June 4: book of questions, feat. Lord Alan of Trebond
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A servant jostled her in her attempt to open the door for the visitor to Trebond, but Alanna of Pirate's Swoop and Olau snapped, more tartly than she had intended, that she could open a door herself. Too late – always too late – she pressed her tongue between her teeth and suppressed a sigh. The poor maid was as old as Coram and had probably dealt enough with Lord Alan's curt remarks. "Thank you," Alanna added, hoping to amend her little outburst, but the woman's eyes were filled with melancholy. It wasn't until Alanna looked over her shoulder that she realized that her attitude hadn't even registered.
The library looked as if it hadn't been disturbed since the death of its owner more than twenty years prior. For the most part, all of the carefully stacked books remained in their spots on the four bookshelves that lined the walls. The only disturbance had occurred in the second shelf on the left: a small ladder leaned against it, with one book hanging on a rung and several strewn over the floor beneath it. Every object was swathed in a thick cover of dust.
"Be careful, lady," the maid cautioned, and it was only her guilt over snapping earlier that prevented Alanna from giving a retort. The woman did have a point, Alanna silently added; she knew full well the circumstances of her father's death, although the servants had refrained from giving her all of the details, more, she suspected, for their comfort than for hers.
She picked her way across the floor with ease, sending up little puffs of dust in particularly dense spots, but she paused upon reaching the ladder and simply stood with her hand resting on the dull brown wood, gazing up its length. Amazing and somewhat confounding that such an innocuous object, now brittle and hung with cobwebs, had been the downfall of Lord Alan of Trebond. Downfall . . . Alanna bit her lip at her unintentional pun. This damned war had her applying gallows humor to every part of her life.
When she had reopened her eyes, she took a step forward, and her foot immediately encountered an obstacle. It was a large, thick tome, its cover turned gray from dirt and dust. Alanna picked it up and wiped off the grime with her sleeve. The leather binding the cover was actually white; while she could imagine that it had once appeared as pristine as snow, the best it now resembled was the color of bone speckled with dirt.
"That was the book that we found beside Lord Alan's . . . beside him," the maid spoke up.
In her cleaning, Alanna's sleeve hovered over a red-brown blotch. She nodded in response to the woman's words, her gaze fixed on that spot. The image of her father's body sprawled on the stone floor, his head surrounded by an expanding pool of blood that sank into the book's white leather, made her eyes burn; she fiercely shook her head and flung open the book.
She had assumed that it was some minutely detailed map of Tortall, but what met her eyes was a winding circle. Closer inspection revealed to her that each ring of the circle contained flowing script detailing names and dates; upon reading a few, she found the common link of Trebond.
Alanna looked more closely at the gold lettering stamped onto the tome's front cover: A History and Listing of Ancestors of the Trebond Line. Wondering what her father had been doing with a family tree, Alanna perched on the edge of the heavy desk and flipped through the pages.
The circle concerned the earliest family from which they had all descended: five of the nine children born had survived long enough to marry and bear children. Later pages included charts, with individually decorated boxes connected to one another with spirals and dotted lines that signified a variety of relationships. Exploration through another six pages brought her to a page overrun with bold, slanting writing. Alanna peered at it to determine whose names were in the boxes; she was only slightly surprised to see the names of Lord Alan and Lady Alianne followed by those of herself and Thom.
The writing that covered three-quarters of the page was undeniably her father's. Alanna frowned and brought the book closer to her face so that she could interpret the text that was puzzling in at least its presence, if not also its intent. Her father would never touch a book with a pen, not even to record the date the book was purchased or any such sentimental information; she still recalled clearly the day he had roared at her and Thom for trying to brighten one of his scrolls with colored ink.
Alan had made an addendum to Alianne's box: beneath where it said b. 400 H.E. he had written d. 420 – childbirth. Between the edge of the page and the box there spiraled the words Why Alianne and not the children? Alanna recoiled only a little; she had expected little else from her father. He had written over the first two words countless times, so much so that they were impressed into the next page.
His name had also not been left untouched: What do I have to do to be a good father? How do I make them understand?
The writing beside Thom's name was measured and straight, like stones in a wall:
Began knight training at palace 429.
Called wrong name by training master.
Tucked behind the page was a piece of parchment with Duke Gareth's seal. Alanna skimmed the paper and almost burst out laughing; it was the progress report that the duke had called her in during her first year in the palace to speak about because, although he had written to Lord Alan about his son Alan, the lord of Trebond's reply had included inquiries about his son Thom. At the time Alanna had thought that both men eventually reached the conclusion that the other simply didn't pay enough attention the poor Trebond boy to properly remember his name.
She was surprised to see any writing beside the box that read Alanna of Trebond, but there were several scrawls, grown more unintelligible as her eyes scanned down the page.
Has Alianne's determination … bad? Good
Sent to convent 429 – right decision? only decision
No notes from sisters – good behavior? Not Alanna. She smiled despite herself.
It was the next line that made her nearly drop the heavy volume:
Alanna
She flipped again to the progress report and lifted the first page to read the end of Duke Gareth's letter: It is my utmost pleasure to inform you of how well Alan's training is proceeding. I hope that such good news may continue to reach you in the future. Indeed, the word Alan had been traced with pen and circled over and over. Alanna hastily turned back to her family's page. Lord Alan's final piece of writing, the letters thin and slanted, was crammed into a margin, as if he had tried to hide it.
chose her own way, like we knew she would
just like her mother
will I see her again to tell her?
will she see me?
The words burned in her vision before suddenly blurring and running together; startled, Alanna wiped first at the wet spot on the page and then at her damp cheek, not caring that she had spread the ink to her skin.
After a length of time, she stood up and brushed the dust off her hose. The older woman had abandoned her position in the doorway; with one hand tightly gripping the leather-bound book, Alanna slowly pulled shut the door to the library. She doubted that she would again enter it; she had found what she was looking for and more.
Her children would be intrigued by the brief look at the grandfather they never knew, and if nothing else, she had several entries to add.
