Elegy for a Lost Star by Elizabeth Haydon Read Free Book Online
Authors: Elizabeth Haydon
unspoken agreement between Gwydion and his guardians that her life be made as stable and free from worry as possible.
âYouâre lying,â Melisande said evenly, tucking away a bag of jackstraws and sitting down beside him on the bench.
âNo, I am not,â Gwydion said. He turned in time to see a man he recognized as Jalâasee, the ambassador from the distant Isle of the Sea Mages, enter the far end of the corridor. Both siblings watched in respectful silence as the elderly man walked past with his retinue of three. Jalâasee was an ancient Seren, born of one of the five original races of men that originatedin the time before history. His race was unmistakable in his tall, thin frame, his golden skin and dark, bright eyes; the Seren were said to have been descended of the stars. Gaematria, the mystical island on which they made their home, along with other ancient races and ordinary humans who had come as refugees there centuries before, lay three thousand miles to the west, in the midst of the wide Central Sea. It was said to be one of the last places on the earth where magic was still understood and practiced as a science.
âIf the Sea Mages are sending a representative, there must be something else going on here,â Gwydion mused aloud. âIt would be vain beyond measure to imagine that my schooling was of any interest to themâor to anyone else in that room except Rhapsody and Ashe, and perhaps Anborn.â
âMaybe they are going to execute you instead,â Melisande said jokingly, rising from the bench and drawing out her jackstraws again. âYour report from the tutors must have been worse than we imagined.â
At that moment the doors opened, and their guardian emerged. Both children stood immediately. The Lord Cymrian, whose given name was also Gwydion but whom they both referred to in private as Ashe, was attired in court dress, a happening so rare that it made both Melisande and Gwydion begin to fidget.
The Lord Cymrianâs eyes, cerulean blue with vertical pupils that told of the dragonâs blood in his veins, sparkled warmly as he beheld the children.
âMelly! Youâre here as well. Excellent. Please remain here in the hallway for a moment, and then they will bring you in.â He held out his hand, banded at the wrist in leather at the end of a sleeve of white silk slashed with dark red, to Gwydion. âWill you come with me, please, Gwydion?â
The youth and his sister exchanged a terrified glance; then Gwydion followed Ashe through the vast double doors, which closed almost imperceptibly behind him.
As they passed through the entrance to the Great Hall Gwydionâs eyes went to the vaulted ceiling on which historical frescoes representing the history of the Cymrian people had been meticulously rendered in a circle around a dark blue center. When his father was alive, they had entered the Great Hall only on rare occasions, spending most of their time in the family quarters and the library, so the grandeur of the Hall never became commonplace to Gwydion. He found himself unconsciously following the story of his ancestors who had refugeed from the doomed Island of Serendair fourteen centuries before.
Each vault on the ceiling covered a period of the history. Gwydion stared up at the first panel, a fresco depicting the revelation made to Lord Gwylliam ap Rendlar ap Evander tuatha Gwylliam, sometimes called Gwylliam the Visionary, that the Island would be consumed in volcanic fire by the rising of the Sleeping Child, a fallen star that burned in the depths of thesea. It made him even more nervous when he realized that the court clothing that Gwylliam was wearing in the painting was very similar to what Ashe, who was walking before him, was wearing now.
Each of the additional ceiling frescoes told more of the storyâthe meeting of the explorer Merithyn and the dragon Elynsynos, who had once ruled undisputed over much of the middle
âYouâre lying,â Melisande said evenly, tucking away a bag of jackstraws and sitting down beside him on the bench.
âNo, I am not,â Gwydion said. He turned in time to see a man he recognized as Jalâasee, the ambassador from the distant Isle of the Sea Mages, enter the far end of the corridor. Both siblings watched in respectful silence as the elderly man walked past with his retinue of three. Jalâasee was an ancient Seren, born of one of the five original races of men that originatedin the time before history. His race was unmistakable in his tall, thin frame, his golden skin and dark, bright eyes; the Seren were said to have been descended of the stars. Gaematria, the mystical island on which they made their home, along with other ancient races and ordinary humans who had come as refugees there centuries before, lay three thousand miles to the west, in the midst of the wide Central Sea. It was said to be one of the last places on the earth where magic was still understood and practiced as a science.
âIf the Sea Mages are sending a representative, there must be something else going on here,â Gwydion mused aloud. âIt would be vain beyond measure to imagine that my schooling was of any interest to themâor to anyone else in that room except Rhapsody and Ashe, and perhaps Anborn.â
âMaybe they are going to execute you instead,â Melisande said jokingly, rising from the bench and drawing out her jackstraws again. âYour report from the tutors must have been worse than we imagined.â
At that moment the doors opened, and their guardian emerged. Both children stood immediately. The Lord Cymrian, whose given name was also Gwydion but whom they both referred to in private as Ashe, was attired in court dress, a happening so rare that it made both Melisande and Gwydion begin to fidget.
The Lord Cymrianâs eyes, cerulean blue with vertical pupils that told of the dragonâs blood in his veins, sparkled warmly as he beheld the children.
âMelly! Youâre here as well. Excellent. Please remain here in the hallway for a moment, and then they will bring you in.â He held out his hand, banded at the wrist in leather at the end of a sleeve of white silk slashed with dark red, to Gwydion. âWill you come with me, please, Gwydion?â
The youth and his sister exchanged a terrified glance; then Gwydion followed Ashe through the vast double doors, which closed almost imperceptibly behind him.
As they passed through the entrance to the Great Hall Gwydionâs eyes went to the vaulted ceiling on which historical frescoes representing the history of the Cymrian people had been meticulously rendered in a circle around a dark blue center. When his father was alive, they had entered the Great Hall only on rare occasions, spending most of their time in the family quarters and the library, so the grandeur of the Hall never became commonplace to Gwydion. He found himself unconsciously following the story of his ancestors who had refugeed from the doomed Island of Serendair fourteen centuries before.
Each vault on the ceiling covered a period of the history. Gwydion stared up at the first panel, a fresco depicting the revelation made to Lord Gwylliam ap Rendlar ap Evander tuatha Gwylliam, sometimes called Gwylliam the Visionary, that the Island would be consumed in volcanic fire by the rising of the Sleeping Child, a fallen star that burned in the depths of thesea. It made him even more nervous when he realized that the court clothing that Gwylliam was wearing in the painting was very similar to what Ashe, who was walking before him, was wearing now.
Each of the additional ceiling frescoes told more of the storyâthe meeting of the explorer Merithyn and the dragon Elynsynos, who had once ruled undisputed over much of the middle