The cold temperatures of silverreign had only just given way to the warmth of spring. If the poor man thought this was hot, Isa did not want to tell him what a true Allysian goldenreign would feel like. At least by then her mother could ensure that the good monks had proper linen robes. Having spent their entire lives on the cold shores of Iseldis, their woolen garb had made sense during every season. But over the last few years, the sea’s storms had grown increasingly erratic and dangerous, so the Council of the Five Kingdoms had ordered the monks to leave their monastery and find a safer home. After traveling northeast, most of them had settled in Allys.
“I will find a copy of it someday,” Isa promised herself aloud. “Surely someone has preserved the full tale.”
The small tome she had brought to Iseldis only contained the first two manuscripts of the beloved story, and she had never been fortunate enough to read the ending. Her father had spent years trying to find the final installment for her, but it seemed that few of the ancient scrolls had survived through the ages.
“How was your trip to Iseldis?” Brother Elias looked up at Isa from beneath his drooping eyelids. She did not miss the small note of wistfulness in his voice.
She smiled, her heart feeling for him. He had been asked to leave his entire life behind. “Quite memorable. The city and palace were beautiful—well, before the attack, that is. I don’t think I want to go back anytime soon.”
He nodded grimly. “That must have been frightening to witness.”
Despite the balmy weather, Isa felt goosebumps run down her arms. She hugged herself. “It was. I couldn’t see much, as the room went dark. Fortunately, I was already on an upper balcony and was able to make it out of the hall immediately before they closed the doors to apprehend the attacking Majis. I am not sure what happened after I left. They say a member of the palace guard saved Prince Ian’s life. Last I heard, the guard was quite ill but still alive.”
“That was a brave man to put himself into unknown danger.”
“His magic dimmed the whole room,” Isa said, recalling the attacker. She had not shared the full details with her mother or sister, not wanting to burden them with worry or relive the memory too closely herself. But as her mind unraveled the chaotic events of three days prior, a deeper fear began to surface. “I had no idea that one Majis could be that powerful. The Return is only three seasons away. If one Majis could do that, what will it be like when hordes of them return to the Five Kingdoms, eager for revenge after their exile?”
The old monk nodded solemnly, his eyes in that far-off place again.
“I thought we were prepared,” Isa continued. “Iseldis will hold them off at the shore. But Iseldis could not even stop an attack on their crown prince! Are we prepared? Is there any hope of victory against that kind of terror?”
Her heart raced, the chills on her arm turning to an uncomfortable flush of warmth. Brother Elias had not turned to her, but his solemn expression told her he had heard her words.
“I do not know if it is victory that we should be hoping for,” the old monk finally said. “The future is always far more complicated than that.”
Isa exhaled as her mind swirled. It was too much—the extended worry over her father’s illness, the shock of witnessing the Majis attack in person, the ever-growing dread of the Return. She wanted to run away, to escape to a world before these problems existed.
As if sensing her change in mood, the old man finally looked toward her, his eyes present. “I did not say that there was no reason to hope at all. No one knows what the next silverreign will bring.”
Isa could not keep the confusion from her face. If he had meant to comfort her, he had failed. “Is that not the problem, though—the not knowing?”
“No one knows what the next silverreign will bring.” He repeated his own words slowly, to himself, as though he had never heard them before.
Isa waited for him to elaborate.
He did not.
“Do you know something that you are not telling me?” she asked, eager for answers of any sort.
“No one knows.” He shrugged. Perhaps the heat had affected him worse than she had thought.
“Isa!” a cheerful voice called as a younger girl stepped into the room. “It’s been so much longer than a minute.”
Livia, Isa’s younger sister, must have grown tired of waiting at the shops across the street.
“Let’s go home.” Livia slipped her hand in Isa’s arm, pulling her toward the door.
Isa hurriedly glanced around the room as she stumbled after her sister. “Wait, Livia, I’m not done.” She shook her arm free.
Livia rolled her eyes and crossed her arms impatiently. “We’ve been gone for hours.”
Ignoring her sister, Isa carefully sifted through a nearby pile of scrolls. “Do you have anything else I might borrow?” she asked Brother Elias. “I’ve been trying to read to my father, and I was hoping that maybe something new would be good for him.” Not that he could understand anything that was said to him. Something new would keep her own mind occupied as well.
“Feel free to take anything you like,” Brother Elias responded. “I know my dear friends are safe in your hands.” He gestured toward the entire wall to his left, which was piled with damaged scrolls. “When your father is better, we can get to work restoring these and establishing a true library here.”
“Thank you,” Isa responded. “Oh! I did bring you this.” She held out a bound book. “You said that you had never read an original Viliamu?”
Her words brought a look of pure joy to the old man’s face. He bounced up from his chair and came around the table to take the book from her hands. “An original Detritus? I never thought I would see the day. No one ever thought to bring that old Falqri warrior to the eastern sea, too controversial.” Brother Elias had the book open and was instantly lost in skimming through the pages.
