Inker and Crown

Chapter 10

10

Adrial

Aximander and Farrin standing together on the prow of a ship, the sail whipping in the wind as a fierce storm gathers behind them.

For the greatness of Ilbrea and at the order of King Gransen Willoc the First, Aximander set forth on the first map making journey on a ship captained by Farrin, the great seafarer. The journey led them east across the Arion Sea to the Barrens, then south to Ruthir Mountain.

That would be the next image Adrial would have to illuminate―Saint Aximander, Patron Saint of the Map Makers Guild, standing atop Ruthir Mountain. Most of the images of him showed a grassy mountaintop like those to the northeast of Ilara, but that wasn’t the first mountain Aximander conquered in King Gransen’s name. Ruthir Mountain had proven to King Gransen that Ilbrea needed the Map Makers Guild, and the perils Aximander survived had secured him his place as Patron Saint of the map makers.

If this vellum was to travel to Wyrain with Princess Illia, it should tell the true story, not the pretty tale told by the stained glass.

Unless the King wants it to match the stories Princess Illia has grown accustomed to.

Adrial pinched the bridge of his nose. He would need to ask Gareth what he wanted before he could move on to the next illustration.

Our duty is to honor truth. But our duty is also to bring understanding. And how can you make them understand if they won’t turn past the first page? Gareth’s voice sounded perfectly in Adrial’s mind, as though the old man stood behind his shoulder.

Will I still be able to hear him when he’s gone and the Lordship weighs on my shoulders?

In a movement too quick for his own body, Adrial stood, knocking his chair to the ground.

“Are you all right, Head Scribe?” Natalia called from the front room.

“Fine,” Adrial said. “I’m not an invalid.”

“What?” Natalia spoke through the c***k in the door.

“Nothing. Just knocked over a chair.” Adrial dug his knuckles into his eyes, willing his heart to slow.

Gareth was wrong to choose Adrial as his heir and a fool to trust Adrial to make the vellum.

Adrial belonged in the library, hidden amongst the shelves of books as he dove into scholarly pursuits. He was not a leader. No one would ever want to obey the Guilded Cripple. No one would think him capable of protecting his Guild.

“I’m not built for this.” Even whispering the words sent a sickening guilt rolling through Adrial’s stomach.

Hands shaking, Adrial moved to the tea tray in the corner.

Two mugs and a tray with two rolls sat next to the teapot. But what was the point in requesting an extra mug so Ena wouldn’t steal his if the girl never showed up?

The sun had shifted enough that the midday chimes would ring through the streets any moment.

And he still hadn’t eaten.

You’re a getch of a fool, Adrial Ayres.

Breathing deeply, Adrial steadied his hands and poured himself tea. A bit of sugar, a leaf of bitter herb.

“I’m not sure this is the best time.” Natalia’s voice carried through the door. “Maybe if you come back tomorrow―”

A laugh bubbled over Natalia’s words as the door swung open.

“I told you, now isn’t―”

“It’s fine,” Adrial spoke over Natalia as Ena breezed into the room.

She dropped her basket onto the table before strolling to the tea tray and tossing a wink over her shoulder at Natalia, as though daring her to argue.

“I have very important merchandise for the head scribe.” Ena took the mug from Adrial’s hand and a roll from the tray. “From the looks of it, he’s been horribly distressed waiting for the new batch of ink.” She nodded at the tipped over chair. “Or maybe you weren’t driven to madness at having to wait a week to see me. Maybe you’ve gotten stuck on the vellum and had a tantrum like a weaning babe.”

“Is there anything else I can do for you, Head Scribe?” Pink crept up Natalia’s neck.

“No, thank you.” Adrial nodded.

Ena grinned and took a sip of his tea as the door to the shop swung shut. “Sorry for the wait. I hope you haven’t been pining for me.”

“No. I’ve been getting work done,” Adrial said, his tone harder than he’d meant it.

“Well, don’t be angry with me.” Ena shook her head, sending her hair flying around her shoulders. Deep green had taken prominence in its coloring.

“I’m not.” Adrial filled the second mug with tea. “You could have fixed yourself a fresh cup. I have one here.”

“But I like the way you do it.” Ena winked and took a bite of her roll before moving to the worktable. “I really didn’t think you’d catch on so quickly.”

“Catch on?”

“You’ve already had them send over extra breakfast so I wouldn’t steal yours. I’m impressed.”

“Really?” Heat rose in Adrial’s face. “How long did you think it would take?”

“A few more visits at least.”

Adrial dumped too much sugar in his tea and moved toward the table, walking as steadily as he could.

“Don’t hide the limp. It only causes you pain.” Ena didn’t turn to look at him as she spoke. “This is beautiful.”

“Thank you.” Adrial righted the knocked over chair.

“So you didn’t toss your chair because you were mad about your work being awful.” Ena turned to examine him, her face only inches from his as she stared into his eyes. “You aren’t mad at me, or you wouldn’t have put up with my teasing and stealing your tea.”

“Of course I’m not mad at―”

“What then?” Ena tossed the rest of her roll into her basket and took Adrial’s chin in her hand. “And don’t say nothing. You’re a terrible liar, scribe.”

“I’ve never lied to you.”

“But you’ve thought about trying.” Ena leaned in and whispered in his ear. “You’re not going to get out of telling me.”

The smell of something wild floated from Ena’s hair. The scent filled his lungs and made his head swim.

He should have been livid. An inker pressing the head scribe for information. Invading his space, stealing his food.

“Lord Gareth isn’t doing well.” The words slipped from Adrial’s lips before he knew he’d decided to speak.

“I heard.” Ena stepped back, a tiny wrinkle creased between her eyebrows.

“How?” Adrial faced his drawing table.

At least the paper and ink make sense. At least I’ll still have something to hang on to.

“Lord of a Guild takes ill, it won’t stay quiet.” Ena shrugged. “Especially not in a city packed as tightly as Ilara. It would be sad to see him go. Losing an honest head of a Guild is a terrible blow for the common folk.”

“He is a very good man.” Tears stung in the corners of Adrial’s eyes. “But he’ll be fine. He’s strong. He’ll be well soon enough.”

“If death does claim him, at least there’s another good man waiting to take his place.” Ena took the mug from Adrial’s hand, leaving both cups on the tea tray before starting to empty her basket. “Just imagine what a horrible thing it would be if that chivving paun Travers were in line for the Lordship. We’d be in an even worse mess than we are now.”

The jolt of shock that shot through Adrial at hearing the word paun spoken in his office was swallowed by the flare of pride that surged in his chest. “You shouldn’t talk like that about him. He might hear you.”

“I’ve dealt with worse than him.” Ena pressed a vial to Adrial’s chest. “All bluster and nothing else.”

“We can hope.” Adrial held the vial up to the light―a black with purple coursing through it. “It’s beautiful.”

“I know. And it is nice to know someone worthy is using my ink for once. You would be amazed how many untalented people come sniffing around for my pigments. Like good ink will help with the chivving messes they make.” Ena held another jar up to the sunlight. Her sleeve tumbled down her arm, revealing her pale skin. Pink and blue ink marked her flesh right above a deep-set bruise. “I had a man offer me coin for fine black ink so he could pen a love letter. The oaf probably couldn’t spell love.”

“Ena, what’s that?” Adrial took her arm.

“I took his money anyway, but―”

“Ena,” Adrial cut across her.

“Worried about a bruise?” Ena laughed. “It’s nothing, scribe. But this pink is perfect for sunsets.”

“It’s not nothing.” Adrial snatched the jar from her hand without looking at it. “Did you fall down a mountain, get thrown from a horse?”

“Strangely enough, both of those things have happened recently.” Ena yanked her arm from Adrial’s grip and dug back into her basket. “The mountain fall was terrible but worth it for what I found. If you’re lucky, maybe I’ll make you tromp out with―”

“Ena!”

Ena spun to face Adrial, her eyes gleaming with something between loathing and mirth.

“Do they tell you nothing, scribe?” Ena whispered. “Do you just stay locked in your land of pure white and assume the rest of the world is just as perfect? Because that’s far from the truth.”

“What happened?” Adrial held his hands forward, not daring to actually reach for her.

“The chivving Soldiers Guild happened.” Ena ran her hands through her hair. The bottom layer shimmered a bright pink.

“The soldiers hurt you?” Adrial took another step forward. “If they did, I’ll go to Lord Kearney myself.”

“What a defender! Do you think the Lord Soldier would care about a rotta inker?”

“Ena―”

“It wasn’t the soldiers themselves anyway.” Ena turned to the table, straightening out all the inks, placing the ones she’d brought in the line with what Adrial already had. “The soldiers decided to kick up the muck. Asking common folk to fight against their own in the south and not even giving them a fancy uniform for the trouble of having tilk blood on their hands.”

“That’s not why the King―”

“Don’t pretend to understand things you don’t, scribe. Ignorance doesn’t suit you.”

Helplessness swooped through Adrial’s stomach. “All right. If I don’t understand, then explain it to me. It’s not as though I’m a complete fool.”

“There are too many years of pain for you to understand.” Ena looked up at Adrial, and for a tiny moment, he thought he saw tears glistening in the corners of her eyes. “And the people who know that pain won’t let the Guilds slather common folks’ blood on their hands.”

Before Adrial could reach for her, the tears were gone.

Ena searched Adrial’s eyes. “The common folk, the tilk, are tired of the Guilds’ tyranny. And anyone who helps the Guilds, well, we’re just traitors.”

“And you’re helping me.” Adrial looked to the ink on the table. Such a simple thing, but he couldn’t make the vellum without it.

“That I am.” Ena pulled up her sleeve to show the bruise. “They took my basket and smashed every vial and jar. I made a few of them bleed, but ink isn’t worth hanging for murder. And why should I come around here if I don’t have anything to bring the head scribe?”

“Did you tell the soldiers someone had hurt you?” Adrial’s mind raced to Tham.

He was busy getting ready for the journey, but he would find time to help Ena.

“Are you sure you’re not a chivving fool?” Ena asked. “Do you really think the soldiers care if thugs rough up common folk? If they had trod on a sorcerer’s hem, they’d all be hanged, but they can smash everything a tilk has and the chivving paun don’t care.”

“If you tell me who it was,” Adrial spoke slowly, keeping his voice calm against the anger that thudded in his chest, “I’ll be sure the soldiers care. I’ll make sure they’re arrested.”

“And hanged?” Ena took Adrial’s hand in hers and swung it back and forth, as though they were children playing in the garden. “It would only make it worse. Handsome men with dangerous words, they rouse the folks around them to brave and daring deeds. Fight the Guilds, protect your people, rid the land of traitors. It all sounds so wonderful when lantern light dances across their faces and their words ring out over a hushed crowd.

“But then the blood starts raining down. And the handsome men die. The people who follow them die. And the ones unlucky enough to wade through the blood and fire and come out alive, they’re stuck trying to live in a world that should be better than it is. Trying to forget there’s blood all over their hands.”

“Ena―”

“But then another handsome man decides to change the world for the better, and you’re on the wrong side of the line. Or maybe the world has just turned into a darker and meaner place.” Ena took Adrial’s face in her hands. “Getting rid of one will only give whoever comes next a reason to be crueler. To fight harder and hurt more people.”

“But they hurt you,” Adrial said. “You can’t just let them get away with it. What if they attack you the next time you bring an order? Unless you won’t be bringing any more ink.”

Ena laughed and turned back to her basket. Whatever quiet moment of truth she had shared was gone, replaced with a glint in her eye and a smile on her lips that Adrial did not know how to see through.

“And if I don’t bring ink to you, how will I eat?” Ena asked. “I can barely keep a roof over my head with only the common ink orders.”

“I’ll come get the ink from you,” Adrial suggested. “Then you won’t have to come to the shop.”

“Oh, what a treat that would be! The Guilded Cripple walking to the docks to gather ink. I’m sure Travers would love that.”

“Travers works for me.” Adrial walked to the tea tray and picked up the bag of coins he had ready for Ena. “I don’t care what he thinks of how I do things.”

“Liar.”

Adrial grabbed the few coins he had in his pocket and slipped them into the bag.

“Your coming to me would be worse than my coming here,” Ena said. “To some, it might be worth the risk of being hanged if they could b****y the head scribe.”

“Then what are we going to do?” Adrial tossed the bag into Ena’s basket, hoping she wouldn’t count the coin and notice the extra until she was well away from the shop. “You can’t keep coming back.”

Saying those simple words lodged a shard of ice in Adrial’s heart.

But if it wasn’t safe to work for the Guilds, she shouldn’t be doing it. And he barely knew her, had only met her a few times. So there was no reason for him to worry about not seeing the mad inker anymore. His life could go back to its usual state of unchanging peace.

She won’t come to the shop bothering me. Stealing my tea.

The shard of ice dug deeper.

“Don’t worry, scribe.” Ena reached into the pouch and pulled out several coins, tossing them onto the table with a clatter. “I’ve learned my lesson. I know who to avoid, and I know how to be careful.”

“Are you sure?” Adrial swallowed the bubble of hope that flitted up into his throat.

“I’m always sure.” Ena poked him in the chest, all trace of worry and fear gone. “And if you want to help me, don’t try to slip me extra coin. You haven’t the skill for sleight of hand.”

“What can I do then?”

“I’ll need your help in a few days.” Ena winked as she breezed toward the door. “Just be ready for another little adventure.”