the knight curtly, “You shouldn’t encourage her. ‘Tis common for bastards to be drawn to wickedness.”

I immediately fell silent, but Sir Niam replied gently, “Wickedness is not drawn to birthrights, milady.”

Seeing the disgruntled look on the maid was delightful, but I tried to hide it. I wasn’t wicked.

I followed Sir Niam as far as I could, but I had to stop when he arrived at the gates to the guest wing.

“Will you teach me magic?”

He looked at me regretfully. “I’m sorry. I only know that one trick. Can you not learn from one of the Palace mages?”

I shrugged. “Maybe.” I wanted to learn from Sir Niam.

“I leave tomorrow,” he said, and looked even more apologetic.

“Maybe I’ll see you again,” I added hopefully. Maybe he’ll teach me magic.

Sir Niam smiled at me. “It was wonderful to talk with you, Your Highness.” He had a very kind smile.

He bowed, and I replied by dipping a wobbly curtsy. Then he left.

I skipped all the way back to my rooms. When I returned, I stood atop a chair and flung open my textbook of magic. I couldn’t read it, but I pored over the illustrations, marvelling at the colours and details with newfound fascination.

A human can do magic!

I stood by my desk and peered more closely at the page of my book. Imitating the illustration, I followed the gestures described in the image. After a few seconds of pointing and waving my hands crazily, I stopped and examined the flower sitting before me. It had not twitched a petal. Frustrated but undiscouraged, I tried again. This time, the petals shivered and slowly, slowly, slowly began to part, revealing the fleshy insides of the tulip.

I didn’t even try to contain my triumphant laugh. I slapped the pages of my book with glee, and I knelt down to lift the small bottle holding the flower.

I was eight, and nine in two weeks. I was tall enough to read the book without standing on a chair, and strong enough to carry the book for a minute. And I could do magic, even without being able to read the instructions. Making the tulip open on its own was the twenty-second trick that I’d learned since I turned six.

I raced out of my rooms with the bottle and tulip carefully held in my hands. Down a servants’ corridor, and after a wary look around, I ran through the receiving hall, across the courtyards and into the stables.

“Mandel, look! My tulip!”

The hostler turned around. He was a large, burly man, but Mandel immediately stooped down to my height to greet me. I showed him my tulip. Gently, he touched its opened petals with wonder, and he grinned a gap-toothed grin.

“Ye did it again!” he said with a laugh. “Ye li’l wizardess, ye!” He ruffled my hair. I’d found that people liked doing that, and I giggled.

“Tulips don’t grow in late summer, do they?” I inquired earnestly. Mine had been taken from the gardeners’ stores, but I didn’t tell him that. He nodded with an “Uh”, and patted me on the shoulder.

“They don’, lassie,” he said. “But me wife loves ‘em, and she’s always askin’ me to buy her one in spring.”

I offered the tulip to him. “Gi’ this ‘un to her, Mandel,” I suggested. “She loves ‘em.” I liked mimicking his coarse accent.

“Ah, but she mightn’ like ‘em now, since it’s summer.” He straightened and continued to fix a bale of hay for a horse.

“Why not? A tulip is a tulip.” I picked up a pail of water nearby and handed it to him. He grunted his thanks and dumped it into the horse’s water trough.

“Don’tcha think ye shoul’ go play a bit more?” His voice sounded rougher than usual. “Like with kids yer age?”

“I dunno.” That was something he often said too. “They at their lessons, or helpin’ their mamas at chores.” I was talking about the nobles’ and servants’ children. There were usually some that would play with me, but lately they had been pretty scarce.

He sighed. “That’s lonesome.”

Mandel was quiet for a bit, and I trailed after him as he secured bale after bale of hay to a stall and poured pail after pail of water into a water trough. I filled the pails of water for him, but he didn’t grunt after the first one.

“It ain’t right, leavin’ a kid lonesome like yerself,” he said finally. “Sometime I’ve a mind to say somethin’, but I got a wife and li’l ‘uns to think abou’ too.”

“S’okay, Mandel.”

He roped up the last bale of hay and filled the last trough, before turning to me.

“Ye run off,” he ordered gruffly. “Or ye’ll get in me way.”

I left quietly, but I put the tulip on a stool for him. He’d been grouchy all week.

Oh my way out, I nearly ran into two nobles entering the stables. I fell back just on time and stood to the side. But when I sneaked a look, I couldn’t take my eyes away.

Until that day, I’d never come so close to Prince Dhyr before. He was the heir to the Tennan crown, and seven years my elder. His swarthy skin was like Father’s and his hair a little like both his parents, but his eyes were very bright, for they were hazel-blue, like the Queen’s. Prince Dhyr stood nearly twice as tall as me. Dressed in a comfortable white shirt and a sleeveless grey waistcoat that matched his breeches, he looked as strong and fierce as Toran, Yanaya’s sworn swordsman.

Beside him was his sister, Princess Roxanne. She was almost two years younger than her brother. I’d never seen her so close before either, and she was as beautiful as the courtiers said. She had large black eyes and curly black hair, just like Father. Her skin was from her mother: smooth as porcelain, and a pale olive colour, contrasting with her full, red lips. In her hands, she carried a fine leather scroll with Rejean script written across the corner. When she saw me, she smiled.

The smile jarred me out of my stupor, and I tried to curtsy, but I was unbalanced and could not hold it. Prince Dhyr nodded absently at me and kept going his way. I watched them round the corner, towards Mandel, and then hurried out of the stables. I heard them speaking as I headed back to the Palace.

The next morning, I returned to talk with Mandel. But this time, as soon as he saw me, he tried to avoid me. When I caught up to him, his face was red and his hands shook.

“Mandel? Wh—”

“Why d’ye keep followin’ me ev’ryplace?” he barked. I took a step back. “I’m lucky I go’ a warnin’, else ye’d b’ th’ cause of m’ losin’ m’ job! Y’ better b’ leavin’, or—”

“—But—”

“Go!” he roared.

I scrambled away as fast as I could. In my haste, I knocked over the wilted tulip, still atop the stool, and the bottle shattered on the ground.

Outside, I pounded my fists against the outside wall of the stables. I wanted to cry, but I didn’t want to be caught outside bawling like a little kid, then I bit my lip until it bled. I hiccupped, and I clamped an angry hand over my mouth.

“If you keep up the racket, you’ll get in trouble.”

The faintly accented voice came from behind me. Seized by horror, I spun around and tried to curtsy at the same time. Despite the blood on my face, I bit my lip and tried to swallow my tears and hiccups.

It was Princess Roxanne. I ducked my chin; the blood was dribbling onto my only gown. To my mortification, she took her handkerchief and held it against my bleeding lip.

“There, there,” she said soothingly.

I could not hold onto my tears anymore. My knees sunk to the ground and I cried. I pressed the handkerchief against my face, trying to muffle my wails. At first, Princess Roxanne stayed a respectful distance from me, but soon she’d reached forward and began stroking my hair with a gentle hand, murmuring gently to me.

--

I knew what Mandel had meant by telling me to leave. Maybe that was what the other children had been told too. If that was so, it was unimaginable that Princess Roxanne would want to stay by my side either. Later that same day, when I met her in the corridors, I dipped a clumsy curtsy and said nothing to her. She said nothing either, but I felt her watch me walk away.

The sun rose the next day, but it might as well had not. I sat outside under an apple tree, determinedly ignoring Mandel who worked nearby. Instead, I watched Prince Dhyr run through his daily sword drill. He wore a pale blue shirt this time, with black breeches and his brown tunic discarded. Dully, I ran my fingers over a worn picture book. One of the noble children had forgotten it, and I’d picked it up. I couldn’t read it, but I thought I knew what it said from the illustrations.

I quickly lost interest in the childish story and began watching Prince Dhyr. He was very good with the sword. He was only sixteen, and while most boys became squires at that age, he was already two years into his squire hood under Tenna’s most prestigious knight master, the Duke of Yalanja, Lord Theodor. I liked imagining him as Toran the swordsman, and Roxanne as Yanaya—though they were brother and sister, not lovers, of course.

Noble ladies could learn sword play too, but if they did, they usually learned it in their childhood, long before they went off to become “finished” ladies of the court. There were some lady knights in Tenna, like Lady Revana of Ksabal and Lady Uttessis of Hinoma, but old Rejean attitude spoke against it. I wondered if Princess Roxanne could use a sword.

Swordplay was out of the question for me. I wasn’t noble. Instead, I dreamed of it.

When Prince Dhyr was finished duelling his knight master, the duke headed toward the Palace. The prince set off toward the stables, like he did yesterday. On his way, he passed me. I quickly got to my feet and curtsied. He nodded politely, wiping his mouth despite his obvious thirst, and went his way. I fell back onto the grass and watched him go.

I returned the next day, but this time I had a soft bread roll and two canteens of water in my hands. Again, I watched him, munching idly on the roll, but this time when he passed me, I wordlessly offered the second canteen. Taken aback, he uttered hoarse thanks and left. I watched him drink the water as he walked away.

For the next two days, I brought him water. The third day, however, was different. I came again with extra water. This time, when I offered it to him, Prince Dhyr paused.

“Twerp, what do you want?” he demanded wearily. He sounded a little exasperated or dismayed.

I looked up in surprise. “Nothin’, your Highness.”

He sighed. “If you keep this up, you’ll get us in trouble. Thanks.” He took the bottle and left.

It hadn’t occurred to me that I could get him in trouble. Maybe I would get in trouble with the Queen, but him? As heir to the crown, was he not powerful enough to overrule his mother? Well, I amended, if Father cannot overrule her, he probably can’t.

Disheartened, I finished the last of my breakfast and returned to the Palace.

--

I did not wait for Prince Dhyr to come around the next day. Instead, when I saw him leave the practice courts, I quickly ran from the apple tree, but I left behind a canteen. Peering around a nearby oak tree, I waited for him to stop and pick up the metal bottle. He saw it, but he didn’t stop. Puzzled, I waited until he drew closer, and then I leaned forward for a better look. He had brought his own water.

I waited until he was out of sight before retrieving the bottle.

I did not return to watch him practice anymore. My birthday came and went, as did another week. During that time, I explored the Palace, trying to find something, somewhere new to distract myself. After scouting out several deserted servants’ paths, gardens, and drawing rooms, I decided to settle in the vast Central Library of the Palace. There was a little desk forgotten in the eastern end, tucked into an alcove. I liked to hide under it, and brought my growing collection of picture books there, all either thrown away or lost by noble children residing in the Palace. I sat there for hours on end, marvelling at the drawings and trying to decipher the Rejean alphabet and the Tennan pictographs.

One day, as I struggled to understand my texts and ignore the children who chattered over a fretful tutor, the monotony changed. Princess Roxanne, carrying a couple of thick books written in Rejean and Tennan, came over to sit at a nearby table. Once I glanced up, I found it difficult to tear my eyes away from her. As expected sooner or later, she looked up.

I hastily busied myself with my picture books. But I could feel her eyes boring into the top of my head. Then I heard her chair scrape the ground, and she walked over to my desk. She pulled up two chairs and sat down before bending over to watch me.

“Can you read?”

I flushed.

She waited patiently for an answer, but I did not move. The princess leaned forward and accurately interpreted my facial expression.

“It isn’t difficult. Do you know the two alphabets?”

I shook my head. Had it always been so hot in the library?

Princess Roxanne nodded sympathetically. “Here, come up.” As I slinked into the second chair, she went back to her table to return with her writing box. From it, she took out some fine linen paper and a pen. After carefully stretching and weighing down the linen, she dipped the pen in ink and began to write in a sloping, elegant script. She wrote slowly and surely, so that I could read her writing. She started with Rejean.

“Rejean is written horizontally, left to right,” she explained. “We also read from left to right. Each letter has a sound. String them together, and we form one pattern of sound, or a word.

“That’s ‘a’. Depending on the letters before and after it, it makes two sounds. ‘Ah’ and ‘ay’.” She drew two pictures whose names demonstrated the difference. “Say it.”

I swallowed and cleared my throat. “Ah. Ay.” My voice came out in a squeak.

She went through the entire Rejean alphabet, and I pronounced each and every one of the letters heartily. After blowing on the first page to dry the ink, she set the Rejean alphabet aside and prepared a second piece of linen.

“Now we start with Tennan,” she announced. “It is very different from Rejean: for one, we write sentences from top to bottom, and each new line moves left.” She opened one of my picture books and showed me what she meant. “One word is like a picture, drawn by combining several of fifty-eight symbols in a certain way. With these symbols, you can determine which word the picture represents, and how the word is read depends on how it is drawn.

“This symbol is the most basic and commonly used.” She made an elegant stroke on the linen. “If you see a word with this in it, it will have an ‘ae’ sound. This one here…”

I watched her intently, absolutely captivated. I adhered to her every word without a blink at any distractions. Though sometimes I didn’t understand her, I mulled her words over until I thought I understood her, and then stored the lesson in my memory. When she asked me to read the alphabets over with her, I repeated each sound perfectly, although sometimes with prompting. She looked pleased with my progress.

As the Palace clock struck four, Princess Roxanne rolled up the linen squares and handed them to me. I blanched, sliding as far down in my seat as possible.

“B-but…”

She grinned wryly. “It’s all right, sweet. Keep them and study for tomorrow. Will you be here again at two?”

Mutely, I nodded. She called me sweet!

“Thank ye for teachin’ me, your Highness,” I blurted. “’Twas very fun, an’, an’ very int’restin’.”

I shouldn’t have used the word ‘fun’. Now she must think I do not take her lessons seriously, I thought, grimacing. But she smiled.

“No need to thank me,” she said. “It is a pleasure to know that you are interested.”

I swallowed, attempting to wet my mouth. “I’m very happy for ye teachin’ me.”

“I’m very grateful,” she corrected absently. “You mean you are very grateful.”

I nodded, unsure if ‘grateful’ described how happy I was for her teaching me. I clutched my new scrolls of knowledge tightly and curtsied.

As she collected her writing tools, she added suddenly, “My brother told me that you used to watch him practice every morning, when you suddenly stopped coming. He complains a lot—” The crown prince, complaining? What a strange idea “—usually about how hot the days are, and how thirsty he becomes. But he never brings enough water, so it is his fault.”

She smiled one last time and closed her writing box. I curtsied again, and she left.

Her last remark puzzled me. She hadn’t struck me as one for making idle comments frequently. Nor had she sounded exactly off-handed.

Then it hit me, and I laughed.

--

The next day, I waited behind the oak tree again. Heading to the stables after practice, Prince Dhyr had already emptied his own water bottle. When he passed the apple tree, he stopped, surprised. At first, he didn’t seem to know how to react. Then a crooked grin lit his face, and he looked around for me before accepting the water tucked in the tree roots.

Author's Note: I hope you don't my attaching the preface to the first chapter instead of starting a new chapter with it. So begins Part I :)