He stood over the engravings, his brow furrowed as he attempted to decipher the words.
“I can’t be entirely sure, but I believe it says something along the lines of ‘choose wisely’.”
“Well, as long as it doesn’t predict a horrid death for disturbing the relics, I feel comfortable about taking them,” she said with a grin.
She glanced around the floor of the cave, searching for something she could break the glass with. Her eyes lighted on a large rock laying a few feet away and she bent to retrieve it.
Walking back to the case, she took a deep breath. “Shield yourself,” she directed Merrick. She raised her arm and prepared to smash open the glass. Her hand was on its way down when the vision of her father exploded into her mind. She halted her arm in midair, nearly paralyzed with the mistake she had almost made.
“What’s wrong?” Merrick asked.
“I don’t think I’m supposed to choose the relics,” she whispered. She closed her eyes and relived the moment of her meditation.
“Long after everything else is gone, the written word lives on,” she quoted aloud.
Merrick stared at her in confusion.
“My father’s words from my vision,” she replied, sure he would think her crazy.
But he surprised her. “Perhaps you should heed your father’s advice,” he said slowly.
She stared between the emerald and the rolled up paper in agony over what she should do. All her life she had heard of the importance of the emerald and the scepter. How could she not return with them?
Wisdom.
Her father’s words, Father Ling’s reminder. They both had been trying to tell her something. Wisdom was knowing what to do in a difficult situation. Knowing how to make the tough decisions.
In one swift motion, she brought the rock down and shattered the glass. With shaky hands she reached over and took the rolled up paper. As soon as she lifted it, the rock began to shake, and the pedestal holding the emerald and the scepter within the glass case sank through an opening in the rock, leaving the case empty and no evidence that it had ever held anything.
She looked at Merrick and blew out her breath in a long sigh. “I hope I was right.”
“Even if you weren’t, I cannot imagine a more worthy person to rule Leaudor,” he said, putting a hand on her shoulder.
Tears pricked her eyelids and she smiled. “Thank you for saying that.”
She viewed the scroll in her hand almost afraid to open it, afraid it would scream her failure. Backing away from the stone base and the scattered shards of glass, she retreated to the far side of the cavern and sank down against the wall. Once she was seated, she began untying the leather strap.
Merrick sat beside her, remaining silent as she unrolled the parchment. She glanced quickly over it and tears flooded immediately to her eyes. It was written by her father!
In his neat distinctive script, he wrote:
All of Leaudor should rejoice this day as you have succeeded where so many before you have failed. Truly you have all the qualities necessary to rule a nation. Patience, courage, faith and now wisdom. I know not which of my three children is reading my words, but regardless of which, know that I am proud, so very proud of you.
Worry not that you have chosen wrong, for the true icons of Leaudorian royalty lie in the monastery guarded for generations by the monks. With this letter, you will have proven your worth and merit. Produce this letter to the senior monk and you will carry with you to your coronation the true Royal Emerald and the Jeweled Scepter. Proof to all people that you are the true and righteous ruler of Leaudor.
As you are reading this letter, it is because my time as king has passed. But I will be with you always, in heart and spirit. Be strong and true to yourself and above all remember you are Leaudorian.
Your loving father,
Fernando Chastaine
Dropping the letter, she buried her face in her arms and sobbed great, raw, gulping sobs. Merrick’s arms came around her, holding her tightly as she wept.
She shook uncontrollably as tears soaked her tunic. He was gone. Her father and mother were both gone. Her heart ached until she feared her chest may burst from the heavy burden. Raw, guttural sounds of agony ripped from her throat as months of grief, fear and anger broke free.
She would never see them again, never hug them, never feel her mother’s comforting arms around her, never chase wildly after her father on horseback over the rolling mountain meadows that surrounded the castle.
The thrill of success paled in the depth of her misery and anguish. Yes, she had proven her merit. She would return triumphantly to the monastery, and her coronation would be planned. But at what price? She didn’t want to be queen. She wanted her family back.
