Page 8
Story: The Tales of Arcana Fortune
Chapter Four
H e was young, probably around his early to mid-twenties; a few years older than her. His hair was dark and messy, falling rakishly into his eyes.
He had a tall lean frame and was wearing a dusty green coat. Papers were scattered around them, likely having fallen from the bag strapped across his chest.
And he was still staring at her with irritation in his gaze.
“Pardon me, miss,” he ground out, “but could you please get off me . ”
Mortified, she scrambled off him, dusting off her skirts and muttered a hasty apology.
He got up slowly, wincing. Her cheeks burned with embarrassment, and she opened her mouth to apologize, but he cut her off.
“I would appreciate it if you thought your actions through next time you decide to get stuck in a trap. Or at least, make sure someone isn’t nearby to bear the brunt of your harebrained ideas.”
She gasped in affront and was about to retort, before he cut her off again with a wave of his hand.
“It’s fine though. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to be on my way. Could you direct me to Maeve Larke’s cottage?”
She frowned. “Why do you need Maeve Larke?”
“I don’t need her; I need access to her books. I’ve heard she passed, but her niece lives at her cottage and is well versed enough on all the records. It’s her I need to meet.”
“And why would you need to do that?”
The man drew himself up and said in a self-important air, “I am working on a compilation of the kingdom’s oldest folklore traditions, and there’s one work in particular I have been searching for. It will ensure my work is one to record in the history books.”
A giggle escaped her at his pompous words, and she clapped her hands over her mouth.
He sighed, as if having expected that, and fished around in his bag, drawing out what looked like a very expensive piece of paper, flourishing it at her.
“I am an archivist from the imperial library, and this is a letter from the Head Scholar himself, introducing me and explaining why I’m here. It also has the imperial seal to prove its authenticity. ”
Serena took the letter from him and gave it a critical glance.
It did indeed look authentic as well as comprehensive.
However, it was odd that one of the kingdom’s imperial scholars was compiling a book on fairy tales when there had been a lot of effort in recent years to dissuade even publishers from indulging what the king deemed fairy nonsense.
It was odder still that they had given him an official letter with the kingdom’s seal to authenticate his quest. Some of the scholars her aunt had been corresponding with were indeed still interested in folklore but required a lot of information, as the royal library discouraged books on the matters.
“What book is it that you are looking for?”
“Listen, I’m in a bit of a hurry, and clearly you”—he took in her messy pink hair and filthy skirts with a raised eyebrow—“cannot lead me to the Larke Cottage. And while I would love to fill you in on my journey, I don’t have time to entertain fifteen-year-old girls.”
“Fifteen?” she gasped, offended.
He frowned. “No? Is it sixteen then? Girls your age look much the same to me.”
She stamped her foot in annoyance.
“For your information, I am nineteen, thank you very much. Also”—and this part she said with relish— “I am Maeve Larke’s niece.”
She waited for him to fall to his knees, but all he said was, “Nineteen, really?” At her scowl, he hurriedly shifted tacks, sketching a shallow bow. “I apologize, Miss Larke. I was simply expecting someone...older.”
The last word sounded like he meant to say something else, but she did not press him on it, instead correcting him on his other error. “Rose.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“My name is Serena Rose—well, Rina to my family and friends, not that I have many. Friends, I mean. Aunt Maeve was my mother’s sister.”
He looked at her with disbelief, his eyes raking over her pink locks.
“Your name is Serena Rose.”
“That is what I said.”
He was still staring at her as if she had freshly escaped from an asylum. “Your name is Serena Rose. And you have pink hair.”
Had he hit his head too hard when she fell on him?
“Yes, that is correct. I say, are you quite all right, Mr...?”
She waited until he stopped looking like he was about to have a seizure.
“Gray,” he said at last. “Kai Gray.”
Serena looked at him critically. The documents and motives seemed sound enough, and he had apologized for his boorish behavior. Still, she wasn’t quite sure if she wanted to lead a strange man to her house.
What ultimately decided it was the fact that he winced when he put his papers back in, clearly bruised from her falling on him. She supposed she owed him this much of an apology.
Of course, there was no way she could resist baiting him a little.
She gave a theatrical sigh, shrugging her shoulders dramatically. “I am sorry, Mr.…Gray, was it? This doesn’t really prove much. For all I know it could be an excellent forgery.”
“And why exactly,” he said, gritting his teeth, “would I come up with such an elaborate ruse?”
Oh, he was almost too easy. He was so much more fun to bait than her brothers.
“Why, to have your perverse way with me, of course,” she said, clutching at her bodice protectively, “Don’t think I haven’t noticed your lascivious gaze on me, sir!”
“What?” he stuttered. “No, I—”
Oh dear, he was going to have a seizure if that vein in his head kept popping like that.
Taking pity on him, she sighed again. “Fortunately for you, I am a kind, trusting soul, and will give you the benefit of the doubt. Come along, Mr. Gray, let me lead you to the treasure trove that is my family’s book collection. ”
There was slight amusement in his eyes now, as if he had caught on to her game. “I’m sure. And just Gray is fine.”
The study had scarcely changed in the six months her aunt had been gone, largely owing to the fact that she had not found the strength to change anything; not just yet.
Perhaps if she kept everything the same, Aunt Maeve would eventually emerge from behind a column of books, asking Serena to brew a quick pot of tea so she could share her latest research with her.
Serena’s gaze fell onto the portrait on the desk, and she made herself quickly look away, lest she burst into tears.
“Here’s where my aunt keeps all her records,” said Serena, with forced cheer,“You can go through them, but be careful, some of these are more than a hundred years old.”
The infuriating man raised his eyebrows sardonically. “I am an imperial archivist, Miss Rose. I think I can manage.”
Flipping her hair, she turned around to go back into the kitchen. “Oh, also, some of the books are laced with arsenic,” she called out airily. “Not every writer in this room wanted a self-important city boy rummaging through their work.”
Ignoring his sputtered questions, she giggled and swept out of the room, leaving him staring at the cloud of pink behind her.
He’d been in there for a good hour or so when she re-entered holding a cup of tea in her hands.
“Here,” she said, thrusting it forward. “Thought you might like a drink after all that searching.”
He looked almost insultingly surprised at her hospitality. Nevertheless, he took the cup from her hands, and she perched herself upon the desk.
“How’s the search going?” she asked.
His brow furrowed. “Nothing so far. There’s no trace of the book I’m looking for.”
“Well, there are thousands of books for you to go through. You won’t find anything useful so soon. And you still haven’t told me what book you’re looking for.”
To her annoyance, the man was not listening. He peered at the shelves on the other side of the room, a disgruntled look on his face. Curiosity was eating at her though, so she pressed on.
“So, what do you do?”
“What?”
“Your work as an imperial scholar, what does it entail? What do you do ?”
His brows shot up in surprise. “I do research, go through old books, all that sort of stuff.”
What a vague explanation. “Yes, but surely you must have a more specific job than that. Especially if the Head Scholar himself has written your endorsement.”
“I’m sorry I don’t have more illustrious duties I can recite right now, Miss Rose.” His posture was stiff, his tone cool. “It’s not as if you would understand if I went into detail.”
She rolled her eyes. “I was just trying to be friendly, ”
“I don’t do friendships.”
Embarrassment made her cheeks heat up, and she dropped down from the desk, her feet landing on the rug with a soft thud.
“I am going to go do my own work then,” she said brightly. “You should also leave soon, Mr. Gray. I cannot have you boarding here, and I am sure you already have rooms at the village inn.”
It was silly to let his words affect her, but his dismissal stung. Maybe she’s been alone too long after all if she was letting a stranger upset her this way. She had just hoped maybe…maybe she could meet another kindred spirit.
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
Before he could reply, she hurriedly exited.
A half hour later, Serena heard the front door open and shut, and she knew her visitor had left. She treaded softly down the stairs. Taking great pains to be careful, she bolted the door and windows and then made her way back to bed.
She stayed awake until late into the night, a crushing sense of loneliness weighing on her. Interacting with another person had made her feel worse. His presence in the cottage had driven home the fact that Aunt Maeve was truly gone.
She thought back to her mother’s letter.
Was she truly just deluding herself and delaying the inevitable?
Should she just give up and go back to the Leis, to the suffocating life she had left behind?
It was only a matter of time before the villagers’ morbid curiosity lost to their prejudice and they refused to buy her tonics anymore.
What would happen if the reverend made good on his threats?
When it became clear sleep would not come, Serena rolled out of bed and walked to the bedroom window, opening it to let fresh air in.
She rested her arms on the windowsill as she gazed out toward the deep woods in front of her cottage.
The night breeze rustled her hair almost affectionately, and she inhaled the sharp, sweet scent of the burgeoning winter air.
How could she ever leave Primrose Cottage?
Who would take care of it if she was gone?
There was no successor waiting in the wings ready to take over the Larke legacy, and she had a sneaking suspicion that the remaining members of her family viewed this cottage and its books as a liability.
She sighed.
“I wish you were here, Aunt Maeve. You would know just what to do.”
Not for the first time, Serena wished she was more like her aunt, who had possessed a quiet dignity that people had no choice but to respect.
When she had first moved in with Aunt Maeve, she had not yet grown into her height and was all spindly limbs and awkward gait, and her aunt had remarked affectionately that Serena had a shifty gaze; her eyes were always darting here and there like a cornered rabbit about to bolt at any minute.
She could never explain how all of that was because sometimes she felt trapped in her body.
There was a whirring noise inside her brain that made it impossible for it to work at a normal pace, and more often than not her thoughts were a jumble of ohineedtodothelaundrythatbookwasreallyinterestingohhowdidthattunegoagain and on and on.
Her body felt like it was always primed to go, like there was another source of energy inside her that wanted to burst out.
She sighed again, louder this time. The wind was picking up strength now, and her hair whipped around her head in a curtain of pink. Shaking her head, she tried to get the strands out of her eyes, when she heard it.
A laugh—like a cacophony of silver bells.
The sound sent shivers down her spine, but not in an unpleasant way.
Trying to figure out where the sound was coming from, she leaned out of the window, almost dangerously so.
The garden was empty, and the gate remained closed.
The giggle came again, an almost breathless sound.
Another gust of wind blew, the traces of mirth riding upon it.
Mesmerized, she reached out her hand slowly until it stretched out in front of her, and she could have sworn she felt the wind hold it in a caress.
Rearing back, her cheeks flushed, Serena stood inside her room, her hair mussed and her nightgown askew.
What had just happened? She thought back to the orb in the woods and remembered the figure she had seen in the fire.
She had chalked it up to sleep-induced hallucination before, but now she wasn’t so sure.
She lay in bed deep into the night, thoughts rushing into her head, questions that she had no answer to, until she finally fell into a restless fitful sleep.
Table of Contents
- Page 1
- Page 2
- Page 3
- Page 4
- Page 5
- Page 6
- Page 7
- Page 8 (Reading here)
- Page 9
- Page 10
- Page 11
- Page 12
- Page 13
- Page 14
- Page 15
- Page 16
- Page 17
- Page 18
- Page 19
- Page 20
- Page 21
- Page 22
- Page 23
- Page 24
- Page 25
- Page 26
- Page 27
- Page 28
- Page 29
- Page 30
- Page 31
- Page 32
- Page 33
- Page 34
- Page 35
- Page 36
- Page 37
- Page 38
- Page 39
- Page 40
- Page 41
- Page 42
- Page 43
- Page 44
- Page 45
- Page 46
- Page 47
- Page 48
- Page 49
- Page 50
- Page 51
- Page 52
- Page 53
- Page 54
- Page 55
- Page 56
- Page 57
- Page 58
- Page 59
- Page 60
- Page 61
- Page 62
- Page 63
- Page 64
- Page 65
- Page 66
- Page 67
- Page 68
- Page 69
- Page 70
- Page 71