“What’s the point in winning if you cheat?”

“That way, I don’t lose. Actually, I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t cheat.”

“You just admitted—“

“Race you to the gardens!”

He beat her in the end, which left her in a foul mood. She stormed off while he was panting by one of the benches, having hardly caught her own breath.

“Where are you going?”

“To huck potatoes at the field hands. Don’t even think about following me.”

“I’m not.”

Off to the side of the property lay a huge patch of land dedicated to the cultivation of vegetables and fruit, along with another area for livestock. The entire property was enclosed by a thick wall of stone that stood at the height of four men. Only from atop its ramparts, along with the manor house’s third floor, could one see the massive walls that surrounded all of Mayhaven, as well as a full view of the city. The farmlands beyond were visible in the distance, standing proudly against the tall treeline of the forest.

He’d left Anice to her business and gone off to visit the art hall, though she intercepted him within minutes, having apparently changed her mind. He went to bed that night a grateful boy, relishing in the silence of his solitary chambers.

There were over sixty rooms within the manor house, and Anice practically dragged him from one to the next whenever he made the mistake of tagging along with her mischief. Every time she showed him a new part of the manor, she would ask for his opinion on it, though in a smug sort of manner that slowly began to annoy him.

She also found amusement in pointing at everything in sight and asking if he knew what it was. She loved it when he didn’t know the name of a piece of furniture, or of a specific vegetable or food. This happened quite frequently, since there was a lot that he didn’t know, and plenty that he hadn’t seen. For instance, the functions of the tools from the sheds, which she had proudly stated were of top quality, or the purposes of some of the sleek utensils in the kitchens, which had apparently cost her father a fortune. She even tricked him into drinking some disgusting beverage called ale from the cold rooms in the cellars, after telling him that it was the favourite drink of every man.

Spending time with Anice was stressful. She forced Alistar to be her accomplice whenever she felt like nicking bread or cheese from the pantry, or whenever she brought him along to steal sips of wine from Caedmon’s lavish collection, a drink that was worse than the ale that he’d gulped down in foolish anticipation. Unbeknownst to her, every time they did something that left him feeling remorseful, Alistar sought out his uncle and apologized with his head hanging in guilt.

The last room that Anice thought to show him, evidently because she valued it the least, was the library. This was on his eighth day after taking up residence with the Silverkins. Dozens of dusty bookshelves filled the large room, row after row, and wall to wall. Each was filled to the teeth with scrolls and books.

Alistar forgot how to breathe, and simply stood awestruck at the threshold. Just how many words were stored on these walls? It made sense why his parents had been so adamant about his studies, why they had spent so many tireless evenings tutoring him in his letters.

The room was dark, lit only in a handful of places by dated, rusty lanterns, a musty smell pervading all throughout. Old desks and chairs littered the areas that weren’t cluttered with bookshelves, and all but a few looked utterly neglected.

“This is the library.” Anice spoke hastily from the doorway. “I haven’t been in here in ages. I think Father’s the only one who visits, and only every now and then. When he’s not dealing with the townspeople or busy with his duties, he’s usually cooped up in his study. He’s got more than enough books in there, so this kind of a pointless room.”

“Pointless?”

“I don’t even think the servants clean it.” She turned to leave with an exaggerated flourish of her dress—something she did quite often—but paused when she noticed that he hadn’t made to follow.

The forest of books held him in captivation. He couldn’t see his cousin, but could easily picture the displeasure on her face as she bit down on her lip in aggravation.

“Come on,” she ordered. “I want to visit the gardens. I’ve had enough of this smelly room. Don’t you want to see the gardens? You like the gardens, don’t you?”

The front lawns were covered in delicately trimmed hedges and extensive floral patterns that were beautifully impressive. But he had already seen them at least a half-dozen times, and he preferred the gardens in the courtyard at the centre of the estate.

“Am I allowed to read these books?” he asked tentatively.

She laughed. “Why would you waste your time reading?” When she saw that he was serious, she snapped at him. “Do what you want!” She kicked at one of his calves and left him rubbing at his leg in irritation, confused for a moment, but alone with the vast collection of books.

Supressing his rising excitement, he toured the aisles and removed a book at random. It was titled The Regions of Mais and Its Noble Inhabitants. He walked over to one of the desks, the only one that enjoyed the glow of an old lantern that showed signs of recent dusting, and pulled back the cover to reveal neat rows of beautifully written words, the pages crisp and clean.

So many words!

Just one page contained enough content to fill a tunnel from wall to wall, usually a width of about eight paces.

The book recorded hundreds of noble houses all throughout the continent, regardless of which empire or kingdom they belonged to. He was already aware of some of the information from his many lessons with his family, but the majority was new. The continent of Mais was broken up into several sovereign states, and had many kingdoms spanning across its breadth. Most powerful were the Baldor and the Holy Lucian Empires, which were collections of kingdoms that were labelled as provinces. Combined, they took up more than half of the continent.

The world is so big… There was a map inside of the book, and a few markings drew his eye. So I’m here, then? The county of Distan was but a tiny pinprick on the page, somewhere within a stretch of little bumps that was supposed to represent the Tall Mountains. He tried to imagine the size of the continent, but was overwhelmed by his imaginings.

The book appeared hundreds of years old, its pages yellow and brittle with a grimy smell to them. His eyebrows rose as he finished reading a particularly long paragraph. It changed? The styles of handwriting weren’t constant, which meant that many people had worked on these records over a long period of time.

Something he found strange was that, every ruler within the Holy Lucian Empire had a religious counterpart, something that was specified at the beginning of the section that detailed that region. Each province was jointly ruled by a king and a high-ranking bishop. Thus, there were five kings and five patriarchs, with the imperial family and the papacy at the top of the hierarchy. His parents had hardly ever mentioned the Lucian faith, so it wasn’t until this moment that he learned that its influence on the world was far greater than he could have ever imagined.

The Kingdom of Civus, the smallest province of the Holy Lucian Empire, was jointly ruled by House Silverkin and a man called Archbishop Vestach. Wait a moment, did I read that correctly? He scanned the top half of the page for a second time. The Kingdom of Civus was ruled by House Silverkin? But wasn’t that his uncle’s house? That couldn’t be the case. Caedmon was a count.

Alistar read the entirety of the section on Civus, and saw that Caedmon was registered as the son of the king, Glenden Silverkin.

He didn’t know much about the world, but he knew enough to understand that kings were the pinnacle of authority, and according to this book, his grandfather was one such person. As he sat there staring at the page, his astonishment and awe slowly gave rise to confusion and fury. If his grandfather were truly a king, then why had Alistar and his family been rotting away as slaves for the past nine years? Why hadn’t he freed them? It should have been as easy as snapping his fingers, yet he’d left them to suffer, to die.

Glenden Silverkin… Alistar made sure to remember the name.

When his anger kept distracting him, he took a brief break to calm his mind, and then resumed reading. There were thousands of books within the library, and if he was going to read all of those that caught his interest, then he couldn’t afford to waste time thinking about things that he couldn’t change.

His parents had always praised his near-flawless memory, and for the first time in a long while, he was able to fully put it to use. By the time Alistar left the library, the sun had set and all but a few house servants had gone to bed. He’d read most of The Regions of Mais and Its Noble Inhabitants, and planned on finishing it as soon as he woke up in the morning. Studying was a lot more productive than allowing Anice to boss him around all day. He decided to read as many books as he could until his mother arrived, and then impress her with his knowledge.

In the days that followed, Alistar spent most of his free time holed up in the library. Anice pestered him often, and even went to the extent of snatching a book that he was reading, opening a window and tossing it into the courtyard below. When he’d begrudgingly gone down to retrieve it, she didn’t allow him to leave until he played a game of tag with her. He enjoyed it at first, despite himself, but she began to cheat almost immediately, so he slipped away at the first opportunity and rushed back to the library.

One day, she simply stood over him and watched him read, silver eyes glued to his face as if in some sort of expectation. This agitated him. Didn’t she have anything better to do? It was difficult to concentrate under the weight of her stare.

How can I get her to leave? He rested his head on a hand, elbow against the desktop, and sighed.

“Did you finally realize how boring it is to stare at paper?”

His eyes settled upon a dusty inkwell and something clicked in his mind. He knew exactly how to drive her off.

“Hey Anice, you know how to write?”

“Of course I do,” she said, raising her chin. “What do you think I am, some peasant?”

Of the dozen or so responses he thought of, he chose the only one that would keep her in the conversation.

“Can you teach me?”

She blinked a few times. “How can you read, if you can’t write?”

“I can write,” he said carefully. “But I’ve only ever traced my fingers through the dirt. I’ve never used a quill before, so I’m afraid I’ll make a mess. I can understand if you don’t—”

“I’ll teach you!”

“A—are you sure?”

“People will make fun of me if my cousin can’t read. I’m my teacher’s smartest pupil, after all.”

He instantly regretted making such an offer. How could he have forgotten how much she enjoyed the feeling of superiority? Luckily, he was already well versed in his characters, and using a quill wasn’t nearly as difficult as he’d imagined. Anice couldn’t hide her surprise at how easily he learned to use the quill, and became jealous when his penmanship outshone the sentences that she had scribbled down as examples. For once, she had nothing to say, so he thought he’d take the high and mighty girl down a notch or two, and made a boastful remark.

Within seconds of speaking, his fine clothes were stained by the contents of a freshly emptied inkwell. That was the last that he saw of Anice until breakfast the following day.

Although he spent most of his time reading, Alistar never missed a meal with Caedmon and Anice, though sometimes his uncle was absent. He made it a habit to set aside some time to speak with the house servants after each meal, since they had proven themselves as kind, respectable people. Anice continued to pester him, though not as much as she had in the beginning. Still, he found himself in her company for at least a few hours each day, and had to admit that things were always interesting when she was around.

Many days and a fine stack of books later, Caedmon’s messenger arrived. To Alistar’s dismay, he arrived alone.