The Lost Princess

Chapter Twenty-Nine: The Man with No Face pt. 1

A very young Amara scampered through a grand library. Light poured in from the dozens of windows that stretched from floor to ceiling. Dust glittered in the yellow rays, floating through the air stirred up by the young girl as she plucked book after book from the shelves. They lay scattered about, all kinds—atlases, encyclopedias, myths and legends, and storybooks. They were opened to favored pages, then cast aside in delight of another. The rapid-fire reader finally settled in the middle of the room with an intricately decorated book. It had three moons on the front: gold, white, and purple, one in each color. This book was her favorite.

She ran her small, childish hands over the volume. The corners were worn and the pages were loose, threatening to flutter to the floor as Amara thumbed through them. Soon she found her favorite page: the picture of a magnificent elk with the same three-colored moons cradled in its antlers. The symbol of her kingdom—the kingdom she would one day rule.

A tall man entered through the library doors, a large silver crown on his brow. His brown eyes sparkled with affection and tenderness as they rested on his daughter. "Ah, there you are, my dear," the man spoke, a jolly laugh leaving his lips.

"Papa!" The young Amara jumped up, letting the ancient book slip from her lap as she bounded across the room, flinging herself into her father's arms.

The man enfolded her in his embrace. "I see you have found many books that suit your fancy," he said, looking around the disheveled library.

"Read one of them," pleaded Amara, her golden-amber eyes shining.

"Of course, dear heart. Which shall I read?"

"The Legend of the Moonstones," chirped Amara, hands placed commandingly on her father's shoulders.

The king guffawed and replied, "Again? Do you wish for no other story?"

"It is my favorite, Papa," said Amara, her expression scolding.

Her father beamed. "The legend it is, for I can refuse you nothing."

"Hurray!"

The young Amara was returned to her feet, and she scurried over to the abandoned book, scooping it up and waiting for her father to sit in their favorite chair. She crawled into his lap, snuggling against him, and waited as he flipped to the requested story. But before a word could leave his lips, a loud knock echoed through the room.

A palace aide entered and bowed to the king. "Sire, there is a man here to see you."

A deep frown crossed the monarch's face. He stood, setting his daughter on her feet. "A man? Does this impromptu visitor have a name?" he asked.

"The man would not say, my lord. But he claims to have visited before. Shall I admit him?" asked the aide, a nervous tremor in his voice.

"Yes. I would like to meet the man who deems it fit to demand entrance to my home without telling us his name."

The aide hurried into the hall.

"Papa?" Amara asked. Her father's face was concerned and vaguely irate.

The door opened, and Amara's heart fluttered strangely. The hallway seemed dark despite the sunny day, as if no light could penetrate it.

A man entered the library. He was stately and well dressed, but the colors of the room were suddenly drab, and he seemed to suck the light of the room into himself. Amara's mind seemed foggy suddenly with the mysterious man's approach. Everything seemed out of focus. Her vision was dull with no sharp edges. She tried to bring her eyes to the man's face but found, to her surprise, that she could not.

"What is your business coming here? I told you never to return," growled her father, his voice filled with distrust.

Little Amara was alarmed, having never heard her father speak in such a tone. Again she tried to force herself to look at the man's face. Instead she felt her legs carry her quickly past him and out into the hall. But she didn't leave. The page who had brought the guest had gone and was not there to chase her away. She crouched outside the door, pressing her ear to it.

Her father was on edge.

"I will not listen to you again. Your presence here is unwanted, just as it was before. I request you leave immediately."

"I have new information," replied the stranger coolly. "The end of the stones is imminent."

"My child will not have the fate of the world set in her hands. I will not have it."

"Then will you bear the stones for their final days, great king? Will you set into motion all that has been foretold? The burden will be great, but together as allies, I believe I could help you."

"I do not need your help!"

Amara flinched as her father shouted.

"I will hear no more of your rebellious plans. The land of Rhovamben has been at peace for many moons. Take your superstitions and prophecies somewhere else. We do not need more power-hungry dictators. We need healers."

Amara shrank back as the man exited the room. His figure was blurry, and a great black cloak billowed around him as he walked away. As she watched him from behind, a small stirring in the pit of her stomach grew suddenly into a jolt of alarm, and she awoke.

Goroth!

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