Mercury Mind (The Downfall Saga Book 1) (16 page)

“I miss having younglings around to teach,” said Jerel wistfully. “If I hadn’t come here, I would’ve taught at Haven.”

“Don’t you have Caddaric’s brothers to teach?” asked Donovan.

“Not anymore. Worrell’s at the Cleft for a few years and David spends his days learning from his father. At least I have the research from Osmont to keep me busy, and the Clachwards, of course.”

“Clachwards? I haven’t heard a thing since I was attacked at the start of the term.”

“That’s surprising. There’ve been many sightings around the city. Farms have been trampled, animals scared off, but most of the injuries have been minor. That is, except during the Downfalls. They go berserk, rending everything around them. It takes a massive fire to deter them during the storm. Only a light, so intense that you can barely look at it, will bring them down. I spent the last Downfall walking the walls around the city, clearing them out before they damaged the walls in their frenzy.”

Looking out over the wall, Donovan saw Kort dejectedly walking towards the keep. Waving to get his attention, they headed down to the gate to meet him.

With Kort in tow, Jerel led them inside. He left them in a small antechamber, where an attendant would get them when it was time.

“I can’t believe I came,” said Kort, banging his head gently against the wall.

Donovan sat down on a small bench, covered in pink cushions, edged in lace. “Sit down and take a few deep breaths,” said Donovan calmly.

“How can you be so calm? We’re about to have dinner with the Queen of Rourke and who knows how many other members of the Royal Family.”

“You’ve been living side-by-side with Prince Caddaric for months,” said Donovan, emphasizing his title. “They’re not so different from you or me.”

“Except that they can order your execution by raising an eyebrow.”

“I doubt that somebody dies every time they raise an eyebrow. Just calm down, take your time, and follow what everyone else is doing.”

“I’ve forgotten everything that Caddaric taught us,” said Kort, beginning to panic. “Which fork do I—”

He cut off his question when an attendant opened the door. She was a couple of years younger than them, hair pulled back in a bun, wearing a pristine white dress, conservatively cut, under a tan vest. She led them down the hallway to the dining room.

The walls were covered in red drapery. Three golden chandeliers hung from the ceiling over top of the long table, the largest in the center. The table was covered in white cloth, surrounded by delicate looking chairs, red and white to match the theme. Despite wearing their best clothes, they didn’t belong in a room like this. Even the attendants wore finer dress.

Jerel stood up from the table when they entered, and came over to greet them.

“Please have a seat. The Queen could keep us waiting until morning.”

Donovan let out a nervous laugh, and sat across the table from them. Kort stiffly made his way over to the table, and eased himself onto a chair beside Jerel.

“Relax,” said Donovan. “You’re allowed to laugh at a joke.

In fact,” said Jerel in a conspiratorial tone, “the last person who didn’t laugh at one of the Queen’s jokes was never seen again.”

“Really?” gasped Kort.

“No,” said Jerel, “the Queen never tells jokes.”

Caddaric and the Queen arrived several minutes later. Caddaric was dressed in a tight fitting white suit, accented with golden buttons. The Queen wore a flattering red dress which enhanced her curves, and her hair was done up in a complicated wave.

“Please be seated,” said The Queen, and everybody retook their seats. “I want this to be an informal dinner with my son and his friends. Regrettably, the King and Prince David were called into an emergency meeting.” Judging by the smirk on Caddaric’s face when she said it, he didn’t believe that there was a real emergency.

The attendants appeared noiselessly at their sides and poured everybody a glass of red wine. Jerel gulped his glass and signaled for it to be filled again. Before Donovan could stop him, Kort followed suit and drained his own glass of wine.

“So Donovan, Caddaric tells me that there is some question about your upbringing,” said the Queen.

Donovan nearly choked on the wine he was drinking. “That’s true,” he said, “I’m having some trouble with my memory and cannot recall my parents.”

“How horrible. I hope that they manage to cure you. As a word of advice, you should avoid taking anymore bumps to your head if you want your memory to return.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty. I’ll keep that in mind.”

The salad course was set in front of them. With a grin on his face, Kort took a fork at random and devoured his salad, before taking another deep drink from his glass.

“What do your parents do, Kort?” asked the Queen, politely nibbling at her salad.

“They have a farm outside of Blaine where they raise sheep.”

“Sheep! How horrid.”

“I cannot even begin to describe how they smell after it rains,” said Kort, roaring with laughter, pieces of his salad falling from his mouth.

Everyone else sat there in polite silence, not understanding the joke. Kort drained the rest of his wine and signaled for more.

“Maybe you should go easy on that,” said Jerel, trying to take his glass away. Kort pushed Jerel’s hand away, and signaled to an attendant for more.

“Stop bossing me around, okay. You aren’t my dad!” he exclaimed, standing up dramatically. Donovan glanced at Caddaric, and couldn’t tell who was more embarrassed.

After getting Kort to sit down again, Caddaric distracted the Queen with small talk, while Kort’s stomach growled its own conversation from the other end of the table.

The rest of the night ended in disaster. Complaining about his undercooked lamb, Kort swung his arm, spilling his wine all over Jerel. Jerel stood, and without a word, stormed off.

“If you can’t even cook a proper meal, then I’m leaving too,” said Kort, staggering his way out of the room.

“Your Majesty, I’m so sorry!” said Donovan. “May I be excused to tend to my friend?”

The Queen waved her hand dismissively, and Donovan calmly walked out of the room.

H
urrying to catch up to Kort, Donovan took his arm and guided him out of the keep. Making their way through the city, Donovan guided them to
The Engorged Liver
. Donovan was disappointed to see that Aine wasn’t working, but quickly forgot about it when their meals arrived. Full from the hearty food, they retired to a room that Donovan rented.

Waking late, they headed down for breakfast and, after Kort asked what had happened the night before, Donovan described the meal with the Queen in great detail.

“I did what?” exclaimed Kort. “I’ve got to get out of here. Leave the city before they bar the gates. I may have to leave the country.”

“Calm down,” said Donovan. “I doubt the Queen would have allowed you to leave the keep if she was that upset.”

“I’ve got to go ... back to Haven ... they’ll protect me there.” Kort rushed out of the room.

Donovan finished his breakfast as if nothing had happened then, after settling his tab, he headed to find the music shop.

Trying to follow Kotori’s instructions from much earlier, he was forced to ask for directions a couple of times before he found it. The shop stood partway down a small, twisting lane. A bakery stood across the street from the music shop, single story with a gently sloping roof, chimneys bumping out smoke, the smell of baking bread perfuming the neighborhood.

The music shop seemed to have fallen on hard times. The once vibrant sign that simply said
Jaslynns
had faded. Two large windows faced the street, displaying a variety of instruments, many of which Donovan didn’t recognize.

A bell rang when Donovan opened the door, and walking through the cluttered shop, he approached a counter near the back. A handsome woman stepped through a curtain behind the counter and smiled at him.

“Good day, fine sir,” she said. “My name is Jaslynn and what can I do for you on this fine day?”

“Hi,” said Donovan awkwardly. “My name is Donovan and a friend of mine told me he was going to leave a parcel here for me.”

“I don’t recall any parcels,” she said. “Was it an instrument of some sort?”

“It could have been. He may not have left it yet. I’ll try back in a few days.”

Donovan left the shop, not completely surprised. It was two days until the solstice and he’d hoped to arrive before Eamon. There wasn’t enough traffic along the lane for him to wait inconspicuously. The day was cold and he didn’t fancy hiding behind a pile of trash between the buildings.

Scanning the area, his eyes locked on the bakery across the way. He circled around to the back of the bakery and climbing a frozen rain barrel, made his way onto the roof. The heat from the ovens had melted most of the snow on the roof, however he had to carefully make his way over a slippery layer of slush to the peak of the roof. Snuggling up to one of the chimneys, he settled down to wait, his eyes just clearing the peak to watch the lane.

He had lots of time to think while waiting on the roof. He thought about everything since that fateful day when he had arrived at Haven and everything that had led him here. He knew that he wanted to talk to Eamon and get answers about his parents and his past, but he couldn’t decide if he should be happy to meet Eamon or angry for what he’d let happened to him. For all he knew, Eamon might be the dark wizard who performed the Blood magic on him. If that was the case, then it would be very dangerous to approach him alone. The only way to convince someone to help him would be to show them the note written in the Shem language, but he still refused to admit any connection between himself and the people who had devastated the world multiple times in the past and, if Professor Cleary was to be believed, would do so again in the near future.

The smell of baking and the warmth from the chimney tempted him to sleep. Fighting to stay awake, he slid himself away from the chimney, hoping that the cold would help him focus.

He stayed on the roof all day and didn’t see a single person enter the shop across the street. When Jaslynn locked up the shop for the night, Donovan debated staying on the roof in case Eamon dropped off the package during the night, but he quickly discarded that idea. Donovan didn’t think that he would risk the package getting stolen by leaving it unattended outside the shop, and he knew that he couldn’t stay awake forever.

Sliding down the roof, he gently eased himself back onto the ground. Stopping by the bakery, he bought himself a sweet bun which he enjoyed on his way back to The Engorged Liver. After a meal in the common room, he retired early for the night.

Waking before the sun, he quietly made his way outside and headed back to the music shop. Jaslynn hadn’t opened the shop yet, but he was pleasantly surprised to see the bakery already open. Armed with an armful of honey buns, and a half-dozen sugar cookies, he resumed his vigil on the roof.

The sun had been up for a couple of hours before Jaslynn opened her shop. Today was the day, he thought. Eamon wouldn’t risk bumping into Donovan on the solstice, so he would drop off the package today, but how would he recognize him.

His fears turned out to be for not. Midmorning, a figure walked down the lane on the same side as the building he hid atop of. The roof line prevented him from seeing more than a few glimpses of the figure until he turned to cross the street, heading towards the music shop. He could tell that it was a man from his gait, and he held a large case in his hand which could have held a musical instrument, but Donovan couldn’t tell if it was Eamon or just a customer coming to the shop.

The figure opened the door and disappeared inside. Donovan debated jumping off the roof and confronting him inside the shop where he’d have trouble running. If only he knew for sure.

During his hesitation, the figure had apparently completed his transaction and was leaving the shop without the case. Seeing a face that he would describe as average, he made his move.

“Eamon!” yelled Donovan, springing over the peak of the roof and sliding towards the street below.

The figure’s head jerked at the sound of his name. Looking back and forth, he spotted Donovan on top of the bakery and bolted.

Donovan’s feet slipped on the slush and flew out from underneath him near the edge of the roof. Falling on his back, he had the wind knocked out of him, before rolling and falling onto the street below, jamming his knee. Pulling himself to his feet, he hurried after the figure.

The figure turned left at the end of the lane, and Donovan skidded around the corner several seconds after him. He suddenly thought to himself that he should have scouted out the neighborhood beforehand, but it was too late now. If he lost sight of Eamon, then he would probably never see him again, nor ever find out about his parents. These thoughts propelling him on, he ignored the pain in his knee, and pumped his legs as fast as he could.

Traffic was fairly light which made it easy to keep track of the fleeing figure, but he wasn’t making up any ground. After chasing him along several more streets, Donovan had the feeling that he was making his way south, and the only way across the river to the south was the bridge heading to the Temple District.

Acting on his hunch, he turned down a different street than his prey, knowing that it led to a wide street leading to the bridge where he wouldn’t have to worry about pedestrians impeding his progress.

Doubt grew in his mind as he neared the bridge, and hadn’t seen his prey. He was almost at the bridge when Eamon came flying out of a side street in front of him and fought his way through the heavy traffic on the bridge.

Donovan had more difficulty forcing his way through the crowd in Eamon’s wake, but reaching the end of the bridge, he hopped up and ran along the edge of the fountain. Peering over the top of the crowd, he quickly found him again and took off after him, his breath coming in ragged spurts. Donovan thought himself to be in good shape after training with Osmont for the past few months, but Eamon put him to shame.