Authors: John Marco

The Eyes of God (15 page)

BOOK: The Eyes of God

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“It’s . . . my moon blood, that’s all. That must be it.”

“Your moon blood? No, that can’t be it.”

“And how would you know about my blood?” she snapped. She rose to her feet unsteadily, pushing him away, stumbling toward her horse. Her face was colorless. Before she could reach her mount she collapsed to her knees.

“Cassandra!” Lukien rushed forward, putting his arm around her. “God, let me help you.”

The princess shook her head. “It will pass. It always does.” She took deep, painful breathes, steadying herself. “Please, just let me rest a moment.”

“What’s wrong with you?” Lukien insisted. “Tell me, please.”

Cassandra’s expression was poisonous. “There is nothing wrong with me. Just my monthly cycles, that’s all. And don’t you dare tell anyone about this, do you understand? Don’t utter a word of it.”

“My lady . . .”

“Not a word,” sputtered Cassandra. She closed her eyes to compose herself. The worst of it seemed to pass as quickly as it had come. Lukien released her, watching her fretfully. Carefully she got to her feet, her head drooping, one hand still pressed against her abdomen. “I must get back to the house,” she said. “Help me to my horse.”

Unsure what to do, Lukien obeyed, getting the weakened Cassandra into the saddle. He checked her for steadiness, then mounted his own horse. Cassandra found the strength to ride and urged her mount forward, returning the way they’d come. Lukien followed closely, watching her. She was already much better, but her color hadn’t returned and her shoulders remained slumped. He had never seen a moon cycle do
that
to a woman, and he was sure the princess was lying. But he said nothing as they rode, and eventually they arrived back at the lake where the picnic was still going on. They were on the far side of the water, where Cassandra had been painting. As they neared the gathering, Cassandra straightened in her saddle, putting on a counterfeit smile. Jancis saw them at once and came to greet them.

“Did you have a nice ride?” the maid asked, taking the reins of Cassandra’s horse.

“Yes, nice,” said Cassandra. She frowned at her companion. “But I want to go inside now. I’m tired.”

The worry on Jancis’ face was plain. “Get down,” she ordered, helping Cassandra off the horse. Lukien dropped down after her, shadowing her as Jancis led her away. It was then he noticed the painting, still sitting undisturbed on its easel.

“Let me get your painting for you,” he said, going towards it.

“No!” shrieked Cassandra. She wrenched free of Jancis and dashed forward. Lukien had picked up the painting, its canvas cover still draped over it. He looked at Cassandra in shock.

“What’s wrong with you? Just get inside. I’ll look after this for you.”

With a lunge Cassandra snatched the painting out of his hands, but it slipped from her grip and fell to the ground—just in time for a breeze to blow off its canvas covering. Cassandra went as still as stone. She glanced down at the exposed painting, then up at Lukien. Lukien’s eyes studied the painting, and for a moment he didn’t recognize himself in the work. But when he did, he gasped. Slowly he knelt down and picked it up. It was him, sitting by the water in his golden armor.

“Oh, my God,” Cassandra gasped. She put her hand to her mouth, mortified. “Jancis . . .”

Jancis hurried forward and took the painting from Lukien. The knight and the princess stared at each other. Cassandra’s face collapsed with grief.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’m . . .” When she couldn’t find her voice, she turned and dashed away. Jancis lingered a moment longer, offering Lukien an apologetic smile.

“Don’t tell anyone, all right?” the girl asked. “Please, she’s embarrassed enough.”

“I . . . I won’t,” Lukien said.

He watched Jancis go after the princess. Across the pond, Trager was looking at him. But Lukien didn’t care. Something told him his life had just become a lot more complicated.

A
s the morning sun rose over Koth, Akeela walked alone through a field of bricks and limestone, enchanted by his strange surroundings. A mountain of quarried stone lay to one side of him; to the other, a span of earth cleared of trees and grass. The foundation of a tower had been laid, and the outline of a main building could be seen cut into the dirt, a huge, rectangular footprint that could easily swallow most of the chancelleries. Akeela arranged his cape around his shoulders to stave off the morning chill, his chin held high with satisfaction. Not far away, the constructs of Koth threw shadows onto the work site. He could see Lionkeep on its hill, surrounded by the government halls of Chancellery Square, and knew that he had picked the perfect place for his Cathedral of Knowledge.

“Perfect,” he whispered over the breeze. No one heard him. He had come alone, except for Breck, who was on the other side of the site marveling at the mountain of limestone. It was an ambitious project and Breck had voiced his doubts, but upon seeing the work that had been accomplished in the past few weeks, the soldier was becoming a convert. They all were, even the stodgy lords of the House of Dukes, and that pleased Akeela. His enthusiasm for his library was contagious.

He strode through the site toward the foundation of the tower. The first inklings of its construction revealed a round base that would one day rise high above the main building, looking down upon the rest of Koth. It would be a symbol to all Liirians, calling them to knowledge and its bond-breaking power. A thrill went through Akeela as he studied the tower’s base. For a moment he wondered if his father would have been proud of him, then decided not. His father had been a strong king, but not a visionary. The same blindness that had made peace with Reec impossible had also robbed him of dreams. Akeela’s good mood flattened.

“He would have said this was folly.”

But it wasn’t. Now Akeela would have to prove it, not only to his father’s ghost but to the entire world. Even to Cassandra. She had laughed at his plans for his library. It had been an innocent chuckle, but it had hurt Akeela. He worried that his new wife would be like his dead father—pragmatic and short-sighted.

When Cassandra arrived from Hes he would take her here, he reasoned. He would show her the tower being built and the enormous main library, and she would marvel at the number of books it would hold, and realize then that he was building something grand. After years of awkwardness, he was finally becoming an impressive young man. He was sure it was the reason Cassandra had agreed to their marriage so quickly. She had seen the emerging greatness in him.

“You’re right, my lord,” called a voice from across the plain.

Startled, Akeela turned to see Breck trudging toward him. “Eh? Right about what?”

“It’s impressive,” said the soldier. “It will be splendid when it’s done.”

Akeela sighed, letting his eyes drift over the site. So far it really wasn’t much, just a gaping wound in the earth with some rocks strewn around, but it was huge and had a good view of the city, and that made it impressive. Already it could stir the heart.

“I wish Lukien were here to see it,” said Akeela. “And Cassandra.”

Breck looked at him curiously. “When will you be sending for them, my lord? Soon?”

“In a day or so.”

“Ah, so you’ve made ready for your wedding then,” said Breck. He gave his king a small smile.

Akeela laughed, understanding the man’s meaning. “I have to admit I’m a little nervous. But Graig and the others have been making most of the arrangements, so I haven’t been thinking about it. Not about the wedding, anyway. But I have been thinking about Cassandra. I’m going to bring her here as soon as she arrives. I told her about the library when I was in Hes, but I don’t think she grasped it. She needs to see it to understand.”

“I’m sure she’ll be impressed, my lord.”

A flash of movement caught Akeela’s eye. He turned toward the city and saw two horsemen riding forward, approaching the library site. The lead man was instantly recognizable. Graig, the Head Warden, wore his typical gold and crimson uniform. He waved to Akeela across the distance. An excited smile bloomed on Akeela’s face.

“Who’s that with Graig?” Breck asked.

“That,” said Akeela hopefully, “just might be my new librarian.”

Riding a pace behind Graig was a man not much his junior, a fiftyish fellow with dark hair and a brightly-colored cape caked with the dust of the road. He had a thin face with darting, eager eyes. The clothes he wore were foreign to Akeela, full of crimson and silk, bespeaking someplace far away. Akeela had expected him to be dressed as a Mar-nan, but the man was different than he’d imagined, like a mismatched collection of colorful rags. Atop his head was a threadbare hat, wide-brimmed with a golden band, and his cape was fastened around his neck with a bejeweled clasp that seemed extravagant against his shabby shirt. But most curious of all was the thing on his shoulder. Perched on his right side, its eyes wide with mischief, was a small, sable-haired monkey. The creature’s head bobbed excitedly, taking in the strange surroundings as it chattered in its master’s ear. The man took a nutmeat from his pocket to quiet the monkey, which the creature happily devoured.

“That’s your librarian?” asked Breck. “My lord is joking, surely.”

Akeela cringed. This man was nothing like he’d expected. He had come highly recommended by the Prince of Marn. Supposedly, he was a scholar of great renown. But seeing him made that hard to believe. His trampish clothes and silly grin disappointed Akeela. He raised his hand to Graig, beckoning him closer. At least they weren’t late. Graig had promised to bring their guest to the site the moment he’d awoken. When at last the duo reached the waiting king, Graig slid down from his horse and gestured to the stranger.

“My lord,” he said simply, “this is Figgis.”

“And friend, apparently,” said Akeela. “Good day, sir. Thank you for coming so far to see me.”

The odd man surveyed the area as he said, “You’re welcome, my lord. A pleasure, really. Looks like you’ve got something big going on here.”

Graig cleared his throat. “Fellow, you’re addressing the King of Liiria.”

Figgis got down from his horse, then offered the king a small bow. “I’m sorry, King Akeela. I’m not accustomed to meeting royalty.”

“Indeed?” asked Akeela. “Yet you worked for Prince Jarek?”

“Worked for, yes. Spoke to, almost never. I was his clerk, my lord. That means I spent my days surrounded by books and ledgers. I had very little company. I’m afraid it’s made me a bit unpolished.”

Breck gave Akeela a sideways glance. Akeela ignored it, trying to smile.

“Well, you’re here now,” said the king. He looked him up and down. “Your clothes look travel-worn. Didn’t you arrive last night?”

“I did, my lord, and slept like a baby in your home. Thank you.”

Akeela’s smile waned. Obviously, Figgis didn’t think much of bathing or washing his clothes. He decided to look at the monkey instead.

“And your little friend?” he asked. “What’s his name?”

“This is Peko,” replied Figgis. He put out his hand and let the tiny creature climb on, then watched as it wrapped its long tail around his wrist and fell backwards, dangling like an ornament.

“He’s charming,” said Akeela, laughing. He came closer, enchanted by the animal. Figgis noticed his interest and held the monkey out for him.

“Here, give me your hand,” Figgis offered. “He’ll climb right on.”

Akeela drew back. “I don’t know. His teeth look pretty sharp.”

“Ah, he won’t bite you, King Akeela. Go on.”

Akeela did as instructed, putting out his hand for the monkey. Without hesitation Peko leapt forward, grabbing hold of Akeela’s hand and wrapping his quick tail about his wrist. The sensation of warm fur made Akeela chuckle. Carefully he stroked the monkey’s head.

“He’s so soft. And look at those eyes.”

The little monkey cocked its head, directing Akeela to scratch its ear.

“He’s wonderful,” said Akeela. Already he was growing to like the strangers. “Now tell me, Figgis. What do you know of my project here?”

BOOK: The Eyes of God

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