She grinned, eyes shining with excitement. “Two hours of the caravan master’s time. He’s from a place called Meruka where the remains of an Elder temple still stand and hold their magic. He even sketched the ruin for me.” She patted the satchel where the precious drawing was tucked away. “Would you like to see it later?”
“Of course. I’ll fetch you after a game of turni menet with your father. I promised him the chance to win back the monies he lost to me last night.”
She shook her head. “Father and his wagers. How many times did you beat him?”
“Four out of five.”
“Better you than me,” she said. “I refuse to play him anymore. He cheats.”
Radimar grinned. “I cheat better.”
They both laughed, and she gave him a wide smile before continuing to her chamber, throwing a warning over her shoulder for him to be careful her father didn’t trap him in his chair until dawn with “that infernal game.”
When he came to her rooms that evening, she ushered him in with a scroll in one hand and a tunic in the other. Two servants were with her, sorting through the chaos of clothes and writing supplies scattered across the bed and table, waiting to be packed for the annual journey to the capital for the Delyalda festival.
Radimar gawked at the tower of parchment books set beside an open trunk. “How long do you plan to stay in the capital?”
Jahna shrugged and passed a tray of capped ink pots to one of the servants. “Most of those are completed accounts for the Archives, including what you told me about Ilinfan this past year.”
No one could accuse Jahna Uhlfrida of idleness. “Does Dame Stalt know you’ve prepared this much material?”
“She knows I’ve been working hard.”
That was an understatement. “This is the work of three industrious scribes,” he said.
A worried frown line creased the smooth skin between her eyebrows. “Do you think she’ll be pleased?”
Radimar snorted. “I think she’ll be stunned. I can’t speak for the quality of your records as that isn’t my expertise, but in the year I’ve known you, you’ve proven yourself thorough in your studies, whether they be recording histories or training with me.”
Her relieved exhalation made him smile. “I’m so glad you think so. You are an amazing teacher, and your words mean a great deal to my brother and me.”
A telltale heat settled across Radimar’s cheekbones at her generous praise. At such times he wished he didn’t have the fair skin that came with being ginger-haired. He’d never been able to hide a blush.
Thankfully, Jahna didn’t notice, too busy with emptying her satchel in search of her prize. “Did you still want to see the sketche the caravan master drew for me?”
He stayed long enough to admire the sketch and ask a few questions about her plans with meeting the dames at the Archives during their stay in the capital before returning to his chamber, pensive and a little troubled.
Jahna had waxed enthusiastic about her future meetings with Dame Stalt and been resigned about the suppers and dances that constituted a majority of the Delyalda festivals. He recalled Sodrin’s remark that the celebration was more a trial for her than anything, and he resolved to do what he could to make it less so for her this year. During one part of their conversation—and he couldn’t even remember what she said—candlelight had illuminated her features in such a way that Radimar could easily see how she would look in a decade as a woman fully grown and settled into her own skin. The image had struck him with the force of a mule’s kick, and for a moment he lost the ability to breathe.
Jahna’s repeated calling of his name brought him back to his surroundings. He assured her he was well, just tired from the day’s training, and hurriedly excused himself from the room, the weight of her puzzled gaze and that of her servants heavy on his back.
He lay in bed that night, chasing elusive sleep as the image of an older Jahna teased his mind’s eye over and over. Radimar rolled to his side, punched his pillow, and did his best to exorcise her from his thoughts. Sleep didn’t come for a long, long time.
The trip to Timsiora was cold and uneventful, the long days on horseback broken by the much more diverting evenings when the Uhlfrida family and their servants gathered around their camp’s fire built for warmth and supper and shared an easier camaraderie than they did on the estate. However, the closer they got to the capital, the quieter and more withdrawn Jahna became.
She had returned to yanking incessantly on her hood or fiddling with her hair so that both covered the marked cheek. She also reviewed the tomes she had put together for review at the Archives, her lips moving soundlessly as she read and re-read her writings, eyes tracking over the lines of script, pausing sometimes as a scowl bloomed across her features at some word she regretted using or a description that no longer pleased her.
On the last day of their travel, Radimar slowed his horse until Jahna caught up to him on hers. “I think you worry overmuch,” he said abruptly. “You aren’t approaching Dame Stalt as a prospective teacher but as an apprentice. She’s already shown interest in you, so much so that she sought out your father last year to see if he was agreeable to you pursuing the path of a king’s chronicler.”
Jahna huddled deeper into her cloak, whether from cold or anxiousness, he couldn’t say. “It isn’t Dame Stalt that worries me. King Rodan demands all noble families attend Delyalda. I dread it every year. I wouldn’t go except that being on your deathbed is the only excuse he’ll accept for not attending.”
“I can keep you company when I’m not preparing your brother for the exhibition bouts,” he offered.
She gave him a wan smile. “That isn’t necessary, though I’m tempted to take you up on your offer. I think if I split my time between my room and the Archives, all will be well.”
He didn’t bring it up again but resolved to do what he could to make the festival the entertainment it was supposed to be for her and not a gauntlet to run and survive to its ending.
That resolution was put to the test when they arrived at the palace, settled into the suite of rooms Lord Uhlfrida once again paid a small fortune to the royal coffers to reserve, and went their separate ways—Uhlfrida to meet and drink with his fellow courtiers, Radimar to the royal training lists with Sodrin, and Jahna to the Archives with her packed trunks of precious manuscripts.
Uhlfrida joined Radimar and Sodrin at the lists later in the afternoon. The sky was clear for the moment, the clouds of snow breaking apart to reveal an anemic winter sun hovering low on the horizon as it prepared to end its very short journey. Night at this time was long, with the longest darkness to come in a week. By then, the festivities would be at their wildest and most frenetic, with the capital near to bursting with people drunk on wine, dancing, brawling and sex.