Chapter 6: Vivianne – The Wraith of Lune
Vivianne sketched windows, corridors, battlements, gates. She drew all the doors of Lune. In her drawings, her father was on the other side, ready to come in. Vivianne opened all the doors of Lune, but Father never showed up.
All doors she opened, except one, the one with the Wraith (a nickname she had come up with for the man in black Father had sheltered from the storm right before nevermore). He was still behind the closed door. They put food outside the Wraith’s door and the food disappeared, but the Wraith hadn’t emerged. Vivianne marched up and down the corridor. Each day she came one inch closer to the door until she finally put her ear against it. She tasted grass, smelled ash, felt dry leaves under her bare feet, and all that she felt through her ear.
‘Little Master,’ called a man at the end of the corridor.
Vivianne jumped away from the door and only then noticed the sound of many boots on the flagstones of Lune.
‘Queen Adelaide is here,’ said the soldier. ‘Master Marcus summons you.’
Vivianne expected the soldier to carry her, but he didn’t offer, which meant this meeting was serious. Children rode grown-up shoulders; Masters of Lune walked on their own feet. In the meeting room, Marcus sat on Father’s chair. Vivianne didn’t like it. Not because it was Father’s chair, but because Marcus seemed very small in it. Vivianne would have drawn her brother a lot bigger, at least his hand would be large enough to close around the hilt of Father’s sword, which lay on Marcus’ lap.
On the other side of the room, the double door squeaked, moaned, and let Queen Adelaide in. Tall, fair, the Queen of Deran wore a dark blue tunic, whose collar and cuffs were embroidered with gold. The black velvet trousers were swallowed by knee-high leather boots. Adelaide’s features were simple, and might have been pleasant, if it weren’t for that face, so rough and hard, like rock carved by a passionless sculptor.
She came in with five soldiers from the Rock. Lune also had five soldiers in the room, surrounding Vivianne and Marcus.
‘Children, I am sorry for your loss,’ the queen said to Marcus. ‘I will do what I can to assure you and your sister have a comfortable life in your new home.’
‘We have Lune,’ said Marcus.
‘Your father has perished, you are too young, the castle goes to the crown.’ Adelaide’s light green eyes were almost white.
‘King Clément is Vivianne’s age,’ said Marcus.
‘Which is why I rule in his stead. You have a week to vacate Lune,’ said the queen, already marching to the door. ‘My men will escort you and your sister.’
The Rock soldiers were ready to draw their swords in case Lune’s men decided to attack. The queen, midway to the door, hesitated. Her men, one by one, turned to face the door. A sensation of intense heat came from it, though there was no change in temperature. Vivianne even felt cold as well as a faint smell of ash.
Adelaide took a few steps back until she stood among the Rock soldiers. The door opened like a curtain blown by wind, and a wraith wrapped in shadows filled the doorway, the hall, Lune. Vivianne took Marcus’ hand, he squeezed hers. The room seemed to expand, momentarily seen through a magnifying glass. Although not a rock had moved, the whole room dilated, the walls bent out, pushed by a force they could not contain.
The Wraith moved slowly forth. Adelaide’s soldiers made way like dry leaves to wind. Adelaide was the only one who stayed where she was. So magnificent a moment ago, she now seemed small and dry, though, in a way, still formidable, facing alone the shadows in the hood.
‘The deceased master has appointed someone to look after Lune until his children are grown.’ The Wraith’s voice was reverberating, deep. ‘I, Sáeril Quepentorne, shall be responsible for the young Masters of Lune.’
Adelaide’s throat twitched. She said:
‘A property without a master belongs to the crown. It is an old law, from the First Empire.’
‘Then the law refers to the crown of Franária, not of Deran.’ Sáeril moved aside, dismissing Adelaide.
The queen fled to the corridor. Less than an hour later, Lune regurgitated all soldiers from the Rock. On Lune’s wall, Marcus, Vivianne, and Sáeril watched them together.
‘Thank you,’ said Marcus.
The Wraith nodded.
‘Our classes begin in three days,’ he said.
‘Classes?’
The Wraith pointed to the army moving away from Lune. ‘You and your sister need to learn how to handle her and many other things while I’m away.’
Vivianne clutched the Wraith’s black cloak. ‘Are you leaving?
The Wraith turned to the little girl. A pretty child with golden hair and big blue eyes. The boy, Marcus, was handsome, too, but his arms and legs had already begun to stretch, promising an ungracious adolescence.
‘It is in my nature to travel,’ said Sáeril. ‘Your safety, I believe, does not require my constant presence.’ He yawned. ‘I must rest a few more days. I’m not completely recovered and it is hard to contain my magic.’
Vivianne wanted to ask more about magic and departures, but the Wraith was already halfway down the stairs, his cloak following like a black cascade.
At the foot of the stairs, Sáeril hesitated. He thought he had felt darkness rubbing against his magic. Something stealthy, a frightened animal that quickly hides. The Wraith waited, but the darkness did not come back. He tried to convince himself that he was only tired, but Sáeril Quepentorne knew darkness too well. He knew where it gathered and the kind of horror that could be born in it. It was no wonder Franária was filled with darkness. Four hundred years of war gathered all sorts of things that darkness fed upon. Like moss in damp shade, darkness sprouted wherever pain and horror ruled.
Many feared darkness itself, thought it evil, but darkness was just a power, like magic, like life and death. It didn’t cause pain, it was pain that drew it near. The real danger was if something else was born in darkness.
That danger was not the ocean, but the dragon sleeping in the deep.
