32
Rosalina
“Prince Kairyn,” I breathe, fully turning to face him. The hairs on my arms rise, and for some reason, the idea of having my back to him feels wrong.
I shouldn’t be surprised to see him here. He’s the leader of the High Clerics. And I know I’m not in the wrong for entering this space; Ezryn told me the monastery is open to everyone. But between his height, the broadness of his shoulders, and the sweeping black armor, the exit to the hall appears shrunken behind him.
“Apologies. I was walking with Prince Ezryn and Prince Farron and became distracted.” I look down. “They’re just up ahead. I’m sure they’re wondering where I am.”
“It’s understandable. The artwork throughout the monastery can not only be distracting, but enchanting.” His voice is a reverberated timbre through the black helm. “I would know. I’ve lived here for decades.”
Been banished here for decades, he means.
Kairyn stands beside me and looks up at the mosaic. A white stardrop on his breastplate, reflects the low light. “The Queen, in all her glory. The Golden Acolytes honor her memory and pray that she will return to the Vale.”
My breath is heavy in my throat. I blink up at him. “Is that what you pray for?”
He stays silent for a moment, reminding me of Ezryn. Then he says: “Waiting for someone else to save you is a hopeless endeavor. The Queen is renowned as loving and just. She would not want us to sit in denial. A truly selfless ruler would want a new power to rise and shepherd the Vale as she had done before.”
It’s strange to see him speaking like this, quietly and with such thought. So different from my first impression of him when he confronted Ezryn. And yet…
I see it in his clenched fists, the heave of his heavily armored chest. A storm brews beneath the surface.
“My name is Rosalina O’Connell,” I say, straightening. “I’m … friends with your brother.”
“Oh, I know who you are, Lady O’Connell.” Kairyn turns and walks toward the door. “Everyone knows who you are.”
“Everyone?” I say more to myself.
Kairyn stands in the doorway. “My brother is a great many things, but a connoisseur of the arts he is not. It would be my honor to show you the monastery’s other masterpieces.”
Slowly, I step toward him. Looking down the hall, there’s no sign of Ez or Farron. But they know I’m here.
Kairyn is Ezryn’s family—maybe I can help soothe whatever resentment lies between them. We need allies more than ever.
“I’d be delighted,” I say.
Kairyn sweeps a huge hand behind my back and shivers run down my spine.
He leads me up a staircase and into a grand hall filled with tables, desks, and resplendently carved pillars. “This is the study chamber, a place for contemplation, meditation, and scholarly pursuits. It is also home to one of my favorite pieces of art.”
He directs me past a row of bow-necked acolytes and into a hallway capped by a beautiful arched window. Golden light from outside filters in onto a tapestry.
I drift over to it, eyes searching the threads. It goes from ceiling to floor, depicting an epic scene.
Stretching across the top are colorful, nebulous clouds. In the very middle, blooms a glowing rosebush.
I point up. “What is that?”
Kairyn’s voice echoes in the hallway. “The Above, of course. The first realm. A place that now only exists in memory … or so they say.”
My eyes drift lower to the very bottom. In a perfect parallel, it depicts caverns and dark mist. “That is the Below, I suppose.”
Kairyn quirks his head at me. “You do not recognize such sacred art. It must be true then.”
“Hmm?”
He takes a heavy step, his shape blocking out the light of the window. My heart pounds; he’s the only thing I can see, towering over me, his body silhouetted by the light. He reaches out a massive, gloved hand, and I shrink back—
But he only gently touches the point of my ear. “It’s true. You were not fae-born. Or you were and…”
I give a nervous laugh. “Yeah, I wish I could tell you the whole story, but I don’t even know it.”
“The Princes of Castletree have truly kept their little treasure to themselves.”
My voice finds strength: “The princes and I make the best decisions we can for Castletree.”
“Our dying hope,” he murmurs. “Twenty-five years they’ve been searching to heal the source of all magic, and still nothing. Some people may think they hoard the magic for themselves.”