Rogue Legacy by Jeffrey L. Kohanek (classic reads .txt) đź“–
- Author: Jeffrey L. Kohanek
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“Sure. I learned that you’re heavier than you look.”
Elan’s smile widened. “That’ll do.” He slid off her and rose to his feet.
Lyra took a deep breath, sat upright, crouched, and stood. She patted the seat of her breeches to clean them, sending a storm of dust into the air.
“We’ve been doing this for years, yet I rarely win,” she sighed. “What am I doing wrong, Elan? You tell me I’m quick, but you’re just as quick, and you’re stronger too.”
Elan patted her shoulder. “Don’t be too hard on yourself. I’ve spent my entire life being faster than anyone I’ve faced. The fact that your speed can match mine is an achievement. You just need to prevent your opponent from using size or strength as an advantage. Playing dirty doesn’t hurt either, as long as it isn’t against me. Just remember the weak points…eyes, throat, temple, and groin. In a real fight, any of those will buy you time and can give you an advantage.”
He smiled again and Lyra nodded.
“We’re done for today. I need a break before the trainees arrive. I’ll see you tomorrow for forms practice.”
“Thank you for sharing your wisdom, Master.” She bowed to Elan before turning to leave.
As Lyra walked back toward her room, she found herself looking forward to a hot bath. She exited the courtyard and climbed the stairs to the second level. Entering, she turned toward the section of the castle where her bedroom resided. Servants bowed to her as they walked past, most of whom Lyra knew by name. The hallway that ran past Jessibel’s room was quiet, lit only by a torch at each end. As she neared the mid-point, light filled the heart of the corridor when the door to the Queen’s room opened and Jessibel emerged. The woman’s eyes flared with anger and then narrowed as she stared at Lyra.
“What did you do to Clavelle?” Jessibel demanded.
“What do you mean, Your Highness?”
“You know what I mean, you little brat. He refuses to see me. Me! He says that I disgust him. There is no way a man would say that without influence. I know what you can do with that lute. It had to be you.”
“I believe you underestimate yourself, Jessibel. You need no magical assistance to disgust a man.”
Jessibel’s eyes grew wide and her open palm flashed toward Lyra’s face. With ease, Lyra redirected the slap and clamped her fist around the Queen’s wrist.
“You’re slow, Milady. Perhaps you should spend time training with Elan.”
“Let go of me.” Jessibel yanked her arm back, but Lyra held firm. The queen yanked harder, and Lyra released her grip, sending the woman tumbling backward to slam into the door.
“I’m sorry, but I’m late for my bath. Have a good day.” Lyra walked past the outraged woman.
“I’ll get you for this!” the queen shouted. “You’ll soon regret you ever crossed me!”
Lyra continued walking, refusing to acknowledge the hateful woman.
The pale stones of the pathway shone brightly in the mid-day sun, guiding Lyra toward her destination. A butterfly flitted past, its yellow-streaked blue wings a striking contrast to the dark foliage of the fruit trees surrounding her. She rounded a bend, and the trees gave way to a sea of color.
Flowers of every type dotted the garden. Yellow tulips, white and purple lilies, red and pink roses, orange hibiscus, lavender lilacs, and more, all finely trimmed and tended. The buzzing of bees hummed in the air, joining the sound of the surf from the nearby ocean. Lyra’s gaze fell on a particularly fat bee, black and yellow and fuzzy. The bee’s round body bounced from flower to flower, wobbling and weaving through the garden on its quest for pollen.
The path led Lyra to the heart of the garden, where a lonely tree stood, ten stories tall. Long branches – thick with gold and green leaves – gave the impression that a massive globe had descended from the heavens and hovered just above the garden. In the shade of that tree stood a circle of benches, all facing toward the surrounding flowers. Lyra approached the only occupied bench.
“Hello Tiri, Donte.”
Tiri smiled. “I’m glad you’re here, Lyra. We found a green-winged starfetch in the tree this morning.”
Lyra’s brow furrowed. “Green? Starfetches have orange on their wings.”
Tiri’s eyes lit up. “I know. That’s why this one is so special!”
“I seen it too, Lyra. I did!” Donte grinned. “It was real pretty.” The boy nodded emphatically, his eyes glowing with excitement, matching his grin.
Lyra smiled. “That’s wonderful, Donte.” She looked up. “The bird is somewhere up there, then?”
“Yes.” Tiri walked around the circle of benches, staring up into the branches overhead. “I hope it hasn’t flown off. The tree is so big, it could be anywhere.”
“Let me try something.”
Lyra began to sing a wordless aria, seeking the right tone. Moments later, a flash of color caught Lyra’s eye as a bird materialized from the branches. It flitted about and fluttered down to land on the bench beside Donte. His eyes lit up, his face grinning so wide, Lyra thought it might split in two.
The starfetch began to tweet along with her song, swaying from side to side as its tiny beak aimed toward the sky. Tiri stood beside Lyra, both facing the bird, just a single stride away. Not wanting the bird to leave, Lyra continued her sad melody, the bird matching her note for note. Eventually, the emotion of the moment resided and Lyra stopped singing. The bird tweeted for a moment longer before it stopped and took flight, circling about the garden once before soaring east, beyond the garden wall. Lyra watched it circle and dip, disappearing behind the wall, somewhere above the ocean waters.
“That was amazing.” Tiri grinned with tears in her eyes.
“Wow, Lyra.” Donte’s eyes were wide. “The bird sang just like you. It sat right by me, too. Did you see it?”
“We saw it, Donte.” Tiri replied.
Lyra smiled at the boy. “I’m glad you liked it, Donte.”
“Oh, I liked it a bunch, Lyra. A whole bunch.”
“What a beautiful day!” Tiri exclaimed.
“Yeah.” Donte nodded. “My uncle is coming today, too.”
“Your uncle?” Lyra asked.
Tiri sat beside Donte, occupying the spot where the starfetch had perched. “Jessibel’s brother is the Duke of Yarth. The duchy became part of Sol Polis when she married my father.” Tiri’s mouth twisted into a frown at the mention of her stepmother.
“I’ve been here for three years, yet I’ve never seen this man.”
Tiri shrugged. “I’ve only seen him twice, myself. He came here when my father and Jessibel wed, and one other time about five years ago. I don’t care for him much. I don’t trust him. There’s something about his eyes…”
“Excuse me, Princess.”
The three teens turned to find Hamilton, the king’s advisor, standing in the garden. He gave them a brief bow and turned to Lyra.
“Miss Lyra, King Tallinor requests your presence in the Throne Room.”
Lyra’s eyes narrowed. “Did he say what this was about?”
Hamilton shook his head. “No, Milady.”
Without another word, he turned and walked down the path, expecting Lyra to follow. After a moment’s hesitation, she did so, quickly catching up to him.
Lyra expected that she was in trouble, trouble likely relating to the Queen.
When they reached the Throne Room, Hamilton held the door open, gave a bow as she passed him, and closed the door behind her. She bit her lip as she strode down the stripe of dark red carpet that marked the center aisle. Tallinor watched her approach from his throne, anger apparent on his face. Only after she passed the last row of benches and stopped before the dais, did he speak.
“You promised me that you would stay clear of the queen.”
“I did, Father.” Lyra protested. “She’s the one who approached me when I happened to be passing her room.”
“Well, she’s upset and she’s blaming you.” He leaned forward. “What is this about?”
“I didn’t do anything.”
Tallinor shook his head. “Did you forget that I can see your lies when I sit upon The Emblem Throne?”
Lyra groaned in frustration. “Fine. All I did was suggest to Clavelle that he choose his bed mates more wisely.”
Tallinor frowned. “Did you abuse the lute’s magic again?”
“It’s not abuse when it’s the right thing to do.”
“Why do you constantly challenge me, Lyra?” His voice grew louder. “Why can’t you behave like a proper princess?”
“I’m not Tiri.” Lyra’s anger boiled over and she shouted. “You and I both know that I am not, and will never be, a princess. I’m just some stray that you were saddled with. I’m just another burden for a weary king.”
After a long moment of silence,
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