Riddle Of The Owl - YA Fantasy

Chapter Twenty-Three

Alleria tucked a glistening lock of wavy brown hair behind her ear, blinking at her reflection in the looking glass. She sighed at the sight of herself and her sigh echoed in the large, spacious chamber making her cringe.

She was in Ortkerry Tower, the palace that sat atop the green hill in the heart of the High Academy of Scholars and housed the Paramount.

There were ten flats in the tower, hers was called the Violet Orchid Suite for its pink and purple flower-themed decor. It was made up of four spacious chambers such as this and an enormous bathroom. Aside from the bedroom and her study, she had her own dining room and lounge. She didn't know how many times her parents' cottage in the countryside would have fit inside this flat, all she knew was that the grand scale made her feel smaller and lonelier than ever.

For the fourth time, she adjusted the collar of her light-blue robe, making sure it hid her scars well. Even though the servants — it unnerved her that there were servants — had already lit the fires in all four rooms of her flat, there always seemed to be a draft blowing through the halls of this ancient palace. The ceiling, so high up it was always shadowy in the evenings, was rounded, painted with murals of brown owls and purple orchids, flecked with gold-leaf and framed by motifs of vines and naked, dancing children.

It was beautiful but overbearing, the artwork weighing on her from overhead. Everything creaked in the old palace and at night the wind howled through the chimneys like a sad, dying wolf. She couldn't be at ease in this place. She had been living here for the past two months but it would never be her home.

"Right, now listen here Alleria," she said to herself. She liked how her voice disturbed the eerie silence. Clenching her fists, she swatted at the air in front of her. "Chin up," — she lifted her chin — "remember to breathe," — she drew a deep breath — "you can do this."

Back straight as a board, she began the march towards her study. The floorboards creaked shrilly in her ears. She crossed her lounge and opened the study door.

The comforting, dusty smell of musty old books, ink and paper assailed her senses. She inhaled it hungrily and slipped into the padded, leather throne-like chair behind her massive black mahogany desk. The room was the only one she liked in her suite. Aside from the wall behind her on which hung a greenboard, the room was lined with floor-to-ceiling bookcases. Her library was magnificently diverse, from modern journals on science to beautiful edition of the classics in literature and on to her favourite works on architecture, philosophy and agriculture. Whoever had assembled this collection had exquisite taste. She always felt a swelling feeling of companionship when faced with the tomes standing proudly upon the shelves.

Today, however, her attention was not directed at the books. She sat focused completely on the oval table at the centre of the room. It had six empty chairs surrounding it. She looked at the door and then at her watch, then to the memo she had received from Fortcain College.

A no show? Well, she couldn't decide if that was a good or bad thing. The two others had made it all the way here only to turn her down with open scorn. Alleria's shoulders relaxed. She pulled over from the corner of her desk the third volume of the Algorithm and her forty-seventh notebook, dipped a new pen in ink and resumed her work.

Eighteen minutes later there was a knock at the door.

"Yes?" Alleria's mouth said, though her eyes and thoughts were still focused entirely on her work.

The door opened a crack. "Erm..." said a breathless voice.

"You're late," Alleria stated drily without looking up.

"I, er, that's, um... this place is huge."

"Aye, how observant you are, Mr. Wayne Tinpoint of Fortcain College."