Blood-Bound [ Lore of Penrua: Book I ]

8

Less than a turning of the moons after Mhera had her terrible vision, the second tragedy befell her. The morning began like any other: Mhera was dressing in her chamber with the help of Virri, her Arcborn maid, when Madam Gella came in bearing their breakfast on a silver tray.

"My lady." 

Something in the tone of Gella's voice caused Mhera to look up, her stomach sinking. "Madam?"

The old woman looked shaken. She stood for a second in the doorway, the breakfast tray in hand. Then, deliberately, she crossed the room to the table and placed the tray down. She leaned against the table for a moment. Mhera saw her shoulders rise and fall with a deep breath. When her governess turned back to her, Mhera somehow knew.

As Virri finished tying the laces of her dress, Mhera heard the bells of the Royal Temple begin to toll. They tolled several times, the sound resonating throughout the palace even after they had fallen silent again.

Mhera had never heard the bells toll except on gathering days, when the people of the Holy City would assemble in their Temples to pray to the Mother together. The sound of the bells now was deep and sad, and the look on Gella's face confirmed Mhera's worst fears, but she pushed the certainty of it away, grasping for something else, some other explanation. "What happened, Madam?"

"Your aunt, my lady. Empress Esaria has died."

The truth of it washed over her, and Mhera's sorrow was made deeper because she was not surprised. Struggling with the immediate emotions of grief, horror at what she had seen, and guilt that she had told no one but her cousin, she broke into tears. Virri, still standing close to her, reached out to put steadying hands on Mhera's shoulders. As she guided her mistress to sit down on the bed, the servant whispered, "May angels speed her on her way."

Gella was not normally a warm woman, but she seemed to find comfort in having something to do. Soothing Mhera was something to occupy her. She sat next to her ward, who put her head on the old woman's shoulder and cried. Virri unobtrusively cleared away Mhera's nightclothes and then went quietly out.

The bells tolled again what seemed like an eternity later, and when Gella heard them, she shook Mhera gently. "There, child. The bells will toll for her to speed her soul on its way to Heaven until she's safely buried, but we must do our part for Her Grace, mustn't we? Come, let us pray."

Religion was an undercurrent to life in the capitol, but Mhera had never taken too much interest in it. As she prayed with Gella, she found a measure of comfort in the ritual that she did not expect. She fell upon feet of the Goddess for the first time in her life and prayed as she never had before. When they were done, she felt calmer.

Her tears dry for the moment, Mhera wanted to find Koreti. He must know his mother was dead, and he would be devastated; he would need comfort far more than Mhera did. She told Gella she was going to look for the prince.

"My lady, it's best to leave him alone," Gella said. "He will come to you. This loss will be sharper for him."

But Mhera shook her head. "That is why I must go to him."

Gella could hardly argue with her—not about this. So she helped Mhera clean her face and let her go, making her promise to return to her chamber afterward. The palace would be tense and busy, and she should not be underfoot.

Mhera went to Koreti's chamber, seeing as she walked how changed things already were. Servants were going to and fro, some of them already looking like solemn pigeons in gray mourning clothes. Pairs of women were busy changing the hangings on the balconies from her uncle's red to plain gray. Others were draping some of the most eye-catching furnishings and artworks or placing small wreaths of lavender, holy to the Goddess, in the common areas of the palace.

By the time Mhera made it to Koreti's room, the comfort of prayer had fled and she felt numb.

She knocked, but no one answered. The door opened easily, though, and she went in, expecting to see the prince and his manservant within. But the room was dark, the bedclothes immaculately ordered, and the breakfast tray sat on the table untouched. There was a forgotten book lying open on the floor in one corner.

"Koreti?" Mhera called, already knowing he was not there. No answer came.

She went next to the Archmage's Tower. The door was open. Within, Lorekeeper Eovin sat at his desk, bent over a blank piece of parchment with his forehead resting on the heel of his hand.

Mhera called to him from the doorway, her feet still on the polished stone of the hall. "Master Eovin?"

The man looked up as if in a daze. He smiled wanly at Mhera. "My lady." It was clear in his face and in the sound of his voice that he had been crying. He rose and bowed to her. "I grieve for your loss."

Mhera swallowed. She could think of no response to this, so she made none. She was greatly affected by the sight of a grieving man; she had never seen any man cry before in her life. Unsure how to react to his sorrow, she changed the subject abruptly. "Have you seen Koreti?"

The lorekeeper frowned at her. He looked sleepy, or as if his mind were not working quite right. There was a brief silence before he responded; he seemed to be considering the question. "Why, no, my lady. Surely he is in his chambers, or with his father and his brothers?"

Mhera felt foolish for not thinking of this beforehand. She stepped into the room, walking toward him across the old, patterned carpet. "Oh. He isn't in his room. But perhaps he is with them. Are they ... are they preparing for the funeral?"

Eovin sighed, and his shoulders slumped. "Perhaps they are beginning to, but it will take time, my lady." He paused as the bells of the Temple began to toll again, the sound rolling solemnly over the palace. He closed his eyes and waited until the bells had stopped before continuing, his mouth a tight, quivering line. Then he cleared his throat and said, "They must make preparations. There is a great deal of ceremony. The passing of an empress is a tragedy for all in Penrua."

Mhera looked around the room. As she saw it in its gloomy entirety, she felt curiously safe. This place was so different from the rest of the palace, she felt removed from what had been happening around her. It was a welcome feeling.

She walked toward the window. On the way, she passed the painting of the Separation and recalled with painful clarity the morning she and Koreti had spent in the tower, learning the history behind the depiction. She saw Koreti stuffing a cookie into his mouth. She saw the face he'd made when Eovin offered him a poetry lesson. She almost smiled.

Near Eovin's narrow window stood his raven's perch. The bird ruffled its feathers and looked at the little girl with disapproval as she approached. It croaked as Eovin came up behind Mhera. The lorekeeper stroked the raven's head, following Mhera's gaze out the window.

"I never knew anyone who died before," she said, looking out. Across the Sovereign Square she could see the Temple, surmounted by the cupola in which the bell-ringers worked. She could only guess that funerals would be held in the Temple. She had never been to one, but that must be where it would take place. Perhaps they had taken Esaria's body to the Temple already. Perhaps it was lying inside. "Have you?"

Eovin stiffened. There was a moment of silence before he said, "Yes. I have known many people who've died, my lady. It ... comes with growing older."