Silira MĂłr is the most promising historian to serve the city-state of Iathium in centuries. Proud and headstrong, Lira has dedicated her life to preserving the city's histories, working her way up the ranks in the Archive of the Domeâeven capturing the attention of Iathiumâs young ruler, Eremon. But a long-suppressed power is emerging amongst the descendants of the outlying clans, and with it, a forgotten history that threatens to decimate Lira's skillfully-crafted world. (Book 1 of The Witness Tree Chronicles.)
Silira MĂłr is the most promising historian to serve the city-state of Iathium in centuries. Proud and headstrong, Lira has dedicated her life to preserving the city's histories, working her way up the ranks in the Archive of the Domeâeven capturing the attention of Iathiumâs young ruler, Eremon. But a long-suppressed power is emerging amongst the descendants of the outlying clans, and with it, a forgotten history that threatens to decimate Lira's skillfully-crafted world. (Book 1 of The Witness Tree Chronicles.)
Silira MĂłr lay her quill down reverently and flexed her aching fingers. She felt stiff and hunched after hours of painstakingly copying the decrepit historical manuscript that lay open on her ink-stained deskâa relic of the Archive of the Dome, whose high stone stacks surrounded her on every side. Beside the old tome sat the transcription sheâd just completed, daubs of wet ink still glistening on its final words.
Lira held her chocolate-colored curls back, leaned over the book, and blew carefully on the ink, watching as the last droplets dried on the parchment. She gave the page a final once-over before gingerly closing the cover. The scent of the fresh parchment and newly-bound leather ignited memories of her first clumsy attempts at transcription.
As an adolescent apprentice, sheâd had a habit of smearing the ink with her quill hand as she clumsily copied each line. Her master, Lord Irem Ănna--the elderly Defender of Historiesâwas patient with her, providing endless sheets of clean parchment for her to practice her calligraphy. But her friend and sworn rival, Aidryn Tarlach, teased her relentlessly about the ink stains that perpetually marred the entire side of her right hand. Even now, ink constantly adorned both of her hands, but it was no use scrubbing them raw every night.
She glanced to her left, where Aidryn was hunched over his own transcription. For a moment, she watched him work; his dark hair fell into his eyes as he scratched his quill deftly across the page. His usually close-trimmed beard looked more unkempt than usual, and he chewed the inside of his cheek as he wrote.
Lira waited until he paused to dip his quill into the inkpot on the corner of his desk, then rose. She stretched, rolling her stiff neck before hefting the heavy volume with an unladylike grunt and another glance in Aidrynâs direction. As she sidled past his desk, she whispered, âFinished,â with a satisfied smirk. Her dark brown eyes twinkled mischievously.
Aidryn cursed under his breath, momentarily flustered. âI suppose I canât win every round.â
âYou donât,â she laughed, heading toward the stacks.
âThree out of the last four,â he muttered, not bothering to hide his smile before returning to his work.
She moved between the rows of desks where the other archivists worked, crafting scrolls and tomes with cautious hands, steady gazes, and shoulders as stiff and rounded as hers. Six apprentices filled the desks, all focused solely on the tasks set before them. Lira often wondered if, like her, they preferred to perform such isolating work in the quiet company of others.
Lira padded across the ornate floor, a mosaic of bloodstone and onyx tiles, as she made her way to one of the many towering shelves that lined the circular perimeter of the archive. She placed the new book on the stone shelf, running her fingers down its spine one last time before she returned to fetch the original from her desk. It was an economic history of her city, Iathiumâthe capital of Rodhlan.
Springtimeâs relentless rain showers had saturated the earth above them, bringing a dampness to the archive that was so thick, Lira could taste it. The wide, open stairwell that led to the Domeâs main floor usually kept the air in the archive fresh, but today the space smelled musty and stale. She paused by a burner in the center of the archive to light fresh incense, carefully placing it inside the burnerâa bronze miniature of the great Dome in the heart of Iathium.
Lira relished fitting pieces of Iathiumâs history together like a puzzleâworking each new bit of information into the whole, connecting catalysts and events across families and centuries. More than any of her peers, Lira understood why and how each law, each war, each ruler, and each structure had come to be.
Though sheâd always been fascinated by stories of the past, Liraâs father had turned her history lessons into a game of strategy when she was a childâa game sheâd never tired of, and never stopped longing to revisit. Even now, scouring books and scrolls for missing pieces of truth felt less like work, and more like reliving a happy memory.
After five years of working as an apprentice, then being promoted to full-fledged historian, Lira still marveled at the intricate stonework surrounding her. She had never seen anything else like it: a massive cavern that had been fashioned into the stacks, chambers, and nooks where she spent most of her hours reading, researching, and transcribing. The craftsmanship was so skillful that she had to look twice the first time she learned that the handiwork was solid, unbroken stone.
As she rounded the side of her desk to reach for the book, Aidryn leaned toward her and swiped his quill across her forearm, leaving a spit of thick ink on her pale skin.
âWhat was that for?â she hissed, putting the book down to rub furiously at the inkâbut succeeding only in smearing it all over her palm and her arm.
âWhat did you do to cross Lord Irem?â he murmured, raising a dark eyebrow. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
âWhy did youââ she huffed, using her linen apron to scrub at her palm, cringing as the ink began to stain the clean cloth. âWhat do you mean, what did I do? I never cross him.â
Aidryn tilted his head, leaning sideways to glimpse the book that rested on her desk. Lira moved to hide the bookâs title, but it was too late.
âEconomics of Ancient Iathium,â he mused, brushing strands of brown hair away from his eyesâa striking blue in contrast. He ran his fingertips over his beard in mock deliberation. âIf I were the one assigning manuscriptsââ he pointed with his quillâ âIâd say you were being punished.â
Lira raised her chin. âWell, Iâm not. Besides, it was stimulating.â
Aidryn leaned forward conspiratorially. âSince when did you like economics?â
Lira wouldnât openly complain to him about the bore of a book; Aidryn enjoyed baiting her too much to give him the satisfaction. But she did wonderâjust for a momentâwhy the Lord wouldnât have given a book like this to one of the apprentices; after all, their sole task was copying the texts, not memorizing them.
âIâm no economist,â she replied, âBut clearly, the Defender trusts me with the most challenging titles.â
âI donât know about that,â he whispered with a wicked grin, closing his manuscript to reveal its title: Rowanâs Mathematical Anthology, Vol. 2.
Lira muttered an insult under her breath as she snatched her book from her desk. Aidryn chuckled, turning back to his work.
She made her way across the archive toward the inner chamber. The smaller, circular room within the archive was reserved only for Lord Irem, Lira, and Aidrynâthe only historians in residence.
Rare, first-edition manuscripts were stored in the chamber, as well as tomes and scrolls that had been removed from public access long before the rest of the archive was sealed. Lira longed to get her hands on the records that had been locked away for centuries. There were precious few scholars who could read and write in Athi, the common tongue, and even fewer who could even identify the four clansâ indigenous, written languagesâif any at all. She wasnât sure any records in the lost tongues even existed.
Certainly, Irem knew something of the ancient languages, and he would pass that knowledge downâŚbut not to her. At twenty years oldâone year her seniorâAidryn had already been chosen as Iremâs successor. There were records Lord Irem and his heir had access to that no one else would ever see. It pained Lira to know she would always be left wanting for knowledge. And though Aidryn was worthyâand though she tried not to dwell on it oftenâshe couldnât help feeling envious of him.
When she reached the chamber, its massive wooden door was closed, so she rang the tiny bell that hung beside it. Its tinkling echoed through the wide, open archive; several of the apprentices glanced behind them before turning back to their books.
A friendly, wizened voice called from inside: âEnter.â
She pushed the door open and stepped inside, shutting it behind her. Irem was hunched over his desk, quill scratching feverishly. The mingling smoke and incenseâmore pungent than the sweet-smelling kind sheâd lit in the archiveâwere more overwhelming than usual, so she took a moment to collect herself before speaking.
The chamber also contained stone stacks from floor to ceiling. Its floor was covered in the same tiles of bloodstone and onyx that swirled and twirled into a tight central spiral, dulled from years of neglect, in contrast to the mirror-bright floor in the open archive. Glass lanterns adorned the walls, their flames flickering, and an iron chandelier was suspended in the center of the chamber, filled with burning candles of varying sizes. Wax accumulated on each candle holder and overflowed from some, as evidenced by the blots that had dripped onto the floor below and hardened there.
âGood afternoon, Lord Irem,â Lira said, bowing her head.
The brown-skinned man looked up from his work, squinting at her through his spectacles. Lira knew the expression well, for she wore it often; hours of staring at manuscripts made it difficult for her eyes to adjust when she was ready to focus on a person, an object, or another task besides reading and writing.
âAh, Silira,â he said. âImpeccable timing.â His dark eyes twinkled, the laugh lines that framed them deepening.Â
âImpeccable?â she asked teasingly, hefting the book onto a stack of originals at the end of Iremâs desk. âThe illustrations took longer than I expected, but I still have time to work on the scrolls you mentioned.â
âNo need,â he said, waving her off. âWe have more pressing matters.â He glanced at the timepiece on his deskâa small, delicate gold pendulum that looked as if it had been quietly ticking since the days of Riku, the benevolent RĂ who founded ancient Iathium.
âYes, sir,â she said, tapping her fingers on the stack of manuscripts. âWhatââ
âWe are expecting a visitor,â he said. âCome, help me stand.â
Lira braced Iremâs elbow as he struggled to rise from his stool. She reached for his cane, passing it to him. The old lord steadied himself, raising his chin to glance back toward the door. âLock us in.â
She crossed the room hastily to engage the lock. âBut I thoughtââ
Tappingâfrom beneath the floor at the center of the chamberâsilenced her. She whirled, eyes widening. âWhatâs that?â
âOur visitor,â Irem chuckled, hobbling toward the source of the noise. He used his cane to tap a pattern into the tiles, the sound billowing into what seemed like a booming echo. Lira couldnât say whether the sound was truly that loud, or she was merely nervous.
Irem stepped back as the center of the spiral opened with a groan, revealing a stone staircase. The flickering of a lantern made its way upward, cresting the edge of the floor and flaring as its bearer entered the chamber.
The RĂ.
Lira gaped at Iathiumâs supreme ruler as he lowered his lantern. RĂ Eremonâs long, black hair was tied at the nape of his neck. The eye-popping azure, gold, and violet of his silken robe caught her eye, its rich fabric shimmering in the candlelight. He flashed her a wide smile, as if heâd known her for years.
âGood afternoon, Silira,â he said, in a voice as rich as the blueberry-filled chocolate candies Lira hoarded on holy days.
She opened her mouth to speak, but her lips and tongue had turned to sandpaper. Instead, she blinked once. Twice.
At nineteen, Eremon was the youngest ruler Iathium had seen in two centuriesâthe same age as Liraâ
âWell, arenât you going to say something, Silira?â Irem chuckled.
Lira didnât realize sheâd been moving backward until she bumped into Iremâs desk and crashed down onto his stool. Her backside throbbed as she averted her eyes and dropped haphazardly to one knee, the hard tiles sending a painful shock up through her leg. She tried to hide her cringe, her face burning.
âI beg your pardon, my RĂ,â she murmured, trembling.
âEremon,â he said, offering his hand to her. She took it awkwardly, letting him pull her to her feet.
Eremon was far more handsome than she remembered from her few brief, distant glimpses of him at the few feasts and ceremonies her father, Arlen, had allowed her to attend as a child; she tried to be subtle as she noted his high cheekbones, full lips, and eyes the shape of the almonds Irem always kept in a dish on his work table. Today, he was disarmingly casual. The wide sleeves of his thigh-length robe were rolled up to his forearms, and he had replaced his usual black trousers and boots with loose-fitting pants and sandals.
âIâm honored, Eremon,â Lira echoed.
His name rolled off her tongue with ease; she had never spoken it aloudâhad never been permitted to before. The word sounded foreign to her ear, yet it felt familiar to say. It was becoming quite a challenge to hide her surprise at the entire situationâhis nearness, the fact that he was speaking to her, and that heâd just asked her to call him by his given name. She knew she was gaping at him, and though she was horrified at herself for doing it, she couldnât seem to stop.
The RĂ smiled briefly, but shifted his gaze toward Irem, as if deferring to the older man. Lira took a step back, putting a more appropriate distance between herself and the young ruler.
âI apologize for shocking you, Silira,â Irem said as he moved to clasp Eremonâs hand in greeting. âEremon asked to see you on quite short notice.â
In that moment, the RĂ seemed more like one of the elderly manâs charges than his highest authority. âHe couldnât refuse,â he quipped. âBesides, heâs been telling me for years that I should meet you face-to-face. Iâm glad I finally listened.â
âYears? IâI beg your pardon?â Lira sputtered.
âYouâre an incredibly talented historian,â Eremon began as he crossed the chamber, setting his lantern beside Lira. She held her breath as he leaned casually against the desk, inches away from her. âIâve observed your work for some time, and I wanted a proper introduction. Besides, the three of us have something important to discuss.â
âThank you,â she said, lowering her gaze again, âbut why?â
The young man brushed his fingertips across book bindings on the stacks next to him. âYour passion for our histories is unparalleled. Inborn instinct like that is rare.â He turned to her again. âWhy wouldnât I want to meet someone like youâsomeone who would preserve the histories of my city with such care?â
His ash-gray eyes bored into hers with an intensity that made Liraâs stomach twist into a bundle of nerves. She waited expectantly to hear what he had to say next, suddenly unsure of what to do with her handsâor the rest of herself, for that matter. She shifted her gaze from her mentor to the RĂ, then back again. Clearly, Irem expected her to speak for herself; she worked her jaw uncertainly.
âI canât truly say, my RĂââ
âEremon.â He dismissed her use of his title again. âLord Irem says no one else in the archives understands or retains these histories like you,â the RĂ continued. âYou commit every detail to memory like your life depends on it.â
âTh-thank you,â she stammered. âI have loved our histories since I was a child; my Da and Lord Irem taught me well.â
He nodded. âI used to beg my father to let me abdicate when I was a boy. I wanted to be apprenticed here instead.â
Liraâs eyes widened; for a moment, she imagined a younger Eremon occupying a work space next to her in the archiveâtwo apprentices studying together under Iremâs tutelage. She wondered what it might have been like if RĂ Corlan had allowed his son to give up the throne, and how Eremon would have gotten on with her friends.
The thought of Eremonâs father brought memories of her own Da rushing backâimages of the grim-faced Sentries who brought the news of Arlenâs death to her threshold seven years prior. RĂ Corlan had been aboard the same ship as Arlen, sailing for Iteloria on a mission whose purpose had never been disclosed. The late RĂâs body had been returned for burial, but Arlenâs wasnât recovered.
âIâm sorry you werenât able to join us here,â Lira said, shoving down thoughts of her father. âI would have enjoyed studying alongside you.â
âAs would I,â Eremon replied.
Irem cut in. âBut private lessons in the chamber are the next best thing, are they not?â
Eremon smiled warmly. âYes, sirâafter hours, as we do.â
âIâve never seen you here after hours,â she blurted.
âBecause you havenât been permitted in the chamber after hours,â Irem gently scolded.
Liraâs cheeks heated, but she tried to laugh off her embarrassment at missing the obvious. âThatâs true, unfortunately.â
The RĂ clasped his hands behind his back. âLetâs get right to business, Siliraâyouâre familiar with the spoken histories of our clans, are you not?â
âYes,â she hedged, heart pounding. She resisted the urge to drag her sweaty palms down her apron, suddenly too aware of the mess of ink all over her hands and the arm Aidryn had marked. âMy grandmother, Skelly, told me the old legends when I was a child, but Iâve focused my studies here on recorded histories aloneânot folklore.â
Eremon crossed the room again to stand before her; Lira shrank at his proximity and heat rose to her cheeks. She wasnât used to feeling enamored around anyone; it was normal for her to interact with members of court and the nobility from day to day at the Dome. Lord Irem was like a grandfather to her, and the only other people in her inner circle were her younger brotherâTalfrynâand the Tarlach family, who were considered working nobility. Aidrynâs sister, Caitir, was Liraâs best friend. Lira and Talfryn had spent more time at the Tarlachsâ home than their own over the past three years. The siblings had been living by themselves in Iathium since their mother, Iva, remarried and left the city for neighboring Clan Beran.
Beyond the upper crust in Iathium, Lira had plenty of experience dealing with clan leaders and people deemed important outside the city. Her paternal uncle, Gerallt, was master of Clan MĂłr. And Ivaâs new husband was Clan Beranâs overlordâArtur, the mighty Arthmael. Even still, Lira was hard-pressed to feel intimidated by the unnerving cultural practices Beran had cultivated to make outsiders feel unwelcome.
But standing this close to Eremon, she could barely utter a coherent sentence.
âDo you remember Skellyâs stories?â he asked, breaking through her thoughts.
Memories from her last trip into the eastern mountain range flooded her mind; it had been seven years since sheâd seen Skelly. Her throat bobbed. âI do.â
Eremon crossed his arms. âAnd you think of them as lore?â
âOf course.â A little laugh escaped her lips. âWhat else would they be?â
âHistoriesâsilenced and long-forgotten. There are few people in Rodhlan who remember them.â Eremon sat on one of the stools by the desk. âLira, Irem tells me youâre a most trustworthy historianâthat you have a willing mind and open heart to receive what Iâm about to tell you.â
Liraâs pulse quickened; what could he possibly know that she hadnât already studied, beyond the restricted knowledge sheâd craved for so long?
âIâm willing,â she said quietly.
Eremonâs attention snagged on Iremâs timepiece, and he watched its pendulum tick for a long moment before he spoke again.
âFew ancient records exist in the common tongue. And as you know, weâve kept no tomes in the clansâ languages here in the archive for centuriesâor on the continent, for that matter.â
Lira couldnât help feeling a bit frustrated; she wanted to tell the RĂ that she knew all these things, but she held her tongue and let him continue.
âHave you ever wondered why we have so little information about the years before RĂ Namiâs reignâabout Iathiumâs early days? Or about why my forefathers chose to restrict reading to historians alone?â
Coming from Eremon, these facts sounded horribly oppressiveâand Lira had never thought of Iathium or its leaders as anything but benevolent and nurturing. Sheâd always understood the city-state to be a place of prosperity and diversity, where clanspeople and city-dwellers alike could share space.
Lira felt ashamed to answer, âI really havenât questioned any of it deeply.â
Sheâd often secretly wondered why the ability to read wasnât open to everyone, but Iathiumâs people were known for their oral historiesâproud of them, in fact. Illiteracy had been en vogue in the city for years and, while it had never truly made sense to her, it was just how things were. Dread stirred deep in her belly; trying to understand what Eremon was saying to her felt like deciphering a faded manuscript page.
âBut everything Iâve studiedââ Lira continued, her thoughts growing foggyââNothing seems to have been left outâŚâ
âA lie, sprinkled with a little bit of truth, is more believable.â Irem regarded them both. âAll of the cityâs histories contain just enough truth to go unquestioned.â
âYouâre telling me that our histories are lies,â she said flatly.
Sheâd meant for it to come out more like a polite question, but she couldnât produce the right inflection. The thought that her beloved fatherâs stories and games could have meant nothingâshe felt herself breathing rapidly. Her fatherâs lessons and the histories sheâd refined here meant everything. Da had taught her the foundational truths that helped her excel in the archive.
âIâm sorry, my girl,â Irem said, as if reading her racing thoughts.
âWe know this isnât easy to hear,â Eremon added gently.
Lira stilled, her shoulders straining beneath the tension between her truth and what she was hearing. She tried again to grasp what the men were telling her but failed. Frustration replaced her confusion as she met her RĂâs gaze, her eyes flashing. âWhy are you telling me this?â
âBecause the time to reveal the true histories is near,â Eremon answered, unbothered by her sudden boldness. âAnd we need your help to do it.â
âWhat true histories?â Lira huffed a disbelieving laugh and shook her head. âIathium is truth, and truth is freedom,â she recitedâbut saying the familiar phrase felt more like a deflective tactic than fact. She tried to ignore the pang in her stomach.
âA mantra repeated to cover the lies,â Eremon said earnestlyâalmost pleadingly. He leaned toward her slightly, as if he wanted to give her a glimpse of his emotion; as if, somehow, sharing it would negate the dread coiling in her belly.Â
Lira straightened, raising her chin. âThatâs not possible. It canât be.â
âIt is,â Irem said. âBut we didnât have the proof until recently.â
The Defender gestured behind him. Two new bookcases sat in a dark alcove, each shelf covered by iron bars and padlocked for safekeeping. Rows of unfamiliar manuscriptsâat least one hundredâfilled the cases. Some were crumbling like the book sheâd transcribed today; others were beautifully bound in emerald, blue, and crimson leather, stamped with bronze and silver filigree.
âWhere did these come from?â Lira breathed.
âIteloria,â Eremon answered carefully, studying her expression. âOur fathers were trying to retrieve them when they were killed.â
The words seemed to flow from his mouth at an excruciatingly slow paceâyet they slammed into her chest like a bludgeon, knocking her breath out in a ragged rush. She wrapped an arm around her middle, the other hand rising to her mouth as tears clouded her vision.
âIt has taken seven years and many failed attempts to get them to Rodhlan,â she heard him continue, âbut theyâre finally here, and now we have evidence.â
Lira bit the insides of her lips, willing herself into some semblance of composure. Eremon tried to say something else, but she held up a hand and whispered, âI need a moment, please. Iâm sorry.â
She ducked her head and hugged herself tightly, rushing past the two men to stand nearer to the unfamiliar books. Curling her fingers around the bars that separated the tomes from the outside world, she squeezed her eyes shut and took several shuddering breaths.
Arlen had been Liraâs most ardent supporter when she began her apprenticeship at the archive. He had been the one to kindle her love for Iathiumâs history, and the most vocal detractor of Skellyâs stories.
âIt doesnât make sense,â she whispered thickly, afraid to raise her voice any louder for fear of sobbing in front of the RĂ.
âBut it does.â She jumped, startled; Eremon had moved quietly to her side. âIt makes sense because your father was loyal to Iathium. So, when the crown had need of his help, Arlen was willing to serveâeven if he didnât fully understand.â
He lay a tentative hand on Liraâs shoulder and continued, âJust like his daughter, I hope.âÂ
Lira didnât want to meet his eyes, but she forced herself to look at him. âI canât imagine Da dying to dismantle Iathiumâs histories.â She hoped her tone hadnât betrayed her anger.
âNot to dismantle, but to rebuild,â Eremon said softly.
Now, she looked to Irem, her eyes pleading. She felt helpless; if anyone else had challenged the histories as Eremon was right now, she would have set them straight. But standing before the highest authorities in the city, she could barely formulate an appropriate reply. âPlease, help me understand what youâre trying to say.â
âFor now, I will say that your father was made privy to information that changed his mind about a great many things,â Irem said, his expression full of pity. âIâm sorry he was never able to tell you himself.â
âSo, something changed his mind,â Lira mirrored, grasping for words. âBut why would the late RĂ have wanted an armorerâs help retrieving books from across the sea? Da was no archivist, and he was no seafarer, either.â
The disparate pieces of the story still didnât fit together. She had always imagined that her father had been killed in some secret effort to gather secrets of the Iteloriansâ armor, weaponry, and battle tactics. As RĂ Corlanâs head armorer, Arlen had designed and crafted the Sentriesâ chain mail, plate, and weaponry. Logic had led her to the conclusion that his death had been associated with his work.
âI can,â Eremon answered, âbecause as our fathers, they found they had shared interests.â
Lira was taken aback. âWhatââ
âSimple commonality,â Irem interrupted. âThey were equally invested in your futuresâand if that meant clarifying the existing histories, they were willing to risk their lives to do so.â
The RĂ pressed his lips together and nodded in agreement. He looked conflicted for a brief moment before he spoke again. âIf it isnât too odd for me to say âŚâ He traced the delicate wrought iron on the shelf before continuing. âI recall seeing you briefly, the day we buried my father. I thought of you as a strange sort of friend who knew how I was feeling, though weâd never met.â
Lira remembered being acknowledged by the head Sentry at RĂ Corlanâs burial, but the RanĂ and her son had remained stoic and silent, making eye contact with no one. At the time, sheâd imagined some unspoken bond of shared grief between herself and Eremon, though it had been years since sheâd spent time thinking about it.
Apparently, Eremon felt the same.
She swallowed the lump in her throat, turning her attention back to the litany of questions crowding her mind. âWho recorded these? How did they escape discovery?â
âA small band of scholars who left Rodhlan to preserve these old volumes a thousand years ago, far from the cityâs reach. They also managed to secure a number of Itelorian records and religious texts documenting Rodhlanâs history from their point of view.â
âWho here can translate records from the peninsula?â she asked, her eyes widening in awe.
âI can,â Eremon answered.
Lira sized him up with renewed curiosity, but looked back to Irem. âWhat about the others? The clansâ languages are banned; who here can still speak or write in them?â
âAll in good time, Silira,â Irem soothed.
âForgive me, my lord, but is there time?â she asked, hastening across the room to stand before her mentor. âYouâre saying that our histories are lies. Yet weâre going to leave the apprentices in the dark? And what about Aidryn? Shouldnât he be here? He is my superior, andââ
âAidryn is older than you, Silira,â Irem replied, âbut he is not your superior. And he has given his notice. He will not be pursuing a position as my heir; therefore, he need not be here for these meetings.â
Lira felt like sheâd been slapped. Aidryn had always been with her here; how could he give up inheriting Iremâs title? How could he abandon her? âWhy would he do that?â
âHe has agreed to gather oral histories from his own clan,â Irem answered, âwhich will require extensive travel. In addition, he will assist his fatherâs diplomatic outreach to Iteloria.
âPlease keep this discussion within these walls for the time being. You may ask him about his plans for the journey, but everything elseâŚâ The old man shrugged.
Lira almost choked on her own words as she managed to say, âI see.â
Once again, Eremon had followed her across the room; Lira knew he was carefully reading her responses, her body language. She had long since lost the ability to mask her expression.
Irem grasped her shoulder firmly. âDonât look so downtrodden. He isnât leaving for good.â
Lira shook her head. âI canât help it; there has been so much, all at once.â
Eremonâs body shifted ever so slightly in her direction, as if he wanted to offer her some kind of comfort. After a moment, he stilled, his face the picture of impassive restraint.
He kept his voice calm and even as he said, âNone of this is easy to hear. I imagine someone who loves Iathium as much as you do would be just as heartbroken. And equally heartbroken to know a friend wonât be shouldering the burden alongside youâat least not, perhaps, as youâd hoped.â
She tried to let his words comfort her, but she didnât reply. Her throat was still too tight, her shoulders too tense. A painful knot had long since formed deep in her bellyâthe place where she always held her anxiety and grief. Grief. She swallowed hard.
Irem rested heavily on his cane. âEremon, perhaps you could tell Lira what role she will play in all of this,â he said gently.
Lira wanted to thank him for taking charge of the discussionâfor recognizing that she couldnât speak. Instead, she remained immobilized.
Eremon nodded once at Irem, then turned his focus back to Lira. âI would like you to record your grandmotherâs stories in Athi,â he said. âAs the next Defender of Histories, it will give you a start on writing your own historical records.â
âThe next Defender?â Lira whispered.
Of course; if Aidryn was giving up the post, sheâd be next in line. The realization numbed her senses. She fumbled through her next words. âIf what youâve told me is true, and I donât really know our histories, then I have much to learn before I could truly be your Defender.â
âI think youâll find the true histories much easier to grasp than you realize,â Eremon replied gently. âBesides, no one else in Lord Iremâs charge knows the old tales from Clan MĂłr. Those stories are a critical part of this endeavor.â
Lira stared at her hands. It was hard to believe that Irem and Eremon regarded those ancient clan stories as viable parts of historyâthe stories sheâd long since discarded, though each had impressed itself upon her memory anyway. She fumbled behind her for the stool sheâd stumbled into moments earlier, when her most pressing concern had been how to conduct herself in the RĂâs presence.
"I donât know what to make of this,â she said. âItâs too much. Andâpardon my candor, Eremonâbut if the rulers have been lying for this long, how do I know you wonât lie to me?â
Irem looked shocked, but Eremon took her jab gracefully. Mostly, he looked pleased that sheâd allowed herself to say his name again. Lira didnât know what frustrated her more.Â
âI understand why you feel that way,â Eremon said. âImagine how Irem felt, after so many years of teaching false histories to countless apprentices.â
The RĂ moved closer to her and reached for her hands. His soft touch jolted her skin, and heat crept up her neck. He continued quietly, imploringly. âImagine how I felt, as your ruler. I have failed my people; but no more.Â
âNow is the time. Irem has earned the clansâ trust; I believe they will also come to trust you.â
He didnât release his grip on her hands. Both men regarded Lira expectantly. She glanced from one to the other, the wild cyclone of panic fading into a steady thrum. Irem had never given Lira a reason not to trust him. And here was the supreme ruler, standing alongside the elderly lord in solidarity.
For a moment, Lira felt ashamed of lashing out. She sighed, feeling some of the tightness melt from her shoulders with the release.
âAfter everything youâve told me, I donât think I can refuse,â she said.
âOf course, you can refuse,â Eremon said, squeezing her hands lightly. âBut I know your love for Iathium. Iâve never known of anyone as dedicated to this place as you are, with no ulterior motive. And I believe you have an important role to play in the future of Rodhlan.
           âSilira,â he urged, âallow me the honor of anointing you as the next Defender. Take up your quill and help us give the truth back to our people.â
           Lira tried to hold his gaze without wavering. The RĂ was one breath short of begging; she suppressed the uncharacteristic urge to rest her hand on his shoulder. Instead, she asked tentatively, âWhy me? Why do you need my help to right wrongs that I had no part in?â
           âBecause you play a unique role here,â Eremon said. âYouââ
           âThere is no time to explain it all tonight,â Irem interrupted kindly. âEremon is expected at council. But for my part, Silira, I know you to be empathic and diplomatic. You perform well under pressure. And when the time comes, youâll be able to lead our apprentices and our people to the true histories in the gentlest way possible.â
           The elderly manâs eyes shone as he added, âYou have a heart, Silira. That is, perhaps, the most important reason of all.â
           Part of her wanted to flee; but another, more insistent, part demanded that she negotiate her terms. If she was going to learn the truth, she wanted to have a say in how it happened.
           âIf I agree to this,â she hedged, âI want to learn as much as I can, as quickly as possible. I donât want to be left in the dark about any of itânot any longer.â
           âAgreed,â Eremon said hastily, before Irem could counter. âAs quickly as possible.â        âWithin reason,â Irem added.
           Eremon stood before Lira; he had never let go of her hands. She was unnerved by how comfortable it felt to touch him.
           âPlease, Lira,â he breathed. âHelp us.â
           She looked into his eyes again, searching for any shred of deceit; but she could find none. Every word he spoke rang as true and sincere as sheâd hoped it would. He truly seemed to be the ruler sheâd always believed him to be.
           âI can find no lie in you,â she began, taking a deep breath, âso I agree. Iâll help you. And youâll share what you know.â The last words came in a rush; if sheâd let herself pause again, they might not have come at all.Â
           Eremon nodded, looking relieved.
 âIâll perform the rites,â Irem said, nodding to the RĂ. âThereâs no time to waste.â
âLet me, Lord Irem,â Eremon said, releasing Lira to withdraw an amber vial from his robe pocket before meeting her eyes again. âI would like the honor of anointing you, if you please.â
Irem deferred, his gaze sliding to Lira. âIf Silira wishes it, then the task is yours.â
âOf course,â Lira agreed.
Lira stood before Eremon now as he uncorked the familiar vial.
âThis is the oil I was anointed with when I ascended the throne seven years ago,â Eremon murmured. âI want you to know that I donât take your agreement to help us lightly.â
âNeither do I,â Lira whispered. The whole scene felt both surreal and too ordinary, all at once. âWhat do I do for the rites?â
âFirst, kneel,â he answered.
Lira obeyed. The RĂ locked eyes with her; her breath hitched when he lowered himself to the floor before her. âAllow me to treat you as an equal,â he whispered, turning her trembling palms upward as he placed a drop of oil in the center of each one. âOne historian to another.â
He anointed the crown of her head with a smile. The oil was fragrant and earthy; it smelled like incense wafting through the clean, verdant air of her childhood mountains. A tear slipped down her cheek, unchecked.
 âClose your eyes,â Eremon murmured, tipping the vial against his fingertips. He carefully anointed her forehead and eyelids, his touch barely a flutter on her skin.
âAll right,â he whispered, pocketing the vial again.
Lira opened her eyes; Eremon was so close to her that she could feel his breath on her face. She gasped lightly at his nearness, praying he couldnât hear her heartbeat pounding.
âRepeat after me,â he murmured, cupping her cheek. He brushed the tear away with his thumb. âI, Silira MĂłrââ
She blinked hard, struggling to steady her voice, but she did not shrink. âI, Silira MĂłrââ
âUpon my masterâs death or departureââ
âUpon my masterâs death or departureââ She could hardly make herself repeat it.
âDo hereby assume the anointed title Defender of Histories, and solemnly swear to uphold the truths of Rodhlan.â
Lira took a deep breath, suppressing her tears again. She repeated the rest of the vow slowly, careful not to stammer.
Eremon fixed a steely gaze on her. âThis must remain secret for now, Lira. I know you understand.â
Lira nodded numbly. She bit her lip, sinking back on her heels. âWhat happens now?â
âYou will continue your usual duties, with additional training morning and night,â he answered. âFirst, weâll teach you what weâve learned. Then, the three of us will work together to record and translate what we can.âÂ
Irem clasped her shoulder, squeezing it lightly. âIâm proud of you, my girl. I know weâve left you with more questions than answers, but letâs take one day at a time.â
The RĂ stood, then reached for Lira. She wasnât sure her legs would hold her up, but she let him clasp her hands and pull her to her feet.
Eremonâs smile nearly sent her crashing to the floor again. âIt was an honor, Lira,â he said. âIâll see you soon.â
With that, he picked up his lantern and descended the staircase. Lira stared after him until the flickering light faded and the tiles closed around the entrance.Â
The start of Liraâs journey revolves around books, history, and magic. As a sucker for all three, I was immediately hooked. This will also appeal to fantasy lovers who enjoy stories about finding old magic and uncovering the truth.
Lira has spent her life persevering Iathiumâs histories. Her dedication and passion for history gets her noticed by Eremon, Iathiumâs ruler, in more ways than one. His attention brings her the position she has long vied for, but she struggles to accept her new title as Defender of Histories and Eremonâs love. As Defender itâs up to her to help Eremon reveal the true histories. However, to right the wrongs of the past she has to decide if she is even willing to accept the truth, including the magic that comes with it. And with magic stirring among the clans outside Iathium, time is ticking as her quest for the truth turns into a quest for survival.
I enjoyed this book including the beautiful cover. When it came to the writing itself, the prose felt clean and well edited, making for a smooth read without any distracting typos or grammar mistakes. The writing style itself was enjoyable and let me get lost in the story.
With this being fantasy I was eager to learn more about the world. The world-building is easy to follow without getting overwhelming. This also had good character development that made each character feel unique and made it easy to get absorbed into their lives and trials. I enjoyed Liraâs character and found her easy to root for through everything from falling in love to facing old friends as enemies. The romantic subplot in this will appeal to those who like some tragic romance in their fantasy.
This book is meant to be the first in a series and by the end it was clear where the story would be heading for the next book. For those looking for a new fantasy series, here you go!