Amelie stepped around a pile of books and into the light emanating from the old lamp next to Myrnin's chair.
Claire stopped her futile squirming in Myrnin's unyielding grasp when she saw it was the Founder.
"Let her go, Myrnin," Amelie said firmly.
He glared. "Why? I told you I wanted no more apprentices, did I not?"
"Yes, you did. But what you want no longer matters. Myrnin, with the disease pushing you so close to the edge, we have no choice but to have you train another."
"And what will it be after her?" he hissed. "Another? And after that one, will you send more? But how many of your subjects will you be sentencing to death? When will you learn that I will not have them! All they are—all she is—" he tightened his grip on Claire's throat and made her cry out to make his point "—to me is an extra helping of blood, Amelie. That is all they have ever been."
"Very well," she said, which sounded ominous to Claire. "You have brought this upon yourself, my friend."
Amelie's eyes flashed silver and Claire felt a wave of power crash into her and Myrnin. The room was filled with a low humming sound and in a few seconds, Myrnin's tight grip on her slackened and she fell onto the floor at the foot of his chair. Claire stood up quickly and ran behind Amelie, gasping for air.
Myrnin's head was hung and his hair veiled his face from view.
"You will tutor her and teach her everything you know, do I make myself clear?"
"The task is impossible—a fool's errand," he said, his voice came out as if it labored him to speak. "One so young with such a small thinking capacity will never understand everything I do, nor should she bear the burden of such knowledge." But Claire saw it as a challenge. To know everything this man—no, vampire—did would be incredible, despite the constant danger she would be in.
"I want to help," Claire said. The words came out of her mouth before she could stop them. She addressed Myrnin. "I can do it."
"That is not the question," Myrnin snapped. "It is if I am the one capable."
"No," corrected Amelie harshly. "There is no question. You'll school the girl, it is final." She sighed deeply and then said, as if in warning, "You've always played the fool, Myrnin." She dismissed herself then. "Good day."
Amelie walked behind the stack of books she had appeared from. Claire felt a flash of something in the room and then it was gone. She ran over to ask Amelie why she had been chosen, even with her outstanding performance in TPU—but, of all the people, why her? Only Amelie had vanished into thin air and Myrnin was chuckling darkly from where he had remained seated throughout the whole encounter.
Claire turned around and watched Myrnin closely.
"She judges too quickly," Myrnin said with a manic smirk. "Her biggest fault is believing that I have more of a conscience than I really do." There was a moment of silence between student and teacher as the small trace of madness disappeared before Myrnin said tiredly, "Take me to my cage. I'll need it after Amelie's influence wears off."
"I thought you said—"
"The cage is not gone. Its greedy form awaits my insane self in the other room. Take me to it."
There were many rooms in the back of Myrnin's lab, Claire found. A curtain blocked off an old hallway that had doors on either side. The walls and ceiling were cement and made the walk cold and infelicitous.
After passing other rooms, they reached the one Myrnin wanted that had no door. They went inside and Claire saw the cage sitting near the far wall with all of his personal belongings still inside. The door of it was open, looking ready for Myrnin to walk in.
The thing personified a rabid animal that would only be content if it swallowed Myrnin whole. Myrnin stared at the cage, as if sizing it up, and then stoically walked over to it, stroked one of its bars in a confusing kind of reverence, and stepped inside.
It made Claire sad.
"Myrnin, wait—"
"Nobility has never been my strong suit, Claire, allow me this once to be your dream instead of your nightmare." He closed the door and it locked on itself. It broke Claire's heart to see him do such a thing on his own accord, but it was for his own good.
Once imprisoned, it seemed he finally allowed himself to fall apart. Before he completely left Claire, however, he handed her a journal from a stack of books in the corner of the cage. "Take this," he said, handing it to her from between the bars. "Read it. I want you to know who I really am." And then Myrnin retreated to the back of the cage and sat down on the small bed within.
The little book was made of leather and on the front were words written in a hand that was not Myrnin's. His was spidery and thin, yet surprisingly beautiful. These words appeared very delicate and letters flowed together softly, reminding Claire of wisps of smoke.
16 Août, 1549
"L'Année du Monstre à Plusieurs Têtes"
"Italian?" Claire asked.
"French," Myrnin corrected.
"How am I supposed to—?"
"Open it," he said wearily.
Claire did as she was told and found that English words covered the pages instead of the French ones Claire expected to be there.
"La Lingua Pura," Myrnin said. "The Pure Language. Please—read it."
Claire flipped to the first page and—
"Not here. You may return to the laboratory, but the book must not leave this place. Make haste, child. I'm nearly gone. Destituo."
Claire nodded and backed out of the room. She ran down the hall, threw aside the curtain, and sat down in Myrnin's armchair.
She opened the journal to the first page and the same fluid handwriting marked the date that was on the cover: 16 August, 1549.
I suppose I am too old to be writing another journal, but it is a habit I have grown up with and one I am not too keen on getting rid of easily. Perhaps these recordings of my life will one day be useful to me or to a historian in the distant future—but for now, I write.
…
The date marks mid-August in the year of 1549—known as "The Year of the Many-Headed Monster" because of the unusually high number of rebellions that have occurred in the country thus far. Edward VI is King and holds a fairly reasonable rule, though, as always, corruption courses through England's veins and blackens its heart. Edward does not live up to his title as Lord Protector of England, for each battle he wages becomes more violent and costly. If Bishop were here, he'd rave about the circumstances brought upon the land by undeserving rulers and how the ability to be king did not run in noble blood, but in brains.
I continue my humble act as the castle librarian as I work alongside the historian, Roget (another vampire, though no one but I know). I am considered a kind young woman here, desperate in my pursuit for simplicity. The lifestyle is not as fanciful as other roles I have played, but I am content in such simple living.
Today the court physician came into the library, claiming to have a new apprentice. His name was strange. Maryn or something near to it.
I suppose I should make a point of visiting him tomorrow.
-Amelie
…
The next day, Amelie and the court physician walked to his chambers which were on the other side of the castle from the library.
"Yet another apprentice?" Amelie asked. "Have you not gone through two in just the past year, Moussaieff?"
Moussaieff nodded, not sorry at all for his losses. "The tempo at which I taught was too fast for their offbeat minds to play at."
Amelie raised a brow and looked at him. "And you believe this one is different?"
He nodded again with a smile. "He is quite brilliant, Amelie. He is a blossoming flower in a field of dying ones, withering and caving in on themselves; a torch just lit while others around it burn out; and a planet among stars. And as I have said before, you would have been a remarkable student; your refusal offended me—I could have taught you well! Do not speak, it is in the past and I respect your decision. Anyway, I believe you and he will get along well," Moussaieff said as they reached his chambers. He opened the shabby wooden door and revealed a room full of glass containers of ingredients and little jars of potions. Where there weren't vials of liquids, there were bits of parchment and, most of all, books. Books were overflowing cabinets and piled around the edge of the room with twenty or thirty in a stack, books were in the sills of windows and taking up nearly half the floor space. Amelie had been in here before, but it had never been this chaotic. Perhaps the new apprentice was just as unclean and disorganized as Moussaieff.
And then she spotted him.
A vampire was standing at the table in the middle of the room, bent over and poring through a volume. He must have sensed Amelie's presence, because his head snapped up and his dark brown eyes met her light gray ones. His brows furrowed then quickly went on their way as he regained his composure and beamed at the two.
He was a boy. Well, a man, really, but his countenance was much closer to that of a child's. He had long brown wavy hair, a sharp face, thick eyebrows, and a long nose. He wore the apparel of a servant, but there seemed to be no obvious color scheme because of the red, blue, black, and green articles of clothing he wore so carelessly.
"Myrnin, Amelie has come to visit," Moussaieff said, picking up a shoulder bag off the floor and putting it on the table next to Myrnin's book.
"So she has," Myrnin said. "Good afternoon, madam. Moussaieff has told me of your charm." He bowed deeply and winked at Amelie. She had trouble refraining from rolling her eyes.
…
3 November, 1549
Moussaieff was correct in saying that Myrnin and I would become friends. And even though I am nearly half a century further into my immortal existence than he, he seems to be the older brother I never had.
Though I was hesitant to confide anything in him at first, he is very genteel and chivalrous. And he is clever. Remarkably so. He catches onto things with the most irritating ease, so it was not long before he realized who I was. I sometimes wonder if he knew the very first day he met me, but I have no way of knowing for sure.
-Amelie
…
That evening they sat alone in the library at a table next to a giant window that overlooked a field. The silence was broken by the sound of them turning pages in books as they quietly read together.
"Are you the Amelie that overthrew Bishop?" Myrnin asked suddenly. He set down his book entitled Llyfr Coch Hergest full of Welsh poetry and fairytales. Perhaps it was the enticement of actual lore that he saw in Amelie—to discover the secret of an incognito princess who cleverly upended her father's rule—that caused him to investigate. Or maybe it was all in jest. But there was no questioning it—Myrnin of Conwy was very tenacious about knowing more and would be insatiable until he got the full story.
Amelie's eyes stopped on the word she was on. It would be dangerous for such a man—for anyone, really—to know who she truly was. She knew she should have changed her name when she'd first come here, but it was too late for anything like that now. And a name was a thing that was difficult to easily alter. Amelie tried to regain her composure, but being around humans so often now and not having to constantly support the wall she'd built around her was making her soft and inept at hiding her thoughts and emotions.
Amelie looked up at him with what she hoped was a blank expression. "You mistake me for someone else," she said, returning her attention to her book, hoping the gesture looked idle and uncaring.
"I mistake you for no one," he said confidently. "You are her, are you not? Your accent is clearly French, and you look just like how they describe you over there. They say, 'Her eyes sparkle like two bright stars, but there is neither rest nor calmness in them. Her hair is made of silken threads of water and smells of roses. She walks like one glides—'"
"You flatter me, Myrnin, but if I were your Amelie, would I not be in France at this very moment? Ruling over the land my father once commanded and correcting the abuses brought to them by Bishop? I am not, so I am not her."
"You know just as well as I that Amelie is not in France. She sits before me, reading Tales of Olde." He halted his attack and straightened in his seat. "I have no one to tell your secret to, Amelie. I understand you want to leave that part of you in the past, and I am deeply sorry for bringing it up." Myrnin stood and bowed politely. "Good day, Amelie, starlit eyes and silken hair, graceful as a dove. With all my heart, I yearn for friends, but nothing close to love—"
…
"Good afternoon."
Claire jumped and snapped the book shut. Amelie was standing right in front of Claire's armchair, looking at her curiously.