The Longest Lament

Chapter XII

The next day, Aleure sat at her table, absently tracing runes on the tabletop. The drone of her tutor's voice registered as little more than a humming distraction.

Although she knew she had never been a very attentive pupil, she found it increasingly difficult to concentrate on mundane subjects. Her mind constantly strayed along a path of flowing runes, while the facts and figures her other instructors tried to burden her with were quickly discarded along the wayside.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door. Oblivious as he had been to his pupil's distraction, the instructor couldn't help but notice the persistent knocking, and he left off his lecture to open the door.

A servant stood outside. "Your mother wishes to see you, Miss," the servant said "She's in her sitting room." Her message delivered, she curtsied and left.

Sighing in annoyance, Aleure said goodbye to her tutor and left her room. She easily navigated the winding hallway to her mother's sitting room. As she arrived, she could hear an unfamiliar masculine voice leaking through the aged wooden door.

"You realize this is highly irregular, of course, and if you were not such a close family friend I wouldn't even consider it." There was an audible sigh. "I hope she isn't too much of a chore, Matilda. I have little patience with children."

"Oh no, Van, you'll get along perfectly. I promise she won't be any bother at all," came her mother's voice.

Intrigued, Aleure left off her eavesdropping and knocked on the door to announce her arrival.

"Oh do come in, dear." she said as Aleure opened the door. "There is someone here you simply must meet."

"Runecarver Vanin!" Aleure blurted, her surprise causing her to speak out of turn. Her mother cast her a scalding look at the unseemly interruption of introductions.

"Vanin, this boorish young creature is my daughter, Aleure. Please excuse her broach of etiquette."

"Aleure," he said in a voice of milk and honey. "A pleasure to finally make your acquaintance. Your mother has told me a great deal about you."

Aleure curtsied low in proper acknowledgment of Vanin's superior rank as a Runecarver. Better a little late than never, she thought.

"Vanin has agreed to take over your lessons on magic, dear. Isn't that grand?"

"He has? But I already have a magic teacher..."

"Oh, well, we only took on that old man because no one else would agree to teach you." She shot a soft smile at the Runecarver. "But once Vanin caught wind of the fact, well, he simply wouldn't hear of it. Now we'll have a true teacher for you, as you deserve."

The man returned the smile. "I must admit, I'm terribly curious to meet this Morimar fellow. I pride myself on knowledge of my brethren, and I've never even heard of the man."

Matilda waved her hand absently. "Oh. He's very old. Just some harmless old man Marcus drudged out of a tavern or some such, really. I'm not even sure he's a real runescribe, maybe just a dried up old hedge wizard. Good riddance to him, anyways. To hear the cooks talk, he eats twice as much as our biggest guards, and him just a shriveled little thing, and on top of the exuberant price he charges...well, you really are doing us a favor, Vanin. I can't thank you enough."

Another cool smile. "The pleasure is all mine, my lady."

Aleure's thoughts raced ahead. As much as she had disliked Morimar at the start, she found herself growing more and more fond of the little man every day. Where her other tutors merely lectured, he continuously kept her thinking, questioning, eager to learn more. He was infuriating, true, but he was also interesting. She took a moment to consider Vanin as he loomed above her. Tall, handsome, powerful in the court. A month ago, she could have asked for nothing more in a teacher. Now the thought filled her with a strange sense of foreboding. It took a great deal of effort on her part to fight back a tantrum, but from the look her mother had given her, her usual theatrics would win her nothing. An oft repeated maxim of her father came to mind; when in doubt, put on a good face anyways. She stifled a sigh and instead forced a smile. Poor Morimar.