Summer
Shafts of rosy light illuminate the stained-glass windows as I follow the monk down the corridor. I’m shown through a red door at the end of the hall and into a shabby, but respectable, office. When the monk exits with a bow, I direct my gaze to the ancient man sitting by the fireplace. His face is creased with a thousand lines and his tiny feet barely touch the floor.
“King Anselm.” His voice is like dry grass rustling in the wind. “It is my honor to welcome you to this holy place.”
“Father Superior.” I place my hand on my breast and bow my head. “I am here to seek council.”
“Please, sit.”
He waves me into the chair across from him and then looks at me expectantly. His pale eyes glint like shards of glass in his withered face.
“As I’m sure you know, my father passed away recently,” I began. “I’m here because one of his projects has fallen to me.”
“The library, I assume.” A wistful smile pulls at his pale lips. “He spoke of it often.”
“Indeed. Unfortunately, collecting the kingdom’s printed resources was the extent of his involvement.”
When Father Superior nods, I continue:
“I’ve heard your monastery has produced many notable scholars. I want to hire one of them to organize the library. I was hoping you might be able to recommend someone.”
“Ronan DePaul of the Twin Kingdoms.” The name springs quickly to his lips. “He’s the most gifted student I’ve seen in a while. He can retain the knowledge of anything he’s ever read.”
“Do you know his current residence? I would like to write to him as soon as possible.”
Father Superior nods, then calls one of his monks into the office. Within the hour I take my leave of the monastery, clutching a piece of paper with an address scrawled across it.
Ronan DePaul arrives a few days later.
I wasn’t expecting such a hasty arrival, and I find myself feeling rather disoriented when I’m summoned from my study one evening. The newcomer is already waiting for me in the throne room. Two guards flank him, and when I enter, all three of them bow.
“King Anselm,” says one of the guards. “I present Ronan DePaul, your Archivist.”
“Welcome, Master DePaul,” I say. “I wasn’t expecting you for at least a week.”
The stranger throws back his hood, exposing a face of pale and flower-like beauty. His eyes are like polished onyx, and they lock onto mine with an intensity that snatches the breath from my throat.
“We did not make as many stops as anticipated, Your Majesty.” When his words are met with silence, he adds: “I beg your pardon, but it was my impression that this was an assignment of some urgency.”
I clear my throat, forcing myself to concentrate. I wish he wouldn’t look at me so intently.
“Forgive me. Yes, ah, the library is rather embarrassing. Organizing it will take a certain level of expertise.” My eyes linger on the alabaster slope of his neck, tracing the movement of a single bead of sweat as it trickles down and vanishes beneath his collar. “You come highly recommended, Master DePaul.”
“Then perhaps it would be best to let me get to work.”
I study him for a moment longer. His paleness is accentuated by the coppery curls which sprawl over his forehead and ears. They seem like the very embodiment of his impatience.
I feel the corners of my lips twitch as I nod and gesture for him to follow me.
