Page 15 of A Dagger in the Ivy (Blade Bound #1)

C Hapter

Master Zimmerman is a tight-lipped man, only about an inch taller than I am, giving me a clear view of his balding head. His long, emerald-green coat is made of fine brocade, with silver embroidery along the edges and cuffs. Underneath, his white, linen shirt has ruffles at the neck and cuffs. There’s a brooch on his lapel that shows the royal insignia, to signify his role within the court.

“It’s just this way,” he says. “Magister Kadmiel awaits you.”

His boots clomp on the gravelly path through the courtyard as he leads Nadya and me to another section of the castle. He stops in front of an open door and gives a slight bow.

As I step into the grandiose chamber designated for my princess lessons, a sense of apprehension grips me. I fidget, picking at my nails as I shuffle farther into the room. There is an aura of scholarly refinement, the shelves lining the perimeter, laden with volumes of knowledge that seem to beckon me forth into their depths.

My gaze sweeps across the array of materials laid out before me: quills and parchment, vials of shimmering ink, and scrolls bearing cryptic runes.

“Why do I feel like I’m living somebody else’s life?” Nadya, with a wry smile, nudges me playfully.

I’m grateful for the gesture, which reminds me that we’re in this together, that I’m not alone. I don’t know if I would survive without her snarky yet endearing demeanor.

My gaze shifts to the figure awaiting us at the front of the room, and a sense of reverence washes over me. The magister cuts a striking figure, his demeanor both dignified and approachable. I’d wager to guess he was the same age as the king, except his hair is more salt-and-pepper than white. There’s a warmth in his eyes that makes me feel at ease.

He turns to us, draped in flowing robes of deep indigo, intricately embroidered with arcane sigils that glimmer softly in the ambient light.

“Ah, Your Highness and Lady Nadya. Please do come in.” Magister Kadmiel turns to a portion of the wall that’s been painted black. When he starts writing upon it, I realize he’s using chalk, which reminds me of Uncle Kormak drawing out strategies back at the Garrison.

There are two stools facing him, each with a plump cushion upon it. I look to Nadya, who shrugs, and then we take our seats. When the magister sets his chalk down, I look to see what he has written.

The Age of Dragons.

The Age of Blood.

The Age of Silence.

“I’m sure Master Zimmerman has already informed you,” the magister says as he faces me, “but since you must be absorbing a lot of information at once, I’ll give you the courtesy and introduce myself. I’m Magister Ezra Kadmiel, and I have been appointed to teach you how to navigate the intricacies of courtly life with grace and poise, as well as fill your mind with the history of Hedera and all of Terre Ferique.”

I dip my head. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“The pleasure is entirely mine, Princess.”

I can’t help but cringe. “Magister Kadmiel, it still makes me uncomfortable to be addressed that way. Or as ‘Your Highness.’ I understand it is the proper thing for those in the court to do, but would it be all right if you agreed to call me Celeste? I need someplace to be a sanctuary from the life of royalty. Someplace where I can just be me, without the intimidating title.”

A small smile forms on his lips. “Yes, of course. As you wish.”

“And may I ask one other thing?”

He gestures for me to continue.

“I embrace the opportunity to learn and grow, ever mindful of the weight of my crown and the legacy, but I’m also quite proud of my skill with sword and dagger. Do you think we could work time into my lessons for me to continue my training?”

He hesitates, as if weighing the options. “I’m sure that can be arranged.”

“The king has agreed to let me join my squad once a month,” I explain. “So I don’t want my abilities to waver.”

“That wouldn’t be ideal, to be sure.” He gives me a nod. “I will schedule your training into our lesson plans.”

“Thank you, Magister Kadmiel.”

He places his hands on his chest. “If I’m to address you as Celeste, then I insist you call me ‘Ezra.’”

“Very well.”

Nadya leans forward in her chair. “I’d still like to be called ‘Lady Nadya.’ No one called me that in Delasurvia. I’m quite enjoying it.”

He looks as though he’s holding back a laugh. “Noted. Now. I’d like to begin by delving into the annals of history, exploring the mysteries of ages long past. If, at any time, either of you have any questions, feel free to ask.”

“Oh.” Nadya lifts her hand. “I have a question.”

“Yes, Lady Nadya.”

“Would it be entirely rude of me to take a nap during the lessons?”

His eyebrows squish together. “I think it would be a bit rude, yes.”

Nadya winks. “Noted.”

It’s apparent that she’s thrown him off course a bit, but he quickly composes himself so he can continue. “As you can see, I’ve written a few of the time periods of Terre Ferique upon the wall. We will cover these ages over the next weeks. But today, we will start with the Age of Dragons. ”

Nadya raises her hand again.

“Yes, Lady Nadya?”

“What came before the dragons?”

I believe I know the answer, but the king’s accusations about me skipping my lessons have me double guessing myself. I look from Nadya to Ezra, also curious as to the correct answer of what came before the dragons.

“The pirates.” The magister’s gaze meets mine for a fraction of a second.

It makes me think about Dante and his accusations. He seemed insistent that my father descended from pirates. He also called Delasurvia ‘primitive.’ I squirm at the thought. My land may not be as sophisticated and developed as Hedera, but that doesn’t mean we are senseless, reckless animals. I lift my hand. “What time period are we in now? Is it still the Age of Silence?”

Ezra looks uncomfortable, crossing his hands and leaning back against his desk. “Historians are calling this the Age of Hunger.”

I think about the people starving in Delasurvia. Not to mention the hunger of the carnoraxis. Sounds like the historians are correct.

I lean forward, anticipation coiling in my stomach. I find myself eager to absorb the knowledge he has to impart.

“Our tale begins in the Age of Dragons,” Magister Ezra continues, his voice taking on a storyteller’s cadence. “In those ancient days, Terre Ferique was a world teeming with life, where mighty dragons soared through the azure skies and held dominion over the land.”

I imagine the majestic creatures, their scales glinting in the sunlight as they ruled the heavens with unparalleled grace.

Ezra lets out a breath. “However, as the great war loomed on the horizon, a darkness began to seep into the world. Poisoned plants, such as hemlock and nightshade, spread like wildfire, choking the life out of crops and animals alike. No matter what the people of the realm attempted, they could not stop the spread of the troublesome plants. Unable to eat anything not touched by the poison, the dragons began to starve. ”

I shudder at the thought of such rampant destruction, the land withering beneath the onslaught of poison.

“Couldn’t they tell the plants were poison? Why were the dragons consuming them?” Nadya throws her hands in the air.

“They were indirectly consuming the poison, through the livestock they ate,” Ezra explains. “Sheep, cows, goats. Animals that were roaming free. Farmers who owned livestock learned to shelter their animals to protect them from both the poison and the dragons. Not all were successful. Many had to burn their own crops in order to destroy the poisonous plants, losing everything.”

It happened in Delasurvia. I remember my father speaking of it, a tale passed down through the years.

“Only Mersos remained untainted by the poison,” Ezra continues, “but the land of merchants would not tolerate dragons overpowering their fertile lands, and so they used their skills to drive the dragons away.”

I’d never heard this part of history. “How?”

“Dragonsbane.” Ezra says this matter-of-factly. “When burned, dragonsbane would emit a smell that dragons found particularly repulsive. It would make them physically sick.”

“I thought dragonsbane was a rare herb,” I say.

“It is, but Mersos is filled with skilled farmers, as you know. It’s what makes Mersos so powerful. With the proficiency of Mersos farmers, the plant was cultivated around the perimeter of the land. When the dragons tried to flee the hemlock and nightshade and flew toward Mersos searching for food, they were deterred by the burning dragonsbane. They had no choice but to return to the poisoned lands or be swallowed by the oceans.”

Nadya places her fingers on her lips, listening intently. I guess she didn’t need a nap, after all.

“The dragons, mighty though they were, could not escape the grasp of the poison,” Magister Ezra explains solemnly. “As the creatures they preyed upon succumbed to the toxic plants, the dragons too found themselves facing extinction.”

My heart aches at the tragedy of it all, the once-proud creatures brought low by forces beyond their control.

“And so,” Magister Ezra concludes, “they perished in droves. The dragons faded into legend, their existence remembered only in tales passed down through generations. But there are those who believe that remnants of their presence still linger, waiting to be discovered.”

As I absorb the weight of his words, a sense of reverence washes over me, the legacy of the dragons echoing through the corridors of time. When the sound of sniffling reaches my ears, I turn, surprised to see Nadya with tears rolling down her cheeks.

I reach out and take her hand. She blinks her tears away, releasing an embarrassed laugh. “It’s just dust in my eyes. This place could use the help of a maidservant.”

Ezra shifts his position, obviously uncomfortable with Nadya’s display of emotion. “Yes, well. Shall we move on with some pointers on court etiquette?”

After a half hour of the magister going over which nobles and courtiers frequent the castle, my legs are restless and Nadia begins to yawn. Ezra must take the hint because he picks up a cloth and rubs away the notes he’s scribbled on the wall.

“I think we’ve done very well for our first lesson. But if there is anything you’d like to ask, I am at your service, Your—em, Celeste.”

I’m about to call it a day when something occurs to me. The magister is familiar with everyone at court. He knows all the comings and goings and is certain to keep up with everything occurring within the castle walls.

“Actually, yes. There is a subject I could use more insight on.”

Nadya makes a small noise of protest, clearly not wanting to endure our confinement to this room any longer.

“Of course,” Ezra says, clapping the chalk dust off his hands. “On which subject should I enlighten you?”

“I’m trying to decipher why the prince’s brother hates me.” I keep my expression plain, as if I’ve asked about some piece of history rather than the reason for someone’s personal aversion.

When the magister turns to me, his brows are knit together. “Hates you?”

“That is the feeling I get, yes. When he scowls at me, at least.” And when he tells me I don’t belong here. But I don’t mention that last part to the magister, for fear word will travel to the king. There’s enough tension brewing in the castle without me stirring the pot.

“I noticed it, too.” Nadya tilts her head. “At breakfast.”

The magister lines up some parchment on his desk and worries his lip. As he rubs more powder from his fingers, he looks up at me. “You don’t know much about Dante Stregasi, do you?”

His words ring true, but I still don’t understand what that has to do with Dante’s attitude toward me. There must be something I’m missing. “No. I don’t know him at all.”

Magister Ezra crosses his arms and leans back against his desk. “Dante resides—at least most of the time—here at Ivystone because his mother was killed years ago, and his father, which the king fully admits he is, had the heart to take him under his care. At the time of Dante’s mother’s death, your father sat on the Delasurvian throne.”

The gears in my head whirl as I try to deduce what he’s getting at.

“There was a decree enforced at the time, wherein your father had the right to capture and imprison any siren caught trespassing within the boundaries of his land.” The magister watches my face.

My breath catches. “His mother was a siren?”

Nadya leans close to me. “No wonder he hates you. Your father most certainly imprisoned her.”

“I’m afraid it’s worse than that.” With a sigh, Ezra pushes himself off the desk. His stare feels almost intrusive. “He had her killed.”

I experience an uncomfortable shift, as if the bottom has dropped from my stomach, and I’m sure my skin has grown pale.

Killed?

Fuck.

My father was ruthless and always chasing power, to be sure. And I know he was averse to sirens because he feared they could control him and unravel everything he’d spent his life building up. But I had no idea he had sentenced any of them to death. In fact, it was my understanding that any siren my father had imprisoned was set free once my brother had become king.

Dante has every right to hate my father.

But I’m not him.

“He can’t blame me for my father’s actions.”

“I believe that is something of which he’d have to be convinced.” He brushes chalk dust off his robes and rounds his desk. “Whether or not he would agree with you, I cannot say. But if you haven’t already noticed, Dante Stregasi is a stubborn, proud man. His opinion is not so easily swayed, no matter how true your words may be.”

Shit.

I may have to live with the fact that my future brother-in-law will spend the rest of his life hating me. For something I didn’t even have anything to do with.

Ezra straightens suddenly, looking past us. He dips his head, his expression serious. “Your Highness.”

I glance over my shoulder and spot Prince Torbin at the entrance to the room.

“As much as I admire a beautiful woman with an intellectual mind, I wonder if I could steal the princess away for the afternoon.” Torbin leans his shoulder against the doorframe, and there’s a twinkle in his eyes that causes a flutter in my stomach. The soft curve of his smile is enough to make me rise from my chair.

“You could,” I answer for the magister, not even bothering to look his way.

“Who am I to deny the prince of his wishes?” Ezra says.

“I guess that means lessons are over for today.” Nadya lets out a laugh and mouths a thank you to Torbin as she rushes past us, her skirt swishing around her as she escapes into the courtyard.

Torbin crooks his arm, and I slide mine through.