318_rachel_2

Tagged

2008-05-17T23:33:29Z

Just because I wasn't doing anything at the time...and I was tagged by kathys_shadow

What were you doing 10 years ago?

I was rather young at the time...I had just moved to Provo, Utah for the first time, and I spent the summer touring places--Washington D.C., for one, and spending time with my grandparents up in northern Utah--oh, yes, that's right. I spent the summer barefoot, living out of a suitcase, and jumping up and down on the tramp in the back yard...I read Lord of the Rings for the first time, and retold parts to my cousins (freaking them out--they're all younger them me and didn't know what lord of the rings was, so the idea of the ringwraiths got me big cool points with them). And I also inherited the first garden I really ever worked in by myself.

What are 5 things you need to do today?

1. Study for my floral I.D. quiz next Tuesday

2. Try and relax, just a tad

3. Figure out what Sunday meetings I'll have to go to tomorrow

4. Go pick up "A Great and Terrible Beauty" from the library (it just cam in! I had it on hold)

5. Clean my room

What are some snacks you enjoy?

A sharp tangy apple right in the middle of working outside, a handful of carrots in the middle of a boring lecture, icecream on hot summer days, and a symphany bar for the sad lonely days

What would you do if you were a billionaire?

Travel more then anything else, do my best to help as many people as I can, buy my parents a beautiful house, put my kids (non-existant though they may currently be) through school, and otherwise live like I have no more money then anyone else. Average house, average car...though, i must admit, I would probably splurge just a tad on the garden.

What are 3 bad habits?

Feeling guilty/sad for things that logically shouldn't, keeping my room in constant disarray, and greeting women with a "what's up guys?"

Name 5 places you have lived.

Provo, Utah

Bamburg, Germany

Hinesville, Georgia

Bellevue, Nebraska

Ft. Leavenworth, Kansas

What are 5 jobs you've had?

BYU Tree Crew Person

BYU Janitorial Student

BYU Greenhouse staff

Lifeguard (in Georgia, Nebraska, and Utah)

Telemarketer (I tried to convince people to refinance their houses--it didn't work)

Something different...

2008-04-06T06:11:56Z

Hey ya'll,

I'm really sorry for doing this, but I was looking over something I wrote last summer (it's what I want to send off to what ever editor I victimize) and I couldn't figure out what was wrong with the first chapter...I mean, I can FEEL that something is just little off, but I can't put my finger on it...so I'm giving it you, in hopes that you can help. This first chapter is 3.5K.

Some things you should know: I wrote this knowing that if it were to ever be published it would appeal to a mostly female audience, a YA one at that. So while none of you are in fact a part of my target audience, I am confident that you will be able to look past this and give me some good solid feed back.

And of course live journal has messed with my formatting.

Questions: is the language too formal (stiff)?
Is it too cliche to start with her waking up and getting ready?
Is the part with the grandma okay, with the knowledge that we will not be seeing this woman again until the very end of the book?
Do I go over board on the thought processes?

That's all I can think of for now. Enjoy. (I hope)

Chp. 1

    I didn't want to face the day. My bed felt so warm—its soft silk sheets hiding no threat, so kind, so gentle to the touch. I was literally buried in them, stacked seven high—smothered in cloth. Comfortable.

     "Come on, Aliisa," I chided myself, breaking the silence of the room, my voice a throaty whisper, "you're not a child anymore."

    Which I wasn't. Aliisa the lamb, the pet, the youngest daughter of the wealthy Serde d’Prevellia, was gone. Consigned to her place was someone I didn't know; not because she looked any different--for yes, she wore my face, my clothes, my shoes--but because she was someone new to me, bizarre in her foriegness. Serde Aliisa d’Prevellia. Who was she?

    I didn't allow myself to consider that for too long. Quiet moments where the enemy. They allowed too much time for thought, too much time for remembering. Instead, I took a deep breath, swept the covers off my bed, and raced to the fire. The air cold air hit me hard--it knocked the breath out of me, and sent goosebumps racing up my arms. I dashed as fast as I could, the stone floor nipping at my feet and then stopped with relief on the warm carpet to discover the source of my discomfort—the fire had died out during the night.

    Grinding my teeth together, I shoved two new logs into the fire, and poked at them with the shovel. I really shouldn’t have to even touch the fire—my station was, after all, generally considered above such things. But I gritted my teeth and did it anyways.
The fire smoldered, refusing to become anything more then a blush of light. I stirred and fanned the embers with reckless abandon, making smoke billow out into the room. I ignored it, subcounciously holding my breath, trying not to breathe the smoke in.

    Come on...come on...bite it fire, LIGHT!

    A flash of light lit the room, then, erratically, the logs erupted into flames, blazing up, swallowing up the little wood it had. I shoved more in, carefully, so I wouldn’t burn my hands, and then stood back a step to view my handy-work. Yes, that would do. Pleased with myself, I smiled. I grabbed the bucket of water next to the hearth, set aside the night before for my bath, and placed it over the fire.

    While it heated, I looked around the room, at all the empty walls, cleared and packed away for safe keeping during my absence, and my smile faded.

    It didn't look right, my room. It looked barren, already half abandoned. The room was quickly warming, the fire doing its job, and yet I still felt numb and cold. It wouldn’t surprise me if my goose bumps didn’t entirely have to do with the temperature of the room. I felt frozen, from the heart out.

    There didn't seem to be much of a solution to that, though. With a frown I added a new log to the fire, picked up my now warmed water, and then carried it off to the bathroom.   The small room was dark, so I lit a candle and closed the door. As I washed myself, brushed my morning breath off my teeth, and scrubbed the soot off my fingers, I tried not to think about what the day would hold. Instead, I concentrated on getting every last bit of dirt off of my skin. Then I started on my hair.

    I had neglected my hair too long—its strands were knotted, at the ends. I washed it quickly, massaging the scalp, closing my eyes. I used the rest of my warmed water to rinse it out, and then examined the wet tangle. It was no better for the wash. I probably should've brushed it first. Sighing, I grabbed my strongest-bristled comb, and started on it. I grimaced as it tugged, paying no mind to the pain. I let my hands work methodically, concentrating on the process with more care then usual. I had thick hair, and it took forever to get it under control, though I started at the ends. When I had worked it straight, and had begun to braid my Kryie beads into place—their bright glitter sending sparks against the walls--I finally looked up.

    Into the mirror.

    I was avoiding the sight; I feared the reflection. I feared I wouldn't recognize the form staring back. As if it could change so easily. Now I saw myself, and I couldn’t look away.

    I couldn’t see much. The single candle threw my face into flickering shadows, giving me age lines that were not mine, morphing the familiar features, the long nose, the blue eyes, the dark lashes, until I almost didn’t recognize them. They weren't a part of me.

    Disconcerted, I pulled my hair out of the way, and then leaned in closer, towards the mirror.

    Did I truly own that pair of eyes? They gazed back at me forlornly, pinched at the corners, near to tears. The color was right, the shape the same, yes, but the fire that always burned under the surface--the thing that made them alive, made them mine--was gone. I pushed the candle closer, throwing the shadows around the room, until I could see both sides of my face.

    Yes, I admitted, that was me. The shadows had made more of a difference in my features than was really there. Perhaps I hadn't changed much.

    Yet that didn't seem right.

    My father was dead. How could I be the same?

    It scared me to think that I no longer knew myself—that the skin I was comfortable in might change without my will, with out of my control. It didn’t seem right that I could be someone new, older somehow, with out consenting the change. It was silly of me, really.

    Then, of course, it would bother me that if hadn't changed—if the only difference I could see in my looks since my father’s death was the flat, dead color of my dark-lashed eyes.

    Inside, I was nothing more then a mixed up jumble of ice and torn flesh—and yet I looked so calm now, so indifferent. Like it was just another day in the spring.

    I closed my eyes, and turned my head to the side, my hand comming up to touch my termbling lips.

    My father was dead. I would never be same as I was before. I was different, even if my face didn’t show it. My father died less a fortnight ago, and today I would be leaving my home, my mountains, and all the family I knew, to live with cousins I had only met once before, in a new home and a strange city.

    I found myself, at moments, denying my father's death—surely, he stood just around that corner, waiting for me with a large smile or a grim reprimand...

    I didn’t let the thought finish itself.

    I dressed quickly, not bothering to wake my maid to help me, never mind she was only in the next room over. I wore my usual traveling garb—shield-sword strapped to my back, hidden by my the clothing, a long short sleeved blouse falling down past my waist, a studded belt around my middle, baggy leggings, and soft worn leather boots covering the bottom. I surveyed the result in the mirror, and scowled. I knew this wasn't how a Serde was supposed to look; I should be wearing black in mourning, not to mention a dress, or perhaps an elegant set of traveling clothes. I looked back in my trunk, hoping against reason that there was something better there, something I had magically appeared since my last similar search.

    Of course, I found nothing of the kind. Still, I had some plans to change that. Soon.

    I grabbed one long skinny black ribbon, the only black thing I owned, and braided it patiently through my hair. That seems right—black against my normal Kyrie beads, black covering the glimmer of my jewelry. Satisfied, I turned away from the mirror, swiftly gathering the last of my possessions, my brush, my ribbons, my pillow and single blanket and adding them to the pile near my door. The room was now truly empty, the walls bare, the bed stripped.

    It was nearing dawn outside--my window was slowly changing from dark black to a light gray. I tip-toed across the floor, added yet another log to my still happy fire, then open my door. It was empty, but down the hall I heard Catherine, or Lady Catherine as she had us call her, issuing orders to the servants. Not wanting to disturb her, I whispered along the floor in the opposite direction, the sound of my boots sliding along the stone.

    Marmii, my grandmother, was standing by the open door, directing the servants. Her stout figure stood at its full five foot-eight height, her old age hardly noticeable in her straight-backed figure. She should have been up in her bed, still sleeping, but I knew her temperament would hardly allow for such a thing. She had never placed much an emphasis on sleep, or on being sick for that matter. Laziness, she called it.

    I glanced around, noticing the group of servants already dragging loads of luggage out the western door towards the courtyard. They had things well underway. I would be leaving sooner than I would have expected.

    I smiled and waved at the packers, pleased to see their dark eyes grinning back at me. Passing me in the entry way, Tom headed back up the stairs, obviously heading for the luggage I had left behind. I whispered a thank you as he passed. I knew that he had been up late getting the carriage ready, and I was grateful that he was there, already working.

    Turning, I walked to my grandmother’s side, and placed one arm comfortably around her shoulders.    "Morning, Marmii. Sleep well?” My tone was deceptively cheerful. However much I had suffered since my father’s death, it was almost nothing compared to my grandmother’s pain. When I was around her, I tried hard to be strong in hopes of lessening her pain.

    She grunted. "Have you had breakfast, young lady?"

    "Yes," I lied, "Have you?"

    Outside the open door, it began to rain.

    "Of course, I've been up for hours. Go now—wait for me in the library. I've just got to—watch it, Eric! Those are fradgile!" She rushed forward, heedless of the rain, to catch the package before it slipped. Eric looked forlornly at her short figure—and sure enough, she began a lecture, quickly building up enough steam that I doubted it would let up soon.

    Shaking my head, I wandered over to the library, and stood by the warm fire. Lined along the walls, dozens of bookcases stood, holding hundreds of volumes. Yet this room held more then books--it held memories of slow rainy days much like this one, and late nights sitting up with a candle. Soft cushy chairs lined the fire, and the west facing walls--holding real windows--let in light.

    I had read almost every book in here. Some of the tombs were ancient, their worn pages painstakingly handwritten, and worn through centuries of readers; Others were newer, printed and purchased within my lifetime.

    With my fingers brushing the backs of their spines, I walked along the bookcases, saying goodbye, like these were old friends waiting for my return. When I was younger, Luke had read to me from these books. It was one of the few things about my brother that we could always agree on—a wonderful thing when we argued about so much. I smiled sadly, remembering sitting back to back with on the library coach, reading as winter rain trickled down the window. His back had been bony, but warm, his voice low and reassuring, a familiar, lovely sound.

    He was gone now too, because of the War. It had killed him, just as surely as the plage had killed my sisters, my birth had killed my mother, and the long fall from the tower had killed my father...

    Eyebrows pinched, I turned and walked into the library to stare out the window. The rain pounded harder now, running in rivulets down the warped glass, ruining my view of mountains and the forests beyond. Even this, the warped glass and the trickling, was familiar, worth remembering, worth saying good-bye too. I touched the glass, smudging the perfect shine, my fingertips tracing wet circles in the foggy mirror. Slowly, I leaned forward to peer out through the rain.

    Our Castle sat strategically on the top of one of the few passes between Aeolia, which bordered us to the North, and our own country of Far-Doria. The castle itself was more fortress than home, but on this side of the castle, the west side, we had windows. Real windows, with glass window planes.

    Placed as It was over the shear cliffs that protected the west side of the castle, I looked down at hundreds of bright blue lakes and trees that were no more then small spots of sun-dappled green. I felt my hands tighten into fists. I knew each mountain by name. I'd climbed each—and my heart ached at the thought of leaving them.

    I pressed my hot forehead against the cool glass and sighed. Part of me, a small part, questioned why…why couldn’t I just stay? We had always planned on going to the capital, my Father and I. It was traditional for Ladies of Means to be presented there after their coming-of-age…

    Now, the tradition seemed like a silly reason for me to leave. Still, the plan had not changed, only altered in the last couple weeks. Behind me, I heard the outer doors closing, sealing in the warmth. All the trunks must be packed now. Only four of the dozen or so trunks were mine.

    The rest where hers: My cousin, and new guardian, Lady Catherine.

    In the other room, I heard my Grandmother ask sharply, "Are the carriages ready yet? Hurry up, or they will not reach Alta Far in time."

    "Soon, my lady," he answered back, "We should be leaving with in the half-hour."

    "Good. See that the canvas gets properly secured; we don't want the rain ruining it all, do we now? I'll be in the library, presently."
I heard her soft approach, slippered feet and dress making an almost musical sound, and then felt her frail hand on my shoulder. I didn't turn to face her--I wouldn't, until my single tear dried. But, like so much of me, Grandma understood. She rubbed my back with one hand, the circles wide and soft, and we silently watched the finishing preparations for my departure.

    When I felt sufficiently in control, I straightened and turned. I hated to let others see me cry, perhaps because it always made me feel so helpless. It didn't matter-as soon as I turned, and looked into my grandmother’s blue, strong eyes—the eyes her son and I had inherited--I felt tears begin to creep down my face.

    "Oh, Aliisa." Grandma sighed, and gathered me into her arms. The embrace was familiar, safe. "What shall I do without you?" whispered my grandmother. She ran her hands softly over my hair, making my braids tremble.

    Her tone alarmed me—so soft, so uncharacteristic of my sagacious grandmother. I had rarely seen her cry—she was always on the move, always the stiff upright matron, running the castle and staff with a firm hand. When I thought of her, she was doing things. I didn’t like to suppose she could ever be at a lost—it would be like the sun neglecting a sunrise.

    So I pulled back, forcing a smile on my face, and spoke with far more confidence then I actually felt. "Oh, Marmii, you'll be fine! You have Coran too look after you, and Lady Swift is planning on staying until winter...you don't need me!" The lie sounded hollow in my own ears. I peeked down at her face.

    "Oh, child, but I do," she whispered so softly that I had to lean close to hear, "I feel as though I'm having a limb cut off--how do I do this?"

    To that I had no answer. I stepped back, and she let me go. I walked to the door, and looked out at the workers. They were brining out the horses now. It wouldn’t be long. Behind me, I heard my Grandmother's voice calling toward me.

    "Child, here, I have something for you."

    I watch her walk, slowly and stately, across the room and pull something out of the small locked chest. Bringing it too me, she held it delicately, as if the contents were extremely breakable. Leading me to a small chair in front of the fire, she motioned me to sit and placed the wrapped package in my lap.

    It needn't have been wrapped. I already knew what it was. What they were.

    The tradition had started with a bit of foolishness, as the best of traditions do. When I was born, I was a restless tike—I cried far more then I slept during my first few months of existence. I'm sure I would have driven my poor, newly widowed father to distraction, had he not discovered one night when he had stayed up past all the servants to rock me back to sleep, that I loved glittering things. Kyrie beads, in particular.

    My exhausted father had made a pact with me; he promised me a Kyrie bead for my birthday, of my own, if I would but go to sleep. I did, and I never had another troublesome night in my life. So, as a reward to good behavior that year, every year thereafter, my father gifted me with Kyrie beads, sometimes one, sometimes two, for they were expensive, but the gift was always the same.

    My birthday was in six days; it was my father’s handwriting scrawled on the package. My present must have been ready long before the accident. I knew that my Father always got present earlier then was necessary—it made him less likely to forget, he always said.

    This made want to smile and cry, all at once. Fingers shaking, I opened the brown, plain, paper to reveal the jewels inside.

    I gasped, shocked. I had expected one, maybe two. There where more then a dozen Kyrie beads. They sparkled, snugly fit in the black velvet my father had placed them on. Each bead was no larger than my smallest pinkie nail, but they caught the light and spun it out in speckles of color. Unwilling to let my eyes leave the sight, I froze for a moment, staring.

    Then I looked up at Marmii, eyes questioning.

    "They were your mothers, child." she explained, "He thought you should have them before you left for the capital."

    Comprehension filled me. I touched the beads tenderly, watching as their sparkling, ever changing colors, each one a completely unique. Beneath my heart, the pressure tightened.

    It had been my father who had raised me—half at loss at what to do with such a small daughter. I‘d never had a best friend, but he had come close. I pressed my fist against my forehead, and let one small tear go. Father.

    "Ah child, don't be sad.” My Grandmother commanded, comforting me now,

    “They are still with us--our memories, they will never fade. Mourn them; but child, I want you to promise me something--that you will let them go. They would not want you to hold on. Your father only wanted the best for you. He would not want you to forget yourself so...to forget the love you have for life, and the dreams you have so cherished. Child," she said, taking me by the shoulders, "they would want you to be happy. So, promise me. Promise me you'll be happy!"

    She shook me a little, forcing me to look up into her eyes.

    I didn’t think that I could keep such a promise. Not now, especially since I was leaving. But she was more stubborn than I—and I could not refuse.

    "I promise, Marmii."

    Sighing, she patted my hands.

    "I could not part with you otherwise." I couldn’t look up. Instead, I wiped the last of my tears away, and wrapped the kyrie beads back up.

    A small tap on the door reminded us of the time, and the pending journey.

    All business now, we stood, Kyrie beads securely stuffed under my arm, and faced one another. Back was that steely glint in her eye—the one I known all my life.

    "Take care of yourself, Aliisa."

    "Yes grandma." I said meekly.

    With a swift kiss on the cheek and a soft farewell, I left, feeling her eyes on my back. Pulling on my thick cloak against the early spring chill, I stepped out into the rain, precious bundle pressed against my ribs.

    I knew that if I turned now, if I looked back, that I'd see my Grandmother's sturdy figure in the window, and her eyes wishing me back, soon.

    I didn't dare look back. For then I would never leave.

From Atlanta, GE

2008-04-02T02:30:26Z

Between the Brave's Game, Stone Mountain, the Aquarium, the Atlant Botanical Garden, and everything else I've been up to these last two days I kinda forgot to post...oh, well. Maybe next week. I'll be in class, though, with comments and everything. (Go me!)

See yah Thursday.

HEHE!

2008-03-25T03:14:07Z

Sorry ya'll but I shall not be posting this week--instead I'm going to Georgia for a competition, staying in a Marriot Hotel, and skipping out on life in general...so yeah, have fun with out me. I'll probably still read so I can keep up on things (and I might comment online) but I make no promises

See yah!

um...

2008-03-05T02:10:46Z

Yeph, definitely not posting this week. Better luck next time, I hope. I'll still be reading your submittals though.

Chp. 4

2008-02-25T23:26:22Z

Sorry. I know I said that I wasn't going to post this week, but I ended up writing 1.5 K anyways.I guess I like to write far too much.

Plot change: I’ve decided that she didn’t leave her initials at the bottom of the letter (2 entry’s ago), so that their task can be a little more difficult.

Tell me what you think!

Type your cut contents here.

David stopped at the door of the elegant town house, straightened his tie, and then knocked, firmly, four times, on the red painted door. The answer wasn’t immediate, but that didn’t surprise David.

I hope they’re not all asleep.

The festival had finished at the traditional late hour last night, and though the sun was nearly on of top of the horizon, the soft blue light of the clear morning filtering through the closely spaced houses of the city, very few people were out. All along the street, small bits of mess from the revelry lay forgotten in random pockets of disorder, waiting for the servants that would eventually clean them up. Up above the street, in the small carefully pruned street trees, small birds chirped, the only sound in a quiescent city.

The door opened, revealing the troubled face of a white haired man. He took one look at David, and his expression cleared. This wasn’t the first time David had come at an unexpected hour.

“Good morning, Derrick.” David greeted, smiling his most reassuring smile, “I’m sorry I’m so early, but I was hoping to see the Lady of the house. Is she available?”

The man servant nodded quietly, and opened the door wider to allow his admittance. A small squeak from the banister above drew David’s eyes in time to see a black head of curlers retreat in the flash of a white night gown. David chuckled, and then turned to give his jacket to Derrick.

“Lady Sara is in the Break feast room, Peace Maker.” Derrick said, “Is she expecting you?”

“No, but I’m sure she’ll want to see me.” David answered, confident.

Derrick shrugged. “This way, then.”

Lady Sarah’s house was newer then most, the floorboards still shiny and indented, the long lace-trimmed windows made with clear unwavering glass. A long thin carpet, died in swirling pastels and golds, spanned the length of the hall, accenting the dark blue of the walls. All along the ceiling, Karine Crystal lit the way, popping on and then off as the twosome walked by.

Derrick bowed away as they reached the proper door, and David, once again, knocked, four times.

“Come in.”

David swung open the door. Lady Sarah was already dressed, wearing a light green morning dress. Her usually drawn up hair fell in silver lined waves on her shoulders, evidence of the earliness of the hour. At her side sat a young girl, no more than four years of age, picking at her oatmeal with one short curved finger. At David’s entrance, she looked up, her light eyes curious, and then dropped down, ducking behind the lip of the table.

“David.” Lady Sarah greeted, “you’re early.”

David nodded, bowing slightly. “Yes, my apologies, I am. I have a question for you—do you mind?”

“No, of course not, sit.” Lady Sarah turned, her hand brushing the top of the little girl’s hair, “I was just teaching my granddaughter Lace here the rest of her ABC’s. She’s a very smart little lady.”

“Oh,” David commented politely, his eyes flicking back to the child. He caught half of an eye peering at him, before it disappeared, leaving the curly head again, floating above the table.

Lady Sarah smothered a laugh with her hand. “Lace dear, why don’t you go find your mummy—wake her up and bring her downstairs for breakfast?”

“Alright,” The little Lace whispered, bolting out of the room, her dress’s yellow ribbons flying behind her.

Lady Sarah chuckles, then turned to David. “She’ll be a fine Peace Maker someday—she’s already wearing two rings, when she doesn’t forget them. And, of course, we have to close the windows a night for fear that she’ll float out on accident.”

David nodded, smiling. He had done just that, one night, when he was about eight. He had fallen asleep on his bed, and woken up the next morning on the top of his roof. Young Peacemakers were notorious for having problems controlling their magic, and unplanned night time flights were only a small part of the problem. Thankfully, very few were born to non-Peacemaker parents, so they usually had their rings on as soon as possible.

“So,” Lady Sarah continued, pushing the last remains of her eggs and muffin away, “You had a question for me.”

“Yes,” David answered, pulling the letter out of his pocket, “Tell me what you think of this.”

Eagerly, Lady Sarah picked up the note, unfolding it’s crisp edges carefully. Her eyes scanned the pages, and then she looked up, her dark eyes considering.

“Where did you find this?”

“I pulled it out of the Red Brick Publishing Storehouse right after a girl dropped it off. I think she’s our author.”

“Did you follow her?”

“Of course.”

“And?”

“Tell me what you think of it first.” David leaned back, crossing his arms in front of him.

“Well..the hand is remarkably steady, the letters written with more flourish then I think is strictly necessary—the girl was noble, wasn’t she?” David nodded in the affirmative, “The paper is nicer then most, heavy, expensive, I’m sure, and, “ she held the paper up to the eastern window, “It looks like there’s a water mark—a tree? Yes. With a single blossom.” She stood, her eyes vacant. “Stay here for a second. I think I know…”

She walked out of the room, still squinting at the paper, and David leaned forward to snatch a blueberry muffin from the basket. She would know what it meant, and then it was only a matter of time before David found her, he was sure.

Lady Sarah reappeared, a heavy leather bound book in her hand.

“Here it is,” She murmured, “The Gale Family Seal. This girl isn’t just noble—she’s about as blueblood as they come.” She laid the book, face open, in front of David, and then sat down. Her eyes seemed to come back into focus. “Would you like some orange juice with that?”

“Yes, please.” David said around his food, “That…” He swallowed, “That would make sense. She was wearing blue, and riding a KOF. Where is their family house, again?”

“On Blossom hill.”

“Yes, I lost her around there.” David stood, pleased that she had gotten the answer so quickly.

“Wait—you lost her?” Lady Sarah said, surprise evident in her voice, “How?”

David rolled his eyes. He would never hear the end of this.

“I followed her most of the way to her house, but when I got to Pendant street she stopped at wrote with this on the wall—” David pulled out the piece of charcoal that he had picked up the previous night, “’David Furric, stop following me. I can’t help you.’ Then she disappeared.”

“What?” Lady Sarah, leaned forward, clasping her hands together, “Are you sure?”

“Absolutely positive. Took me completely by surprise.”

Lady Sarah bit her lip. “Was she wearing any rings?”

“Not that I saw. I thought she could be a Deviant, but—“

“She would be wearing rings.” Lady Sarah finished, “and I can’t imagine the author of The Death of Anstel being a Deviant. It would go against her character.”

David nodded, “But where does that leave us? She can’t be a Peacemaker—she wouldn’t have run, if she knew who I was.”

Which she obviously did.

“It could be that she’s simply unaware of her heritage.”

“But how could that happen?” David questioned, “I’ve never heard of a Peacemaker growing up without some sort of Binding—it’s too dangerous—most children would kill themselves before they got old enough to control it.“

“Yes,” Lady Sarah interjected, “But that’s along our bloodline. The Anstellian Bloodline was—is-a little different. they were always more psychological in their talents than we are. They didn’t have to worry about children floating out of the room—rather they had problems with nightmares and headaches—which would be much more difficult to spot, especially if she’s in a situation where her parents don’t know what she is. And I can imagine she would be able to get by without getting herself killed, if she was lucky.”

“So you think she’s Anstellian?”

“How else could she know your name?” Lady Sarah answered.

“I thought so as well.” David nodded, pleased that she agreed.

Lady Sarah frowned. “You know what this means? For her, I mean?” Lady Sarah took a sip from her orange juice, and then set it down, her eyes tight, “I wouldn’t be surprised if her powers were out of her control, and I doubt she knows how to Source them properly. And if that’s true, then she’s probably inadvertently destroying her mind every time she uses her magic. If we don’t find her, soon, and fix this, she could very well go mad.”

“Then I best find her,” David answered, bowing his goodbye.

“Good luck.”