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The record keeper chuckled. “It is an explanation commonly given to those who might be tempted to try their hand at passing the ‘impassable’ waters.” His expression grew grave. “It took many many shipwrecks for our ancestors to accept that we cannot sail east more than a few days’ journey.”
Heath looked back at the record, his mind reeling from the new information. He scanned the page, his eyes widening at the sight of a familiar word further down the record.
“We left them with our good wishes,” he muttered, again reading aloud. “They are truly a noble people. I am sure they will learn to live in harmony with their magical brothers. But I shall say no more here. I am bound to secrecy.”
Heath stared at the page, a sense of excitement mounting. The record keeper glanced up and read his expression.
“Reached the part about being ‘bound to secrecy’, have you?” He chuckled. “That captain certainly loved to be dramatic.”
“He talks about their magical brothers,” said Heath slowly. “What does that mean?”
“Poetic language, I imagine,” said the record keeper vaguely. “It’s in his style, isn’t it?”
Heath didn’t respond. The record keeper was right about the captain’s style, but Heath was convinced there was something real behind the flowery words.
“I wonder if they did find a way to coexist,” he muttered, mainly to himself.
The record keeper looked up quickly, his voice a little sharper. “What was that?”
“Nothing,” said Heath quickly, stepping back from the record. “I’d better be going. Thank you for your help.”
The record keeper was watching him, a shrewd look in his eyes. “It’s just a legend, My Lord, I’m almost certain of it. Did you see the fantastical descriptions he gave of maelstroms and sea monsters?”
“Yes, I saw,” said Heath quickly. “Probably just a legend, as you say.”
He could feel the older man’s eyes on him as he hurried from the records room, but his thoughts were elsewhere. He didn’t even feel self-conscious at the strange looks he got from passing servants as he muttered aloud to himself, caught up in his musings.
“Vazula.”
* * *
Heath had been dreading the final round of the hand to hand combat, knowing that Percival would be as cross as a bear through the whole thing. But as it happened, he spent most of the morning mulling over the intriguing revelations of his visit to the records room the day before.
Percival, of course, had no such distraction, and it was his grunts and mutterings that eventually pulled Heath’s attention back to the fight. The final two contestants were locked in a well-matched struggle, the clang of their swords and the clinking of their chain mail regularly swallowed by the crowd’s enthusiastic encouragement. Heath glanced at his brother, taking in the frustration written plainly across his face. He didn’t need his brother to speak to know that Percival was thinking he could easily have bested either one of the competitors.
The same thing had clearly occurred to others, as well. Many eyes were flicking in their direction, and this time it wasn’t just Heath who was the focus of their attention. Percival, with his ability of unnatural strength—a magic gift that was simple to understand, and impressive to witness—had always been popular among the common people.
One of the knights finally defeated the other, and the crowd erupted in cheers. Heath smiled briefly as the victor made his way to the royal stand to pay homage to King Matlock and Queen Renata, and to receive his token of victory.
The king and queen had only sons, no princesses. The king’s sister had a daughter, who carried the honorary title of princess, but she was recently married, and not present at the tournament that year. The role of giving the victor the customary kiss therefore fell to one of Heath’s many second cousins.
Lady Magnolia’s mother was a cousin to the king, just as Heath’s father was. But while the Duke of Bexley was the son of the former king’s brother, Magnolia’s mother was the daughter of the former king’s sister. She had inherited the older princess’s fiery hair, and—if rumors were to be believed—her irrepressible personality, as well.
She gave the kiss with flourish, her face dimpling mischievously as she bestowed on the winning knight a congratulatory—and undeniably flirtatious—smile.
Heath chuckled indulgently at the display, exchanging grins with his other cousins. Glancing along the line of the royals, he saw Magnolia’s grandmother, Princess Lavinia, sitting beside his own grandmother. The princess’s hair was no longer fiery in color, but her eyes still sparkled with mischief.
The sight of her husband sitting beside her made Heath’s smile slip away, however. It wasn’t that he had any dislike for the elderly lord who held the tournament’s record. On the contrary. Their story was a bit of a popular romance, Lord Henrik only being the youngest son of a viscount, and managing to win the princess’s hand by a feat of valor. But the carefree good humor clear on the couple’s face was a strong contrast to the pleasant but careful smiles worn by Heath’s own grandparents, sitting next to them. It was a reminder that, unlike Magnolia’s grandmother, Heath’s grandfather, brother to the former king, hadn’t married a Valorian. He had married a Kyonan with magic in her blood, introducing the mixed blessing of power to Valoria’s royal family.
Heath glanced back at Magnolia, smiling and waving to the admiring crowd. There was a reason Heath’s sister Laura, equal to Magnolia in rank, had never been asked to undertake this role. Just as there was a reason that Magnolia could afford to be cheerful and cheeky and the center of attention, without raising comment. She didn’t carry magic, and no one was afraid of her, or suspicious of her intentions.
Heath drew a deep breath, his thoughts once again returning to the mysterious reference to Vazula and its supposedly magic inhabitants. The thought that had been growing in his mind hardened into determination. He would leave the capital the next day, and call on Reka as soon as he reached home. If there was any chance that a kingdom existed somewhere where magic and non-magic people had been successfully coexisting for centuries, he wanted to find it.
He smiled slightly to himself. Yes, generations of Valorians had deemed the East Seas impassable.
But they had never tried traveling by dragon.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
