Page 8 of Aubade Rising
The formal gardens are bland, all barren twigs and brown mud, waiting for spring. Haelyn leads us away from the palace and towards the southern boundary wall. A small, stone bridge with a delicately wrought ironwork entrance is cloaked from the rest of the gardens by a twist in the path.
She pauses halfway across the bridge and explains, “Koes Dowr means River Garden in old Mordrish.” This is the ancient language of the Mordros – typical for them to be so literal in their naming.
They aren’t exactly renowned for their artistic creativity.
“This is the King’s personal refuge, but it’s ours for the day. ”
I peer eagerly ahead as we cross the bridge and enter the garden properly.
It is extraordinary. Sheltered by the external palace wall on one side and a tributary of the River Targon on the other, it is completely separate from the rest of the palace.
Tall trees obscure the lower levels of the palace from view and the air smells of forest moss.
Small brooks bubble through the garden, with stepping stones of smooth pebbles creating winding pathways.
Birds nest in the trees, braving the cold air to swoop down and pick at the remaining berries peeking through the undergrowth. It’s heavenly and I feel so at peace.
I turn to smile at Haelyn, “It’s truly perfect.”
“If I ever need to hide, then I come here. It’s my favourite place in the whole city.”
She looks at me, expecting to be judged, and continues.
“With the ocean so close, not many plants thrive with the salty air and I miss the forests where I grew up. Coming here grounds me when life in the palace feels overwhelming.” A breeze blows over my skin as she talks, with enough pressure that the weak warmth of the day is lost on my bare skin and it hits me.
Haelyn isn’t one of the Mordros, she’s a Zephyr, an outsider like me.
I turn to her in shock and she shrugs.
“What do you have to gain by turning me in? I imagine you need an outlet for your magic too sometimes.” I wait for the paranoia, to rise to the surface but nothing comes.
The corner of my mouth lifts in a faint smile instead, my magic bubbling eagerly to the surface, excited to play.
Small seeds of light, like dandelion seeds, materialise from my fingers and get caught in Haelyn’s breeze.
We stand for a while, surrounded by calls from the nearby birds.
“Where are you from?” My comment breaks our reverie, a single cloud passes in front of the sun and I rub away the goosebumps on my arms.
She smiles wistfully and watches the seeds of light as they flow through the garden.
“Tanwen. The last town of civilization before the Haag.” That’s in the East. The Haag is a vast, misty moorland that occupies about a third of the kingdom and separates it from the rest of the continent.
On the edge of the moors, the forests are so dense and dark that rumour has it you can’t tell day from night. Not a place I’m keen to visit.
“You’re far from home then?” I wonder how often she travels back and why she left in the first place. In my experience, ambition makes you dream of faraway places but ties to home are strong and not easily broken.
“Working at the palace is a privilege.” Her smile falters and she doesn’t elaborate. I don’t question it. “It’s the second most coveted job for a librarian,” she continues promptly, skimming over the pause in conversation.
We share a conspiratorial grin. It’s widely known in any academic circles that Pentargon Library is the most acclaimed.
However, the librarians there don’t take kindly to outsiders and positions there are lifetime appointments.
Haelyn is in agreement with me: libraries are there to be used and should be accessible to all.
“I’m going to request access to Pentargon Library soon. You wouldn’t happen to be interested in coming along for a visit, would you?” It’s the best way I can think to thank her for showing me Koes Dowr.
“Oh, I would love to.” A devilish grin appears on her face as she springs into action and begins to lead the way deeper into the garden. “It would infuriate their librarians no end.”
I laugh and follow her footsteps. Several hours pass quickly, as Haelyn tells me about life at Chi An Mor. She’s full of stories of people at the palace, who’s who and who to avoid.
The tepid sun reaches its zenith as we walk up the central steps to the palace entrance, having exhausted every corner of the garden. From the stories Haelyn has told me, most people consider her invisible given the situations she’s witnessed over the years.
She has me bent over in hysterics in the doorway, regaling me with a tale of how she accidentally interrupted a couple engaged in scandalous activity on her library desk last night, one of whom was the King’s Verax, Captain Devath.
Apparently, libraries are a popular location for trysts.
She said she won’t be able to look him in the eye for weeks.
I’m losing it over how blasé she is about the indecency but how aghast she is over the fact they didn’t even move the books and now the spines are damaged.
Right at the point when I beg her to stop the story because it’s too much and tears are streaming down my face, we hear a deliberate cough behind us.
The Captain is lurking in the shadows and our peals of laughter dissipate.
He’s clearly been in the barracks training given the amount of sweat on him, working off the frustrations from the Concord meeting.
He’s quite a sight and my cheeks flame red; Haelyn’s are worse.
There’s no way he didn’t hear us gossiping about his exploits.
I force myself to calm down. If you don’t want to be gossiped about, then you really shouldn’t be cavorting all over the palace.
“I thought it was best to announce my arrival,” he says, and I swear I catch the hint of a smirk playing around his lips as he notices our warm cheeks. His eyes regard me closely before shuttering.
“A word, Sage,” he orders, dismissing Haelyn rudely. To my surprise, she cowers a little and backs off, wishing me good night.
“That was rude,” I respond, watching Haelyn hurry down the corridor. He raises one eyebrow conveying his complete lack of regard for anything I say.
“Too busy gossiping to attend the remainder of the Concord meeting?” Disapproval drips from his lips.
He rolls his eyes when I don’t respond. My focus is entirely on the bead of sweat running down his neck on to his muscled shoulders.
“Dervla is returning to the city tonight. She sent a message ahead asking me to escort you to the islet where your new laboratory will be ready. We will go tomorrow.” I can feel the irritation rolling off him at playing messenger but it’s immaterial as, at the excitement of having a new laboratory, my shoulders straighten.
Dervla requisitioned use of an old outhouse on an islet and promised to have it outfitted to my exact specifications.
Working outside the city and the palace will give me the privacy I crave and allow me to cause as many explosions as I need to solve this damn problem.