“That’s impossible,” I said, the words barely audible. I glanced between the tome then back. But it was possible—I’d just seen it for myself. “How?” I almost choked on the word.
The king signaled for me to retake my seat. Staring at him, I blindly felt for the seat and sat down on its edge.
“That page has been bespelled to locate you for a very long time, and until last week, it remained vacant. But then, on the eleventh, on your birthday, the page slowly sketched in details. It wasn’t until early afternoon that the symbol in the middle appeared, followed by your name. That was the last detail sketched, and the first to vanish. The map has continued to fade ever since. I know it’s difficult to read now, but I still thought it best for you to see it for yourself.”
I sat there, incapable of articulating a response.
“Once I realized the map was temporary, I had one of my cartographers identify the land. Upon completion, my men and I left immediately. We arrived at your—” He paused, no doubt trying to find the best word to describe the cabin without offending me. I suspect hovel would have been an apt word for it in the eyes of a king. “Home,” he hedged. “When we let ourselves in”—the grisly scene played in my mind as he continued—“I feared you had been taken, or worse. And when I saw you running toward us, I prayed to the Mother that you were who we’d been searching for. I cannot tell you the relief I felt when you told me your name.” That same relief flashed over hisfeatures as if he felt it now.
I remembered that moment. It must have taken a great deal of patience to be calm with me as I evaded his questions.
“I wanted to get you out of there as quickly as possible,” he said, “and bring you here, where you would be safe.” He gestured to the surroundings, indicating the estate.
Countless questions raced through my mind. The most predominant beingwhy?But I wasn’t ready for that answer. So, I took the easy way out. “I don’t understand what you mean when you saybespelled.”
“A spell is a sort of verbal enchantment akin to magic. It also possesses the ability to imbue an object—or, occasionally, an individual—with magical properties or triggers.”
“I understand the wordspell—I’m not illiterate. I’ve read enough to understand the concept. I’m just not sure what it means in reality. What you mean when you saythe page was bespelled?”
With a subtle shake of his head, he cast me a patient look—like someone bracing themselves to elucidate a simple matter. “Apologies. I sometimes forget how heavy the veil is. Let me try again. In mythical narratives, Nyleeria, much is rooted in reality—including spells. I, having spent my entire life devoted to the craft, am known as a savant. Ages ago, I imbued that page with a tracking spell to find you. I’m now inclined to believe your coming of age triggered it, thereby revealing the map. But until we met, I had no idea who we’d find.”
The implication of what he’d revealed sank in. Not sure I wanted the answer, I asked, “What other mythical things have I read about that are real?”
“I think it would be easier if I told you the story that led to you being here. But you’ve already taken in a lot, Nyleeria, are you sure you want to hear it now?” There was no judgment in his tone, only gentle kindness.
The truth was, I wasn’t sure about anything, even my sanity. But if what he’d revealed was true, then it didn’t matter if it was now orlater, as no amount of time would make this news any easier to palate.
“I’m not sure about anything anymore,” I said, “But, please, tell me anyway.”
He nodded and launched into his tale.
“Over five hundred years ago a travesty befell our kind that should have been memorialized as the Great War. The losses, they were…unimaginable, and among them was my family.” I flinched back in surprise, and he halted. I ran through my lessons, which were extensive. But as I pulled facts forward, I couldn’t recall even the slightest mention of anything that alluded to, or constituted, war—let alone someGreat Warthat had apparently ravaged our people. Feeling uneasy, I swallowed then nodded for him to continue.
“You see, Nyleeria, spellcraft has been passed down paternally in my family for generations with each future king being more apt than his predecessor. This ability kept our lands and people safe—that is, until the Great War. Others who possess strong powers of their own saw my family as a threat and sought to eliminate our bloodline—they almost succeeded. My father hid me away with our ancient scriptures, and gave his life to preserve our bloodline, my abilities, the sacred tomes, and our people.” The king took a moment to sip his tea, and the ease with which he carried himself was at such odds with what he’d just confessed to me. His cup clinked softly as he set it back down.
“Before leaving me in the safety of a cavern, my father taught me a spell and ordered me to cast it when I was safely tucked away. It took a long time to understand the true fallout from the spell, but simply put, I’d cast a veil over our lands, wiping all mystical knowledge from memory and recorded history with exception to anything, or anyone, shrouded in that cavern. Unfortunately, it only pertained to our people. It was, however, enough to convince those who attacked us that our powers were nullified, and the Alton lineage had been…contained—so they abandoned the war, leaving us to live in ignorance.”
His gaze darkened as he continued, “I was only ten years old when it happened, but in that moment, I vowed nothing like that would ever happen to me and mine again. I would avenge my family and make sure to protect my people—permanently. I knew my mission would take longer than a lifetime, and for almost twenty years I searched for a spell to preserve my body and mind. I haven’t aged a day since that spell took effect.” My eyes darted over his features again, looking for any sign of aging past thirty—it was impossible to reconcile his appearance with his age. He gave me a sheepish grin, as if unaccustomed to being scrutinized in that manner.
“Believe it or not,” he said before I could articulate any sort of response, “that was the easy part. I traveled far and wide, searching for a great power that could protect my people and my future family. It wasn’t until I came across a scripture that spoke of a spark being preserved by the ancients, lying dormant until it took form, that I felt true hope for my people. But, after countless years, we failed to find anything more than what we’d already discovered. I realized that one scripture, translated from a language long lost, was the extent of what I’d find outside of folklore and tavern tales. So, I gambled, and placed a spell on a blank piece of parchment in the vain hope it would track this ancientspark. And after nearly three hundred years, Nyleeria, it led me to you.”
I sat there, wholly still, and stared at him, my gaze unfocused. Nausea built with each echo of his words, imprinting themselves deeper each time. Countless emotions cleaved through me faster than I could identify them, and I clenched my hands together tight enough that a sharp pain tried to steal some of the focus as my nails dug in, breaking the surface.
“Nyleeria?”
The word sounded in my ears as if from a distance.
“Nyleeria?”
My vision sharpened, and I found the king’s concerned gaze pressing down on me. He leaned in, reaching for me. I scrambledaway, and the sound of shattering glass rang in my ears before I realized I’d clumsily knocked into something. As I looked down, taking in the vase’s fractured pieces, I couldn’t help but feel a kinship with it.
The doors creaked open. “Everything okay?” The king gave a curt nod, and the doors latched closed once more.
He stepped toward me and I stepped back.
“Stop.” I put a hand up. He obeyed, and a sort of wariness entered his eyes.
“Nyleeria?” he tried again.
