Approximately 12-minute read time.

30

An uneventful month passed. Tildy had a strong feeling she’d forgotten something important. It accompanied her wherever she went, though she experienced it strongest in the presence of Lady Amaranth. Since the baroness hadn’t indicated any displeasure, she assumed it was some question she’d meant to ask the woman. Probably about an intriguing flower or other plant. She knew it would return to her at the proper time. Her thoughts always came back to her.

She’d brought Marklin to the owl’s door on the fifth floor, wanting to do something with him other than watch him spar with the guards. Favoring comfort, she wore one of her own dresses. He wore a squire’s outfit that smelled like too much boy.

“Lexandran?” he read, stumbling over the unfamiliar word.

Tildy said nothing and pushed open the library door. As ever, the grandeur of the room astounded her. The Shard was a historical testament to days disappeared into memory, and nowhere was that so evident, where lived more knowledge than a person could acquire in thirteen lifetimes.

“Books,” Marklin said without much enthusiasm.

Incredulous, Tildy stared at him for a moment before she remembered why she had brought him. “Yes, books. It is a library, after all. But it also has maps. Maps! I remembered you said you liked maps, so I thought I’d bring you to see all the maps because you like maps.” She said it all very quickly, before silently cursing herself and hoping she would never say the word “maps” again. And so, she silently pointed him to the cartography shelves.

He walked over, oblivious as usual. She joined him and pulled out a large vellum roll she’d previously discovered. “This is southern Empyrelia. It shows us how far we’ve come. Oh,” she trailed off. Leaving his home behind must be a painful reminder.

“It’s alright,” he said, putting a hand on hers. He gently took it and walked to a table. A pleasant warmth flowed up her arm to her face. She was glad he couldn’t see her blushing.

By the time she composed herself and walked over, Marklin had the diamond-shaped map unrolled with weights on each corner. Southershard stood visible in the center in a large fancy script. “A Human made this,” she remarked.

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“How can you tell? The writing?”

“Sometimes,” Tildy replied, recalling the witch’s instruction. She explained that the central point usually indicated who had commissioned its creation. She also called his attention to the corners. “But more telling is the layout. Humans orient the parchment like this because they tend to move toward the points of the compass, so they go further in those directions. Other peoples use a rectangular orientation, though some prefer the oval.”

“I didn’t know that,” Marklin replied. “Most maps I’d seen were old shapeless scraps drawn by traders and trappers.” They studied their world in silence for a few minutes. “Look how far away the Hearkenfell Mountains are from here,” he said pointing. “When we arrived, they looked so close already.”

Tildy scanned for other interesting places that she hadn’t seen before, but her eyes kept drifting back to the forest of Eddlweld. Home. Marklin must have felt the same because he pointed out his village. “Grey’therton is so far away, or, it was.” To Tildy it appeared that he was recalling some fond memory. He placed a finger on Wayfahren. “And this is where you’re from, right? We weren’t so very far apart, were we?”

“No, though it feels far enough on foot,” she replied, maintaining the lie that they lived in town, but making a mental note to eventually tell him the truth.

“I don’t see Gardenstem on here.”

“Me either.”

“Does it seem odd that the baroness would travel from beyond the edge of the map to marry someone she never met?”

Tildy knew the answer to this, surprising herself. “Her father sent her. The marriage created an alliance with Baron Stoneward.”

“How do you know that?”

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Tildy stared into space, unable to answer the question. “I’m not sure.”

“Seems a poor reason to marry, but I don’t understood nobles much,” he said, his eyes moving across the document. “She seems to’ve done alright for herself though.”

“I’m not so sure,” Tildy replied, feeling in a bit of a daze. Clear words emerged from the fog. “He’s a cold, stern man. I think he hits her.” The words came unbidden, thoughts from someone else’s memory.

Marklin’s face darkened as he turned to her. “How could you possibly have learned that?”

Tildy shook her head. “I just do.”

“I have a few words for a man like that,” he said, punching his open palm. He stared at his hands, seemingly embarrassed, and hid them behind his back. “That’s not how marriage is supposed to work,” he mumbled.

Tildy’s head cleared. “What do you know about marriage?”

Marklin flushed. “Nothing,” he said quickly. “It’s – it should be romance and doing brave needs to prove your love. Stuff like that.”

His words reminded her of a book she’d once read. “Coramere did that when he walked upon a nightbeam to the moon. He retrieved his lady love’s jeweled arrow after she’d accidentally shot Lun’s eye and half-blinded Him. She married Coramere when he returned, but Lun in His anger cast the world into shadow. Their love was cursed everafter.”

“I don’t think we’re in a folktale, Tildy.”

Preferring not to argue, she returned her attention to the map. “I found it,” she said a few minutes later as she moved the weight that held down the eastern corner. Her keen eyes had spotted part of the name Gardenstem. “Look, it’s here.”

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They leaned low over the table, their heads touching as they inspected the place. The mapmaker had embellished the name with twisting plants of green ink, though it was hard to read due to scribbled lines through the word.

“Why’s it crossed out?” Marklin asked.

“I haven’t seen that on a map before. I think there’s a number underneath it.”

“2213,” he read. “What is that?”

“A year?” Tildy suggested.

“I suppose. Maybe Gardenstem was built a thousand years ago.” He looked around and said, “Here I thought this place was old.”.

“I’m not sure. None of the other places have such a number.”

“It’s probably some useless mapmaker notation,” Marklin replied, his interest waning. “I wonder if it’s time for lunch?”

“But we just had breakfast.”

“So?”

Astounded, Tildy shook her head and closed her eyes. She’d seen food disappear more slowly into a garbage hole. Go now, urged a small voice in her head. Her eyes snapped open, watering in the bright sunlight that streamed into the library.

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Those words had not been hers, at least, it didn’t feel that way. But go where? Not to get lunch, of that she was certain. Blinking away her blindness, Tildy’s focus landed on the room’s tall window, her eyes following the stained-glass ivy vines as they twisted upwards. Beyond, the crescent of a daylight moon hung watchful over the Hearkenfell Mountains.

Her thoughts clearing, she recalled the hidden window the Obsequiant helped her find. Comprehension slowly coming to her, she said, “You go eat. I’m not hungry.” She turned back to him. “I’ll clean up here and meet you later.” Driven by his stomach, he didn’t argue and left her to put away the map.

A few minutes later, she was running down the stairs, driven by a need she didn’t understand. How long had it been since she’d discovered that? Weeks? Months? Her time at the Last Shard seemed full of hazy recollections, which concerned her. Normally, her memories were as clear as the illustrations in a book. Her prickling hairs warned of something sinister, but she interpreted the feeling as unrelated to her current task.

After pushing through the ravenswood doors, she walked around the irregular castle wall. She looked upwards only occasionally, having discovered the dizzying effect of the tower’s height. She finally stopped when she could see the blue mirador ahead. A thick vine of argentia stretched upwards, as though presenting a shimmering path few could follow. Aside from birds and creepy crawlies, she thought with a smile. As good a spot as any.

The sounds of the courtyard had faded. She looked around once more, her ears and nose alert for any sign of people. Finding none, she unfurled her wings, recalling a spring morning in Dappledown when the nagweed had warned her against flying. It seemed so very long ago. “Hush,” she said again with a smirk, leaping into the air.

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She couldn’t recall the last time she’d been able to do this, and it was like stepping into the sunshine after exploring a cave. She yearned to soar and dance but knew she had to remain unseen. As she flew upwards, she brushed her fingers along the silver ivy to keep herself as close to the wall as possible, barely noting how the morning light cast the imperfect surface into jagged relief. She flew a slow zigzag pattern, seeing no windows whatsoever as she rose.

And there it was.

She flew over and alighted to the ledge, which was barely large enough for her to kneel. She might have been as high as the third level of the castle. Retracting her wings, she peered through thick iron bars to inspect the dim interior. All lay in quiet. Far below her, an immense chamber opened, delving to the edge of eyesight in deepening gloom. A similar expanse hung above her, making her wonder how tall this room was and how it fit within the castle. She saw a few candles, but they added little useful illumination at this height, aside from marking several columns that stretched past her to some unknown ceiling.

Tildy squeezed between cold iron bars that burned her skin and stained it with filth. Once through, she found herself staring into a palpable darkness that threatened to push her back through the window. As it often did, curiosity ruled her fear, and yet she paused. Even the dumbest tumplump won’t jump from the tree stump without looking down for a bump. She rolled her eyes. Those were the witch’s words. Unsure whether she wanted to prove the adage right or wrong, she sat, legs dangling over the ledge as she searched the room with eye and ear. Her hand found a chip of stone, and she dropped it into the abyss, counting one, two before hearing the impact.

Silence, not echoes, followed the sound.

She began to exhale, but something prevented the air from leaving her lungs. A glow danced upon the walls like green sunlight off water as something sought her. Thunder rolled up the walls, a deep sound she felt more than heard. “ARE YOU HER?” The voice fell like a boulder into soft earth, and Tildy thought she might be dragged from the ledge with it.

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No! Not that voice! Tildy remembered it from the Sarsenith encounter, and she became certain that it also haunted her dreams. She cried out and fell backwards against the iron bars. The cold plucked at the flesh of her shoulders, hungry for warmth. She nearly toppled forward into space as she pulled her skin free. Ignoring the pain and blood, she pushed her way through the bars, scrambling to her feet as she returned to blinding daylight. She pressed her back against the wall, chest heaving.

The voice spoke a second time, repeating the words it had said at Wel Mallyne. “YES, YOU ARE ALSO HER.”

The words vibrated through Tildy, setting all her hairs on end and chilling her more than the iron bars. Whatever spoke those words, it seemed pleased, and that was worse.

She was about to jump from the ledge when the sound of other voices floated up to her. She looked down, surprised to see people passing far below. While they were oblivious to her presence, that could easily change with a skyward glance. She had but one escape. She pushed out, extended her wings, and flew upwards, skimming the wall as closely as she dared.

Tildy accidentally eavesdrops. Again. Do we think this will work out for her in Chapter 31: Seeds Of Deception? Coming soon!

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