Duty-Bound [ Lore of Penrua: Book II ]

69

"Uarria..." Matei sighed, drawing to a stop before his daughter's door. He had been on his way to bed himself, a path that took him past the princess's chambers, when the light coming through the gap beneath her bedroom door had drawn his attention. It was late; certainly her nursemaid was not still awake. It took him a moment to realize what was wrong as he paused outside her door. There were no guards stationed on either side, which was odd, given the hour.

He turned the handle and nudged open Uarria's door. He remembered many nights just like this one, when all others in the palace had been abed and he had clambered out from beneath his sheets to read by the light of a spirit globe well into the wee hours of the morning. There was a certain deep, complete peace those magical middle hours of the night afforded; it was as if the shadows themselves were alive with comfortable mystery.

Uarria's room was shadowed, but, sure enough, the spirit globe on its carven stand in the corner of the room kept the darkness at bay. The golden glow mingled with the rosy light of the moon, adding a sense of surrealism to the chamber. The tapestries embellished with mythical creatures and the shelves neatly lined with toys made of the room a child's haven, and just seeing these artifacts of his daughter's earliest years—things she would soon enough grow less fond of and leave behind—wrung Matei's heart with a familiar mixture of pride and sorrow.

The girl's nursemaid, Sorinna, was nowhere to be seen, which was odd. She slept in the bed set in the corner of the room, against the balcony windows, and the coverlet was yet unturned.

"Sorinna?" Matei called, wondering if the woman had taken Uarria out onto the balcony, perhaps to soothe her. Uarria was four years old and still given to the volatile emotions of a very young child. He strode across the room and pulled back the curtains, but the balcony was empty.

Turning back to face the bedchamber, Matei glanced around, seeking something out of the ordinary. The curtains of the bed were half-closed; perhaps Uarria was asleep or quietly playing with a toy, snuggled up near the pillows where he could not see her. Creeping through the room on quiet feet, Matei listened for any shifting or burrowing sounds that would betray a little girl doing her best to suddenly look asleep.

With a fond smile, Matei brushed the curtain back and looked in on his daughter...but she was not there. Her bed, in fact, looked untouched.

He edged around the bed and surveyed the rest of the room, then crossed again to the balcony, but he had already confirmed that it was empty. "Uarria?"

Although he knew she would not be hiding underneath her bed—the little girl did not like cramped spaces—he knelt and peeked beneath anyway. Nothing there but a wooden horse with a broken leg.

A feeling of unease settled over him, but he pushed it back down. He had to be reasonable. Sorinna must have had some urgent late-night errand and, loathe to leave the girl untended, she must have taken her with, accompanied by Uarria's guards. This was the most logical explanation. She was safe, just misplaced.

He went out into the hall again and walked until he came upon a palace guard on patrol. The guard bowed, and Matei did his best to keep any sign of distress from his voice as he said, "Princess Uarria is not in her room. Have you seen her nurse?"

"No, Your Grace, but I shall begin looking for her at once. It won't take me but a moment to alert the rest of the palace guard."

"Good man—but quietly. I do not wish to wake Her Grace. She has had a trying day."

The guardsman bowed again and moved off down the hallway at a steady clip. Matei watched after him until he saw the man beckon to a fellow. Then, he turned round and chose a path up to the Archmage's Tower, where the lorekeeper still lived. Uarria was very fond of her grandfather, and he of her; if the little girl had gotten separated from her nurse, Matei had no doubt that she would make her way to her favorite place, the Archmage's Tower, if she could.