The prince came to the library every day around lunchtime. Samis would leave to procure lunch, giving Astir and Ysabel time to talk.
Astir always wanted to know what they were working on and Ysabel was happy to share everything she was learning with him. She had quickly discovered that being an Archivist was not about sitting around and reading every book in the library and waiting for something worth writing about to happen. She had to learn bookbinding and had to practice her penmanship every day under Samis' careful eye so that she could repair damaged books or fading text.
And it wasn't just books that she had to deal with. Every time the prince held court, cases and pleas were recorded on parchment rolls and then handed off to the Archivist. Their contents had to be recorded in a huge catalog of cases—complete with numerous cross references—and then the parchment had to be numbered sequentially and stored in case the prince or some student of the law ever had need to review it. There was a great storage room under their feet—a spiral staircase in one corner of the library led to it—and it was filled with shelves that contained boxes stuffed full of case rolls. But, even as things went down to storage, the oldest boxes were constantly being brought up for review. If Samis thought something looked important, it was marked for saving. If it was in need of retouching, he usually did it himself, but if it needed to be completely rewritten, he usually sent it to a court scribe for copying. If the roll didn't look important, he would send it to the court law clerks for their review. If they too found it unnecessary, the parchment was either sent out to have its words scraped off and the skin reconditioned, or if it was past the point of saving, it was destroyed completely.
There was a surprising amount to learn; the Archivist had to be a librarian, kingdom historian, genealogist, scribe, and law clerk all rolled into one.
But Ysabel loved it. They were always running across some tidbit of interesting history or ancient scandal or outrageous court case. And she always shared every detail with Prince Astir, who seemed to find it just as interesting.
In fact, Ysabel was so enamored of the job, and so eager to share it with a kindred soul, it took her a few weeks before she really stopped to think about what was happening. Samis was considered a second-tier employee at the castle; he outranked the servants who did manual labor, like the cooks and washerwomen and stablehands. Only the advisors and some more important second-tier employees outranked him.
That the king would ask someone like him to fetch lunch was unusual; such a task was normally below someone of Samis' stature. At the most, Samis should have only had to ring for a servant or step outside the room to flag someone down, then send him or her off to the kitchen with orders to bring back lunch.
But, instead, Samis left every day at lunch and presumably went all the way to the kitchen to order lunch, waited there, then brought it back.
It was completely unnecessary . . . unless the entire point was for him to leave the room for a little while and give Ysabel and the prince some time alone. She wondered if Samis had decided to do that himself, or if the prince had arranged it with him aforetime.
And she noticed that lunch was taking longer and longer to get to them, and before long, she and the prince were slipping out of the library to tour the gardens or stroll down the portrait gallery—which had many fine pictures of Link and Zelda. One day, Astir took her to the chapel and showed her all of Link and Zelda's weapons. Even as the daughter of the Captain of the Guard, she had never expected to be allowed to see the weapons. But Astir had shocked her even more when he opened the cases and allowed her to hold each piece. She had been so excited, she could hardly breathe, and when they finally came back to the library—well over an hour later—she was as flushed and breathless as if she had been running.
But Samis never said a word about it—or even acted like they had been gone for ages.
In the evenings, there was always a castle guard waiting at the gate to escort Ysabel home—under orders from the prince, she later discovered. Her father worked long hours and was often gone before she even woke up and didn't come home until dinnertime—or later. So Ysabel normally walked to work alone in the mornings; she didn't understand why she needed an escort home in the evenings. It wasn't even dark—not that it was dangerous in the city, anyway.
When she asked the prince why he insisted someone walk her home when no one walked her to work, he replied, "Do you need someone to walk you here in the mornings?"
"No. That's just it: I don't think I need an escort at all. I know the way; I get myself here every morning," she added with a laugh.
"When you're in your father's house, it's his responsibility to get you safely to wherever you may go. When you leave my house, it's my responsibility. So you get an escort."
"Are you implying that my father isn't doing his duty by letting me walk alone?"
"Not at all. I'm sure he knows best. But if I am careful of my treasures, how much more careful should I be if I have the keeping of someone else's treasure? If I lose my treasure through my own negligence, I have only myself to blame. But if I lose your father's treasure . . . well, let's say I don't want to know what he might do to me. I'm sure he can hurt me."
That made Ysabel laugh, but later that night, when she was lying in bed, she thought about it more carefully. She wasn't sure if Astir was just full of noble ideals, or if he was really afraid that something might happen to her. She couldn't decide, because he seemed to be a mix of both. He loved to read the old romantic tales and even though he wasn't a knight, he was in love with the ideals of knightly virtue. But at the same time, he had been raised in a state of heightened paranoia all his life. For him, worrying about something happening must be second nature.
One evening, Ysabel was surprised to find the guard waiting to take her home was her father.
"Are you going home early?" she asked.
"Yes."
They fell into step as they walked home, neither one speaking. Hadrian had always been a taciturn man and didn't spend much time talking to anyone—even his own family. He wasn't naturally affectionate, either, and his three girls had grown up early, having to take care of themselves and each other while he worked. But Ysabel knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that her father loved all of them. They had a large, comfortable house—each girl had her own bedroom—and nice clothes, and they always had shoes; they never wanted for food and never went cold in winter. Their father was absent a lot—physically and emotionally—but he always provided for them. Most children growing up as orphans had not had one-tenth the things that Ysabel and her sisters had; they were rich compared to most. And many orphaned children had been put to work as soon as possible—at age ten or so—because there was such a need for laborers and craftsmen. But Ysabel's father had sent his girls to the Academy—the best school there was in the kingdom—and let them get an education without having to worry about working and earning a living.
That Ysabel was working now was because she had chosen to, not because her father or circumstances compelled her to. And her father even allowed her to keep all of her earnings, even though she was now, legally, considered an adult and she rightly owed him a portion of her wages to pay for her keep. Ysabel knew that taking care of another person said "I love you" just as much—or more—than words. And she always tried to say the same thing to him by making his dinner every night, keeping the house clean, and helping raise her sisters.
"Ysabel, I want to talk to you about something," her father said after a few minutes.
"Yes, sir?"
He glanced around, then led her into a deserted alley. His voice dropped to a whisper. "What is the nature of your relationship with Prince Astir? People around the castle are beginning to talk . . ."
"What are they saying?" she asked curiously.
"Some say that you two are in love, or that he is in love with you but you do not reciprocate, or even that you are or will become his mistress until he can find a queen." He frowned, which looked odd—and a little scary; he hardly showed emotion one way or the other. "I don't like to hear such things about you."
"I don't like to hear such things either, as they're lies," Ysabel said firmly. I would never consent to be any man's mistress."
"Good. I thought that much wasn't true, but . . . the prince is not a Knight of Hyrule, and while I would like to think well of him, he is not under the same obligations that we are."
"I think he is as honorable as any Knight," Ysabel declared. "His foot may not allow him to be one, but that doesn't mean that he doesn't believe in those same ideals—and want to uphold them."
"I'm glad to hear that."
"As to the rest . . ." She shrugged her shoulders. "I'm not sure."
"You're not sure of his intentions towards you?"
"Oh, I'm pretty sure of those. He's already asked me to marry him."
Her father reeled, looking utterly shocked. "W-what?"
"When I went to that ball for his birthday, I met him there—although I didn't know who he was at the time—and he proposed marriage to me. I later thought that he must have been joking or playing a cruel trick, but now that I've spent some more time with him, I think he's in earnest. He's hinted that his offer is still on the table, any time I choose to accept. I think he's spending time with me in order to woo me."
Her father was so shocked, he was speechless for a few moments. "Why . . . why would he show such interest in you when he has the pick of the ladies of court?"
"I don't know; I've asked myself the same thing. But . . . I was kind to him at the party when others were not. And I think he's taken a liking to me because of that. But, we do have a lot in common," she added. "He is a student of history, too, and we spend a lot of time talking about that and other subjects, too."
"I can see why that would be attractive to you," her father admitted. "You always have been an intellectual child—your head full of thoughts."
"He's the same way."
He looked at her. "If I had not asked about this, would you have ever told me?"
"There's not much to tell," she said. "He's courting me, but I'm not sure if I want to be courted."
"Do I have to speak to him?" he asked, bristling a little.
"I didn't mean that he's bothering me," she hurried to explain. "I just mean . . . I'm not in love with the idea of being a queen. If he was someone else—anyone else—I think I would have already agreed to marry him. But I'm not a noblewoman and we're not a noble family. I've seen just enough of court to think I wouldn't feel comfortable being there all the time—especially being in charge of it."
Her father smiled slightly. "Any other girl would want him specifically because he's the prince."
"I'm not like other girls."
"Certainly not. You have more sense than many twice your age."
They continued their walk towards home. After a few minutes, Ysabel spoke again. "What do you think I should do, Father?"
He frowned again and stroked his beard. "I'm not sure," he admitted.
"He has all but said he would give me a barony as dower. You could retire there—you and the girls—and just manage it for me and not have to work so hard. I'm sure Lacey and Kedra would be thrilled to have parties and entertain. Knowing the prince, he'd give you all titles so you could be noble; I'd probably not even have to ask."
"I am not an old man just yet," Hadrian said, bristling a bit again. "I can still provide for myself and my family; I need not sell my daughter to the highest bidder."
"I didn't mean it that way, Father. I just meant. . ." She stopped to look at him. "I would like to give you something after you have given me so much."
His eyes softened and he rewarded her with a rare smile. "Ysabel, you do not owe me anything. I chose to be your father—with all the responsibility and sacrifice that entails. You, on the other hand, did not choose to be my daughter, so it seems unfair to burden you with an unasked for debt."
She looked at him for a moment, then took his hand. "I would like to think that, when my soul was in the Other World, I saw you and Mother living here and I chose to be your daughter."
His smile broadened. If Ysabel wasn't mistaken, there were actually tears in his eyes. At any rate, he seemed too emotional to speak, so he just squeezed her hand tightly.
They were almost to the house before he finally spoke again. "Ysabel, you are a smart girl—smarter, even, than me. I'm sure whatever you decide, it will be the right decision for you, and I will stand by you either way. It's not a decision to be made lightly, though, so I only ask that you take your time."
"Believe me, Father, I know. That it is so heavy a decision is why I haven't already decided. But I don't think I can wait indefinitely, either. Prince Astir's patience is surely not limitless and there are plenty of other girls who will no doubt try to catch his eye. My decision may get made for me."
"Sometimes we decide things by making no decision at all," Hardian said wisely.
