Page 7 of Enamored
Maxim
Dislike punctuated eachrap of my knuckles against Rasmus’s door. I’d known this confrontation was coming from the second I received his summons to return to Vordinberg. I’d only hoped to have more time to mentally prepare myself after my arrival.
Instead, the moment the ball ended, a scribe had delivered the message that Rasmus was summoning me to visit him in his study.
Visit.
I swallowed the oath on the tip of my tongue and stood back from the door in the passageway to await his acknowledgment to enter.
We had nevervisited. A visit, by definition, involved a back-and-forth exchange of pleasantries and information. It contained a degree of conversation and getting to know one another more personally. None of that had ever happened during any of my so-calledvisitsto Rasmus’s study in the past.
At the sound of laughter and voices down the hallway, I lifted my candle. No, I wasn’t hoping for a chance encounter with Elinor. Certainly not. I was only checking to see who of the guests, if any, dared to venture into the wing of the royal castle that was dedicated to the Sages.
But as the echo of laughter faded, I shook my head. Why was I thinking of Elinor again? She wouldn’t be wandering around the castle at this early hour of the morn. Her ladies-in-waiting had likely accompanied her back to her chambers and assisted her to bed. From what I’d gathered, she still had another day of festivities and spending time with her special noblemen as they fawned over her.
I released a scoffing breath as I’d done every time I pictured the way the men had positioned and maneuvered themselves during the dance, practically throwing themselves upon her, making fools over her every word and deed. It had been sickening to watch.
I’d never been more eager for an event to end. If I’d had to watch one more man dance with her, I would have vomited the little sustenance I’d managed to take in. The entire night had been nothing but an exercise in holding back the contents of my stomach.
“Wise men speak because they have something to say; fools because they have to say something.”I’d repeated the Greek proverb many times throughout the evening to keep from speaking my mind about the entire process of finding a husband for the princess. It was nothing short of ridiculous.
To be fair, I’d sensed Elinor’s discomfort with the attention. And I felt a little bit sorry for her. I’d been with her when our tutor informed her of the courtship tradition. I’d witnessed her tears and felt her fear as if it were my own. She obviously still retained her reservations.
I lifted my fist to knock again but then just as quickly dropped it to my side. I couldn’t forget Rasmus loved to test a person’s patience by making them wait an unnatural amount of time. The one incident as a child when I’d tired of waiting and departed, Rasmus had punished me by making me stand outside his door for twenty-four hours without respite.
I’d learned my lesson well. Rasmus always made sure I learned a lesson well.
Familiar bitterness burned in my throat.
The day I was sent away from Vordinberg, I’d prayed I’d never have to see him again. God had granted my request, and I hadn’t seen him over the past ten years. But then, with only three months to go until my twentieth birthday, I’d received a missive from him.
At the time, I’d been finishing my Sagacite education, the first level of training to become a wiseman. I’d been at St. Andrew’s Abbey in the city of Finnmark and had started studying for the entrance examination to the Studium Generale.
I’d ignored Rasmus’s letter for two days before gathering the strength to open and read it. In his usual impersonal and haughty way, he ordered me to return to Vordinberg in time for the princess’s eighteenth birthday celebration, well ahead of my scheduled arrival. I crumpled the letter, threw it against the wall, and let it gather dust under my bed for a week.
But my faithful manservant, Dag, had swept it out, unraveled it, and placed it on my writing table, where it had stared at me for another week. Dag hadn’t needed to say a word. His action had been enough to remind me I had no choice but to obey a Royal Sage, especially when he had the power to keep me from being admitted to the Studium Generale. If I didn’t go to the studium, I’d never complete the education required for becoming an Erudite. And if I didn’t reach the Erudite level of wiseman, I’d never have a chance of becoming a coveted Sage.
Though Rasmus’s letter explicitly instructed me to arrive no later than seven days before Elinor’s birthday, at the start of her courtship week, I’d delayed my departure to ensure that I would most definitely not reach Vordinberg on time. Among the many lessons from early in my life, I’d learned I might not be able to refuse Rasmus’s commands, but I could thwart them in an underhanded manner.
I stared ahead at the familiar door, at the patterns I’d memorized in the oak panel. I’d even concocted a maze through the wood grain lines, starting at the top and ending at a knot somewhere in the middle.
“You may enter.” Rasmus’s voice was low and calm. He never spoke in a raised tone, though I’d been the brunt of his anger oft enough to know it existed deep within his heart and could be expressed innumerable ways other than yelling. The glint in his eyes when I arrived at the tournament earlier had warned me of the anger simmering beneath the surface for my tardiness.
As I opened the door to the dimly lit room, I rehearsed the excuses I’d formulated on the ship during the voyage from Finnmark to Vordinberg.
What punishment would he contrive this time? Would he make me memorize another ancient script, copy hundreds of pages of Holy Scriptures, or postulate theories for riddles that had no answers?
He sat in a cushioned chair at his writing table, several old scrolls open, the brittle parchment held in place by crystal paperweights. He was peering through an ocular lens at the fine print on the page before him.
“Your Excellency.” I bowed my head but inwardly remained as straight as a pike. “Your scribe said you wished to see me.”
“Shut the door and come closer.”
Never a greeting, never a preamble, never any warmth. Maybe somewhere in my subconscious I’d hoped he would see me differently now that I was an adult. But I wasn’t surprised he intended to treat me as poorly as he always had.
I did as he asked, but even when I moved to take my place in front of his writing table, he continued reading for several long minutes. Nothing about his appearance had changed, except for a few more lines in his face. Nothing about his study had changed either. It was as dark and melancholy as I remembered. The floor-to-ceiling shelves were still crammed with ancient relics along with stacks of scrolls and tomes. Even the scent of exotic spices remained heavy in the air from the incense pot he kept burning on a tall stand in the corner.
Finally, he placed the ocular lens directly over several markings on the paper—strange patterns of lines and dashes. Then he reclined, folded his hands, and shifted his dark eyes upon me. “I expected you to arrive five days ago.”
