Blood-Bound [ Lore of Penrua: Book I ]

2

The lorekeeper laughed. "One day, I will learn the proper honey-to-tea ratio, my lady. Please, be patient with me. Prince Koreti, will you have tea?" He turned his head to see where Koreti had gone, a few stray strands of silver glinting in his brown hair and neatly trimmed beard.

Koreti, seeming to have grown bored with pestering the raven, had crossed the room and now stared at the one slice of wall that was not dominated by towering bookshelves. There, stretching nearly from floor to ceiling, was a monumental painting in a gilt frame. The prince gazed at it thoughtfully. "No, thank you," he said.

There was always so much to look at in the Archmage's Tower, so many stories to hear, and so much pestering to do of the lorekeeper's raven that Mhera had never paid the artwork much mind.

"What's this painting of, Master Eovin?" Koreti shoved the last piece of cookie into his mouth, wiped his hand on his pants, and pointed at the central figures. He chewed and swallowed. "Are they Empress Katyander and Emperor Broycan? What are they doing to all those Arcborn?"

Mhera turned her attention to Eovin and noticed him straighten slightly. This would be a minor adjustment of posture in any other man, but in Eovin it meant a story was coming. The lorekeeper placed his teacup on its saucer. Then, clasping his hands and raising his two index fingers to his mouth in a thoughtful gesture, he walked round the table toward Koreti.

Mhera followed him. As she approached, she saw the central figures Koreti had mentioned. They were easy for her to recognize. The white-clad woman of unearthly beauty could be none other than Katyander, one of the Blessed Sovereigns of legend. At her side stood her consort, Broycan. Both of them had stars on their brows, marks of their holiness. To those in the Holy City of Karelin, these figures were ancestors, saints, and saviors. Storybooks and holy writ alike told the story of how they had saved Arc once, a long, long time ago, by banishing the Dark God.

In the image, the Blessed Sovereigns stood on a raised platform in the center of the Sovereign Square before the palace. The golden dome of the Royal Temple rose in the background. On either side of the Sovereigns were crowds of people. To their right were some noble-looking folk in rich robes of garnet, gold, and sapphire. To their left was a slightly smaller crowd of cringing people in brown and gray.

Mhera thought these drab figures looked rather scary. All of them had a similar swirling design painted on their left cheeks.

"This, Your Highness, is a painting of the Separation. It is allegorical, of course; when the Arcborn were quelled and marked, our Blessed Sovereigns had been dead for many generations."

"What's . . . ?" Mhera began, preparing herself to pronounce the word.

But Eovin smiled at her and supplied the answer readily. "Something is allegorical when it's . . . symbolic. Take, for example, His Grace's device, my lady. The rose symbolizes refinement, beauty, nobility. The stars, of course, signify his Starborn blood. You see? In this painting, Katyander and Broycan are allegories for holiness and righteousness. The artist put them here for that purpose. Do you understand?"

"I understand," Koreti said. "They weren't there, but they were, all the same. Watching from Heaven."

Eovin smiled. He seemed to like when the children took part in telling his stories, as best as they could. "Yes. That's right. What else do you see, Your Highness?"

"Well, Arcborn," Koreti said. He pointed to the marked men and women on the right side of the painting. "What's all that stuff?"

Mhera saw what he meant, although she had not noticed it at first glance. There were pale ribbons winding up some of the people's forearms, white and green and palest blue. "What is it? It looks like some kind of snake."