Page 1

1

V ivienne bit the inside of her cheek as the maps before her whispered taunts of all the paths she would never be free to follow. A bead of sweat traced down her spine as the cool waters of the Phythean Sea beckoned her from the arched windows. She wrestled her long hair into a bun in a futile effort to keep cool. Her hands smoothed the edges of one of the dozens of maps on the thick, wooden table Why did I promise my parents I’d have the whole collection catalogued by the time they got back?

Vivienne sighed, the breath stirring the aged parchment as a pit formed in her stomach. She’d spent her life preparing to continue the Banner family legacy as an Antiquary discovering, assembling, and protecting knowledge. She glanced up at the painting the Crown commissioned in recognition of her parent’s forty years of service and resisted the urge to shiver. Her father, William Banner’s piercing blue eyes swept over her, cool and assessing, from behind the spectacles perched on his prominent nose. Even in his painted form, his presence filled the space with a weight Vivienne couldn’t shrug off. Liana Banner’s long black hair fell in a lustrous sheet down her willowy frame as her deep brown eyes carried a quiet authority.

She shifted in her seat, trying not to fidget under their combined scrutiny. She tucked a misbehaving strand of copper-red hair behind her ear, wishing she could shrink her soft curves to fit her parents’ vision of elegance and control. Too much. Never enough. The familiar melody lilted through her thoughts. She clenched her hands in her lap, the sting of her nails digging into her palms. Her heart pounded against the ache of always wanting something more, something warmer, from them. She knew they loved her. She had to believe it was love that inspired their high standards and pushed her to become everything she had the potential to be. Vivienne shut her blue eyes tight and assured herself that one day, her parents’ love would soften into pride and understanding. Until then, she made a silent vow to keep trying.

She shook her head, dispersing the haze of distraction creeping over her thoughts. She dragged another map closer, its brittle parchment threatening to crack beneath her fingers. The edges curled and frayed, its once bright ink faded to a sepia hue. Her gaze roamed over the blank stretches of land and sea where cartographers had surrendered to mystery, scrawling here be dragons and other proclamations in sweeping, ominous script. These maps, relics of a time when myth and reality coexisted on the same page, fascinated her the most.

Her thumb traced a jagged tear near the map’s corner, the texture rough against her skin. The air in the library was heavy with the brine of the nearby sea, mingling with the musty scent of aging paper. It filled her lungs with a kind of peace she found nowhere else. Above her, the vaulted ceiling arched like the ribbed hull of a ship, as if the library itself might one day set sail into the unknown. She leaned forward and squinted at the faded symbols along the coastline, her mind wandering back to her parents. Their voices sounded sharp and clear in her memory.

“Focus, Vivienne. You’ll never accomplish anything if you keep giving in to distraction,” her father would say, his tone clipped and firm.

“Dreams can be motivating, but discipline matters more,” her mother would add as a pointed reminder.

The echo of their words tightened her chest, though she hadn’t heard from them in months. The zoological expedition had stretched far longer than anyone expected, leaving her to this solitude that was both freeing and invited a quiet longing.

Vivienne glanced around the cavernous library, its silence broken only by the creak of a shifting beam or the distant cry of a seagull. This had always been her sanctuary. As a child, she dashed through the labyrinth of towering bookshelves, laughter trailing in her wake as her parents scolded her for breaking the hallowed silence. More than once, she’d dared to ride one of the rolling ladders as fast as she could, crashing into stacks of dusty tomes. The punishment had been days spent dusting shelves from floor to vaulted ceiling, but even then, she hadn’t minded. She belonged here, in this vast world of stories and maps, where adventure and mystery waited behind the covers of leather-bound books.

A dramatic clearing of his throat pulled her back to the present. Vivienne blinked, startled as her eyes refocused. Across the broad, hand-carved table, Lewis leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, narrowing his golden-brown eyes.

“Viv,” he said, dragging out the nickname as if it were a burden to say. “We’ve been at this for hours and it’s going to take even longer if you keep getting distracted.”

The corner of his mouth twitched, the motion in between a smile and a frown. He pushed his round spectacles up with a finger and sighed. “I snuck out of work early to help you, not do your project for you.”

Vivienne gave him a sheepish grin and drummed her fingernails against the table. “I’m not asking you to do the work for me… but you could try complaining less.”

He rolled his eyes but couldn’t suppress the grin that followed. The late afternoon light streaming through the high windows caught the golden undertones of his wheat-colored skin, darker than usual after a summer of tending to the royal gardens. His lean frame, clad in a simple button-down shirt rolled up at the elbows exuded a casual strength, a byproduct of hauling sacks of soil and cultivating the crowded greenhouse that was practically his second home.

“Fine,” he said, further disrupting her reverie. “But only because I don’t want you using me as an excuse when this doesn’t get finished.”

Vivienne snorted. “I don’t need an excuse when you’re around. You’re practically made of them.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Me? You’ve never objected to my excuses saving your neck every time you do something impulsive, which, let’s be honest, is often.”

“Hey! It’s not that often.”

Lewis leveled a glare in challenge. “If I made a list, I’d sit here for a week and barely get through the prologue.”

She mirrored his expression. “The bigger takeaway from this conversation is that you actually know what a prologue is.”

Lewis threw a balled-up scrap of parchment at her, grinning when it hit her shoulder. Their laughter bounced off the walls. This was what made Lewis and Vivienne who they were. The unshakeable rhythm of good-natured teasing, sarcasm, and leaning on each other when it mattered. She’d known him since they were small children, first bonding over their mutual disdain for naps. Over the years, their friendship solidified into something she couldn’t imagine living without. She glanced at him, noting the faint smudge of dirt along his forearm, marking him as a Botanist. Lewis had always been there for her, reliable as the earthy scent that clung to him from hours of planting and pruning.

“I know what this is really about. You don’t want to spend the day with me,” she said, her lips debating whether to pout or smile.

Lines formed between his brows. “We’ve spent almost every day together for twenty-four years. I’m just not interested in being boiled alive like a lobster—especially if you keep dragging things out.”

"So, you’re happy to boil like a lobster if I stay on task?”

Lewis tilted his head, his mane of light brown hair flopping to the side. “Do I even have to answer that?”

She waited, staring into his eyes, a playful challenge.

“Fine.” He sighed, removing his spectacles to clean them with the fabric of his shirt. “You can boil in here by yourself. I need to head back to the greenhouse anyway.”

“Come on, it’s not like your beloved plants are going to grow legs and run away.”

Lewis peered over the spectacles he had returned to the bridge of his sharp nose. “Oh, and your maps are going out on the town, are they?”

They both tried and failed to hold back their laughter.

“Alright, alright,” Vivienne conceded. “You win. Let’s grab some air.”

She grabbed her tote and stood, her head rushing at the sudden movement. They’d been sitting longer than she realized.

“Not just air. I was promised a pastry from Johanna’s,” Lewis reminded.

“Ah, but of course, my liege.” Vivienne sketched a deep bow.

Lewis rolled his eyes in response, swinging the leather strap of his satchel across his chest. “Now it’s two pastries. Let’s go, drama queen.”

* * *

Vivienne and Lewis strolled through the library’s central hall, their footsteps echoing off the polished marble floors. As they passed the towering statues of Queen Metis and Ondrelis, Vivienne tilted her head back to take them in. Queen Metis stood proud and regal, a silent sentry over the library bearing her name. Beside her, Ondrelis, the god of wisdom and stars, gazed upward, his eyes fixed on the painted constellations of the domed ceiling. In the collection of tomes and scrolls, the largest on the continent, the statues always reminded her how much knowledge remained beyond her grasp.

She and Lewis pushed open the heavy wooden doors, their combined strength barely enough. The creak of the hinges gave way to a rush of a salty breeze wrapping around them like a current. Vivienne closed her eyes and filled her lungs with the briny air, loosening the ever-present tension in her shoulders. Lewis released a low sigh, his hair catching the wind and whipping across his forehead. They stepped into the golden light of the approaching evening. The sun crept low on the horizon, bathing the s-shaped coastline in glows of orange and pink glimmering on the water’s surface. The waves rolled against the shore below, barely audible over the city’s hum of life. Vanter spread out before them, the sprawling capital city of the Kingdom of Fendwyr nestled in the rolling hills rising from the sea.

“Never gets old, does it?” Lewis asked, gesturing toward the white stone castle perched high on the cliffs.

Vivienne shook her head, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “I don’t think I’ll ever get over Eirenden Keep at sunset.”

They began their descent from the Library of Metis on the steep path winding down toward the heart of the city. The smooth stones beneath their feet gave off a faint shine in the evening light, worn from centuries of people making the same journey.

"Don’t you need to head to the greenhouse first?” Vivienne asked, motioning behind her at the assortment of royal buildings.

Lewis rubbed the back of his neck. “Well… I don’t actually need to go to the greenhouse," he admitted, "but I couldn't take another minute in that sauna.”

Vivienne pressed the back of her hand to her forehead in feigned betrayal. “You lied to me to get your free pastry faster?”

“I think you mean pastries ,” he said with a raised eyebrow, "and I’d lie to anyone for free baked goods—so would you."

The rich, buttery scent of fresh bread and caramelized sugar reached them before the bakery came into view. Vivienne took a greedy inhale, the aroma triggering a cascade of memories: sticky fingers, shared laughter, and the kind, flour-sprinkled face of Johanna Peiskos.

“Race you!” Lewis called, already breaking into a sprint.

Vivienne barely had time to react before he took off, his boots clattering on the uneven cobblestones. “Cheater!” she shouted, hiking up her skirt to keep pace. The narrow street blurred in her periphery as she ran, her heart pounding with effort and the thrill of competition.

Lewis reached the bright blue door first, slapping his palm against it with a triumphant grin. “Still too slow, Viv,” he teased, his golden-brown eyes sparkling with mock superiority.

Breathing heavily, Vivienne stopped just short of colliding with him. “I let you win,” she shot back, sticking her tongue out.

“Sure you did,” he said, pushing the door open with exaggerated flourish, the bell above tinkling to announce their arrival.

The warm air rushed out to meet them, carrying the scents of vanilla, cinnamon, and the faintest hint of orange zest. Vivienne paused at the threshold, brushing her fingers over the yellow hand-painted lettering that read "Johanna's," surrounded by small paintings of jasmine blossoms. The elements had worn down the calligraphy as the seasons passed, but they'd always repainted the same letters and flowers. Vivienne found the consistency comforting as she stepped into the bakery behind Lewis, her eyes adjusting to the cozy dimness of the shop.

Johanna stood behind the counter, her stout frame wrapped in a flour-dusted apron, her cheeks rosy from the heat of the large oven. A basket of golden pastries rested in front of her, their glossy tops reflecting the lamplight. She looked up at the pair with a wide smile that crinkled the corners of her hazel eyes.

“Well, if it isn’t my favorite troublemakers,” she said, her voice rich with affection. “You know I don’t even need the bell when I can hear you two barreling down the road.”

Vivienne smiled, leaning on the counter. “Do you have any of those ‘day-old’ pastries we could buy?” she asked, throwing a pointed glance at Lewis, who was all but drooling over the basket.

Johanna chuckled, pushing the basket forward. “Lucky for you, I happen to have just enough left over.”

Vivienne couldn’t help but notice how fresh they looked with delicate, flaky golden crusts and glossy filling. She exchanged a knowing look with Lewis. As a child, she believed Johanna’s insistence that these were leftovers she was willing to sell at a discount or give to them free of charge. As an adult, she saw them for what they were: small acts of kindness disguised as practicality.

Vivienne glanced around the shop, her gaze lingering on the worn wooden shelves empty of their usual loaves of bread and pastries by this time of day. Her thoughts drifted to the baker’s empty home upstairs. She knew Johanna and her late husband had wanted children, though fate had other plans. It wasn’t an unusual story in Fendwyr. Few families had more than one child, if any at all.

Theories abounded, of course. The natural philosophers blamed the sweltering summers and limited diets. The bankers pointed to economic hardship, while the more superstitious whispered about a curse. Vivienne didn’t put much stock in any of it; she wasn’t planning on children any time soon—perhaps not ever.

Johanna wiped her hands on her apron. "Well, I don't have much left today, but you're welcome to the lot for three coppers."

"Don't look at me," Lewis objected. “Viv is buying today because she locked me in that godsforsaken oven of a library again."

Vivienne scoffed. "At no point were you locked in. The pastry was meant to be payment for your assistance in cataloging the maps."

Lewis raised a pointed finger in protest. "It’s pastries ," he insisted, his golden-brown eyes peeking above his spectacles.

Try as she might, Vivienne couldn’t say 'no' to him. Twenty-four years of memories, friendship, and negotiations always worked against her. She rustled through her tote, retrieving the agreed-upon three coppers.

"When does Briar come home?" Johanna asked, moving the pastries from the basket into a small, woven bag.

For a moment, Vivienne let the silence stretch between them, the lamps flickering over the yellow and blue mosaic tiles lining the walls. Five years had passed since Briar came to live with them. Five years since that terrible accident left her orphaned. Vivienne still remembered the way she had clung to her at the funeral, her tiny fingers gripping Vivienne’s sleeve with quiet desperation.

In some ways, caring for Briar felt like second nature, like slipping into a role she had been preparing for without realizing. It reminded her of how Johanna had looked after her when her parents went off on their endless expeditions. But this wasn’t the same. Thirteen years separated them, making them not quite sisters and not just cousins, but something in between.

"Saturday," Vivienne said, stretching her neck as tension crept back into the muscles.

"She's been at a chemistry program, right?" Lewis asked, eager to resume conversations about his and Briar’s shared interest in the medicinal properties of plants.

"She's been up in Eboncrest for six weeks at the Institute of Healing Disciplines,” Vivienne answered.

"I'm excited to talk to her about it. No offense, Viv, but talking about the anti-inflammatory properties of Calendula isn't the same with you," Lewis said.

"None taken." Vivienne was more than happy for them to keep the plant-category conversations to themselves.

"Bring her by on Saturday, or at least come grab some food for her," Johanna instructed. "I'm sure the tiny thing will be half-starved after traveling from the northeastern border."

Vivienne nodded. She was ready for Briar to be back, but a sinking feeling settled in her stomach as she thought about her parents coming home. She couldn’t place why.