Of Blood And Royal Bones

Chapter 3: Talatian Roots

Nearly a week later, Kassia found herself perched atop a wide-set windowsill in the library taking advantage of the breathtaking view of the sun's final rays painting the sky in hues of pink and violet. She sat with an ankle crossed atop the other, her thigh hanging over the edge slightly as she marveled at the vibrant sky. Basia sat to her right, facing the window in a well-cushioned chair, her perfect button nose shoved in a book.

    "What an odd factorial." Basia mumbled to herself as she read. "Kass, you must hear of this equation I've just discovered. It is rather quizzical." Fascination seeped her words as she leaned forward to nudge her friend.

    "Yes, that is odd." Kassia commented, not at all bothering to so much as glance at the page where Basia's finger rested. Basia, however, deigned to notice.

    "Odd considering the overall result is slightly smaller than the original exponential. Almost as if the factorial plays a trick on the mind. Almost as if its intended purpose was to produce a very specific result, but with some miracle failed and produced a rather unique one."

    "How enthralling." Kassia commented with little interest.

    "Like you." Basia mused.

    Kassia's head spun to Basia. "What is?"

    "You were meant to be one thing, but became something unique instead."

    "That is certainly a unique perspective." Kassia considered. Basia's reassurances on her well-intended viewpoint were drowned out as an idiosyncratic figure caught her eye from across the room.

    She stood up slowly, her brows drawn together as she squinted at the cloaked form pulling and replacing books from a shelf on the opposite wall. The figure reached an arm up to skim a finger over the dated book covers. As the tanned hand roved across the shelf gravity pulled down the cloak's hood to dangle in a mass of dark shadows amid the stranger's back and a clump of thick brown coils were revealed.

    Kassia's eyes bulged in realization and a hand flicked down to rapidly tap at Basia's shoulder. "There he is." She pointed to the far wall of the library and Basia let out a small gasp. With no further explanation to her friend, she swept across the library in long, swift strides.

    "Have you yet to bother yourself with the purpose of those poisons, or are you simply the delivery service?" She threw at him with mild politeness as she approached him.

    He made a process of slowly turning to face her, book in hand, as if he knew she'd be there. "Hello, love." He greeted, an amused smile teasing his lips.

    "I am called Kassia, not love." She told him simply.

    He released an entertained huff before admitting, "I know who you are."

    "Well there was little proof of that, was there not?" She crossed her arms.

    He considered the book he was holding, flipping it over in his hands. "You should not bother yourself with the business of those poisons."

    "And why ever not? Are poisons a normal commodity in the castle? If so, I've never stumbled upon them and I am a highly curious female who certainly would have–"

    "That you are." He cut in. "You're far too curious for your own good. You think of me as a delivery service, tell me, are you curious what other services I can provide?" A cunning smile twisted his face and he winked.

    She scowled. "How dare you speak to a lady with such a filthy tongue."

    "Lady? I am not in sight of any lady."

    Kassia's cheeks flushed as she dared a glance at her training attire: today, her usual pair of knee-high black boots, a loosely fitting white shirt, and in replace of her chainmail dress a black leather corset and a belt of thick leather strips lined with copper buttons which hung over her creamy thighs. A set of leather forearm sleeves completed her light armor, though she had relinquished them before retiring to the library. However wretched she may dress, she loathed the acceptable clothing that women were forced to wear. How was one to work comfortably in such long garments with the constant fear of dirtying the ends of their expensive silk and satin dresses?

    "No, a better discovery is that you are actually in the presence of a warrior." She boasted. "And as such I demand to know what you are called." She raised her eyebrows to assert her command.

    "It is a mouthful and I can assure you, not one that you can fit past those pretty lips."

    "You have not a clue what my mouth is–" She stopped herself, sensing the looming innuendo, and sighed. "I've told you mine. Now, if you will please show your respects and return the favor."

    "Ziamnospon Mrok. You're welcome to call me Ziam if you don't think your mouth is capable of my full name. Here," He tossed the book he'd been holding to her. "Though your friend might find more use of it lest you lack the ability to read." He did not allow her a chance to ask questions as he threw her one last dashing smile and sauntered into the labyrinth of bookshelves towards the mouth of the library.

    She studied the book that was now in her possession. Its hard emerald casing was enriched with a pattern of golden swirls that accented its golden spine. The corners were worn from countless years of use and when she fanned it open the pages were yellow. Countless centuries of use, it seemed.

    She ambled back to Basia who she knew had been watching intently on the edge of her seat and absently handed her the book. "Ziam." She muttered.

    "I've never heard of a name like that." Basia blurted.

    "Shortened from Zeemnos– Ziamnopen– oh, bloody dagger, I don't know how to pronounce it." She slumped onto a nearby couch in exasperation.

    "That sounds familiar..." Basia stood and walked with haste to a bookshelf a ways down from them where she plucked out a thick book and flipped it open. Her eyes scanned the pages with feverish hunger. "Ah, here!" She jammed a finger into the center of a page and walked back to her seat, her eyes never leaving the book's contents. "Emanating from the roots ziem and sporon, the Talla name Ziamnospon was formed. Does that evoke any memory of the name?"

    "Yes, that was it!" She squealed in excitement. "His surname was Mrok, I can remember that much. But what do they mean? What does it mean if his name is that old?"

    Basia waved her questions away. "Oh, it is of little relevance if one's name stems from Talla. In fact, the name Kassandra is from the Talatian language, I believe, and Kassia is a major root of the language. Thus, Kassandria. As a matter of fact, your last name might be Talatian as well..."

    "But what do they mean?" Kassia questioned. She glanced out the window and noticed the stars dancing in complete darkness. The sun had already tucked itself below the horizon.

    "It would take me nearly a fortnight to decode it. I like to think of myself as intelligent but I am not yet bilingual. It is an extinct language we're discussing, do remember." Basia's purple eyes grew serious as she looked at her friend. She twirled a tendril of her curled umber hued hair. "Have you given up on a way to have me trained?"

     "I've certainly given up on asking." Kassia conceded.

Basia looked away. "I understand."

Kassia straightened, her blue eyes brightening. "However, I know of a way where we do not need to ask."

"And what way is that?"

"I am going to train you."