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Chapter 5

5

ADRIAL

“It’s not as hard as you’re making it out to be,” Natalia said. “If you think something is impossible, it will be so.”

“I am trying, though.” Taddy’s voice cracked as he spoke. “Please don’t think I’m not trying.”

Adrial leaned against the wall of his workroom, just outside the main office of the scribes’ shop. He could go out and look at whatever Natalia had decided didn’t obtain Guild perfection, but there was no need. She could handle the shop’s apprentice as well as he could.

“There’s already spots on the corner,” Natalia said.

A whimpering groan followed her words.

“I know you’re trying, Taddy,” Natalia said, “but you’re going to have to get it right eventually. So go on and start it again.”

Taddy gave a shaky sigh, and the scratch of his pen sounded a moment later.

Adrial clicked his door closed and crept back to his desk as quietly as his limp would allow.

It was almost noon. Soon, the servants would bring food for the scribes in the office, and poor Taddy would have a break.

Nearly half the day had passed, and Adrial had spent all his time staring at the sheets of paper laid out on his oversized desk.

His workroom was nearly as large as the whole outer office, where eight scribes took on the daily tasks needed to keep the city running―writing official notices, entering information into the Guilds’ records, creating documents for marriages and taxes. Normal scribes’ work for the scholars who maintained order in Ilara.

But the paper on Adrial’s desk was not meant for posting commands from the King or granting names to newborns.

This paper was perfect. Thick and supple, made by sorcerers’ hands. Adrial trailed his finger along the edge of the parchment and, whether it was only his imagination or not, could feel traces of magic the sorcerers had left behind.

The six best-loved histories of Ilbrea lay on a table to one side of his office, each opened to the first page.

He wasn’t to make a copy of any existing book. That could easily be done by many other hands. The King’s command was to create a new work, combining the best of each volume with illuminated illustrations worthy of a gift for a princess.

Adrial buried his face in his hands. He had the paper and the books. There was nothing for it but to start working. He opened his eyes and stared down at the sheet of paper propped up on the tilted portion of his desk.

In the light streaming down from the high window, the pigments were even more remarkable than they had been by candlelight the night before. Three streaks of color marked the parchment. The truest black he’d ever seen, a pale purple so lyrical it seemed to swim of its own accord, and a red so violent, fire would be jealous of the ink’s complexion.

A beautiful madwoman had delivered the most perfect inks he’d ever seen and had sworn to visit him this morning. The fear of her not coming to the shop warred against his reasonable desire to keep insanity as far as possible from the Princess’s vellum.

Chimes sounded from the front of the shop.

Adrial’s door muffled Natalia’s cheerful greeting. He held his breath, waiting for the new arrival to answer. A low, gruff voice sounded.

Adrial sank into his chair and leaned back, letting the wood dig into his bad shoulder.

The girl had probably gone to the library. That was where the scribes’ most detailed work was usually handled. The best of their trade spent their time in the library workshops with giant skylights, dozens of desks, and plenty of guards to keep the outside world from bothering them.

But Adrial was the Head Scribe of Ilara. The head scribe’s duty was to do his work and manage the business of the scribes’ shop where common folk could come for their needs. It was meant as a way to train the head to manage the Guild while maintaining his own work, but the chimes at the door made thinking impossible. Especially when any ring might mean the arrival of the inker.

“Waiting will do you no good, Adrial Ayres.” He straightened his cuffs. “Start on the work, and get it done.”

“Head Scribe,” Taddy called through Adrial’s door. “Head Scribe, there’s a woman come to see you, sir.” The touch of frightened excitement in Taddy’s young voice left no room for doubt as to who the woman was.

“Yes, Taddy.” Adrial rose quickly from his chair, ignoring the pinch of pain in his leg. “I’ll be right out.”

The door to his workroom flew open before he could reach for the handle.

The girl stood in the door, technicolor hair draped over her shoulder, a teal basket hanging from her arm. She wore the same skirt made of hundreds of swatches of fabric and a bodice tied tight enough Allora would have been shocked at the girl’s lack of modesty.

“I didn’t tell her to open the door, sir.” Pink devoured Taddy’s cheeks.

Adrial’s heart stuttered as he wondered if his face had betrayed him as well.

“Don’t worry, love.” The girl tousled Taddy’s hair and gave him a wink. “I’m sure the scribe has been waiting for me.”

“Actually, he has spent…” Taddy’s voice trailed away at a glare from Adrial.

“Thank you, Taddy.”

“Yes, sir.” Taddy backed away, keeping his eyes on the girl.

“Have you decided on your ink order?” The girl closed the door, shutting out the still-staring Taddy.

Adrial opened his mouth to speak but couldn’t find words.

“Are you a scribe or a fish?” The girl trailed her fingers along the edge of his shining wooden desk, stopping at the portion that was tipped up, displaying her inks. “You clearly like the colors, so what’s the trouble? The crown keeping you on a tight budget?”

“No.” Adrial fought to keep his tone level.

“So you’ve promised the work to another inker?” She picked up the parchment and held it to the light.

“No.”

“Then what’s the problem?” The girl tipped her head to the side. Her hair shifted with the movement, displaying the pale skin of her neck.

Adrial dug his nails into his palms, willing his eyes not to drift any lower.

“This vellum is important,” Adrial said, gaining confidence from the firmness of his voice. “You climbed into a private party and gave me three good―”

“Exquisite.” The girl planted her hands on the desk and leaned toward Adrial. She smiled at him as though she knew exactly how hard he was trying not to look at her chest fighting to break free from the confines of her bodice.

“They are exquisite colors.” Adrial held up his hands as she opened her mouth to speak. “I can’t let you make the ink for the vellum. I want to use the same inker for the whole project. Everything needs to match. I don’t know you. I don’t even know your name. How can I be sure you can maintain this quality of work, or if you can even make any other colors?”

He held his breath, waiting for her to storm out or worse, cry.

Instead, she reached into her basket. “My name in Ena Bairn. It’s a pleasure to meet you, scribe. Of course you don’t know me, I’m not from Ilara. My home is farther south. Which means”―she pulled a jar of pure map maker green from her basket and held it up to the light. The color sparkled like emeralds. Before Adrial could reach for the jar, she’d set it on the table with a satisfying clunk―“I make southern ink. It’s brighter to start out with, harder to smudge, and won’t fade like your northern-made, chivving rot. I’m the only one in the city who knows how to make this quality ink.” She pulled a deep-blue jar from her basket. “And, as you’re nigh on drooling over it, I’m sure you’re smart enough to know just how good my work is.”

“I-I’m sure it’s fantastic, but―”

“How many inkers came by this morning hoping for the job?” Ena lifted a bottle of violet ink from her basket.

“Five.” Adrial’s fingers itched for a quill. The pigments matched the colors of the Guilds so perfectly, if he used each hue to outline a portion of the star…

“Did you take any samples from them?” Ena stepped closer, a sly smile twisting her rose-pink lips.

“No, but I’ve seen their work before.” Adrial swallowed as she stopped six inches from him. He forgot to breathe as the scent of wildflowers swirled around him.

Ena was barely shorter than Adrial. Her bright blue eyes were nearly level with his.

“Don’t lie, scribe. You haven’t a talent for it. You didn’t take their samples because you were waiting for me. Because you knew whatever I brought you would be far better than any ink those slitches could hope to make.” She held a jar of gleaming gold in the breath of space between their faces. “You know you want it. I’m the only one who can make it. And you’re going to pay dearly for it.”

“Fine.” Adrial forced the word past the unnatural dryness in his throat. “You can make the ink for the vellum.”

“Good. I was worried I might have to convince you.” Ena winked and turned to Adrial’s worktable, stacking his papers to make room for her basket.

“I was working on those.”

“And I’m sure you worked very hard on each of those empty pages. Don’t worry. I won’t harm your precious parchment.”

Adrial’s heart flipped as he caught a glimpse of the inside of the basket. Nestled in the colorfully stained fabric were another dozen jars. Cerulean blue, dazzling sapphire, and blazing yellow were scattered in with nine jars of pitch black.

“Do you like them?” Ena whispered.

His shoulder grazed hers. He’d moved forward without even meaning to.

“Yes.” Adrial limped back a step while heat flamed in his cheeks.

“Good.” Ena lifted the jars out of her basket one by one, holding each up to the light from the high window for Adrial to examine before setting it on the table. “I thought these would get you a good start. You can tell me what colors you need from here.”

“I’m not sure what I’ll need.” Adrial wished he could swallow his words the moment he spoke them. He was the head scribe, set to be the youngest Guild Lord in a century. Indecision was a luxury he could not afford.

“Are these the books you’re supposed to be copying?” Ena swept toward the table of books, the colorful layers of her skirt whispering around her as she moved.

“Not copying.” Adrial followed her, carefully keeping his distance. “I’m combining and adding, writing new text and drawing completely original illustrations.”

“They’re beautiful.” Ena leaned over the oldest of the vellums. “I’ve never seen a book like this.”

“There aren’t many to be seen outside the library and the Royal Palace.” Adrial gingerly turned a page in the book. An illustration of a magnificent bird covered the next page. With sweeping feathers in the colors of the Guilds, the bird soared over a map outlining the shore where Ilbrea met the Arion Sea.

“You’re going to make a book like this?” Ena looked to Adrial, a tiny wrinkle pinching between her eyebrows as she studied him.

“I’ve a bad leg, not an unsteady hand.” Heat rose in Adrial’s face.

Ena crossed her arms and leaned back to perch on the table with the books.

The scribe in Adrial wanted to shout at her not to lean on the table that held the priceless volumes. But she held his gaze, and the words drifted soundlessly from his mind.

“I don’t think I’ve ever met a person capable of creating something that beautiful,” Ena said as though stating a simple, unimpressive fact. “What colors will you need?”

“All of them.”

“You might need to give me a little more than that,” Ena laughed.

The sound was free and beautiful.

Adrial’s heart twirled in his chest.

“I’ll need a deep blue and a bright blue for the first pages.” A sky, that’s how he needed to show the beginnings of Ilbrea. A crisp, blue sky over a land longing to be discovered.

“Gods and stars, scribe, you’re going to have to do better than that. Between bright blue and deep blue there are a hundred shades waiting. Here.” She pushed herself off the table and took Adrial by the shoulders.

His skin burned beneath her touch as she backed him to the center of the room.

“We’ll do this the easy way.”

“Easy way?” Adrial’s voice squeaked like he was no better off than Taddy.

Ena leaned in, her cheek brushing against his as she whispered. “Don’t worry. I can be gentle.”

Before Adrial could think past the delicious mix of wildflowers and new flames in her scent, she’d pulled away, her eyes dancing with mirth.

“Pick a color from my skirt.” She turned in a slow circle. “I don’t just wear the thing because I like being every color in the world. It helps unsophisticated customers make a decision.”

Adrial watched the colors as she turned once, and then again.

“There.” He pointed to a swatch of blue so warm it seemed trapped between sky and sea.

“Where?”

“There.” Adrial pointed to the patch that sat on her right hip.

“You’ll have to be a little clearer than

there,

scribe.” Ena slid toward him.

There was something in the laughter in her eyes that made Adrial want to scream, disappear, and whoop in giddy joy all at once.

“Go on, scribe,” Ena whispered. “Touch it.”

Adrial hated his finger for trembling as he reached out and touched the swatch of perfect blue fabric.

“That one’s easy. I can have it to you by tomorrow.”

“And that one.” Adrial pointed to a grayish-green patch farther down her thigh, grateful she didn’t ask him to touch that one, too.

“I’ll have to wait for a few things to bloom.” Ena wrinkled her brow. “But if spring goes as it should, I might have it in two weeks.”

“Two weeks?” There wasn’t time to wait that long. Not with a project this large.

“Never rush perfection, scribe. Don’t they teach you that when they trap you in your white robes?”

“I’ll need that one, too.” He’d just spotted it. A blue so light the color could barely be seen. It was fine and bright, like fairy dust sprinkled on a gentle summer wind.

“I knew you had decent taste buried somewhere beneath your robes.” Ena tenderly brushed the patch by her knee. “That one won’t be ready till the warm weather comes. You wouldn’t believe all the work that ink takes. Some might even call it magic.”

It wasn’t until she winked that Adrial realized he’d forgotten to breathe.

“I’ll be back tomorrow. I expect a bag of coins waiting for me.” Ena grabbed her basket on her way toward the door. “And wear clothes you can leave your little scribe’s hole in. I’ll be needing your help.”

“I―what?” Adrial limped after her. He felt his eyes go wide and his jaw drop open but somehow couldn’t school his face into a more respectable expression.

“I need help tomorrow, and you can’t work until you have the ink you need.” Ena turned and patted his cheek. “Sweet Taddy is too small, and from the look of it, you could use a little sunshine and fresh air. Having a limp is no excuse for locking yourself inside.”

She threw open the door to the outer shop. Taddy toppled over by the doorjamb, landing with a thunk and a squeal.

“There’s a whole world out there, scribe,” Ena called back as she strolled through the line of desks toward the front door. “You can’t hide from it for the rest of your days.”

Adrial didn’t dare to breathe until the door closed behind her.

“Head Scribe, who is she?” Taddy scrambled to his feet.

“The inker for the Princess’s vellum.” Craning his neck, Adrial watched as Ena turned her face up to the sun for a moment before striding down the street.

“Where is she taking you?” Taddy asked.

“I’ve no idea.”

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