The Book of Terrus: The Ghosts of Goran

Chapter 8 - Beloved, Maybe

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Jatheryn came up spluttering, cool water dripping down the nape of his neck to raise gooseflesh across his bare shoulders. Eyes closed, he fumbled for the nearby towel and buried his face in it. The pungent scent of dye was everywhere. It was the best quality that money could buy, and yet still the natural white of Jatheryn's hair stubbornly kept wearing through only days after each dye.

Giving his head a vigorous rub, Jatheryn left the yellow-stained towel draped across the wash basin. He picked up his dark blue tunic from a nearby chair and pulled it on, taking care to avoid his wet hair. The day was still young, and outside birds sang in the lilac hedges. A light breeze stirred the curtains, shading the light pouring in from Jatheryn's balcony. This was the perfect sort of morning for music.

Jatheryn's viol leaned invitingly in the corner, the bow hung next to it. There were no pressing demands on Jatheryn's time that morning, so he was only too happy to accept the call to play. He drew up a stool and took the instrument in hand, the body of the viol settled comfortably between his knees and the bow fitting into his hand like an old friend. Years of familiarity lay between himself and this viol. When he laid the bow to the strings and began a series of scales to warm up, it felt as natural as breathing.

The sound, so rich and spirited, seemed almost unfitting for the gilded surrounding of the Saurivic estate. Jatheryn imagined that the true home of a viol was on a mountainside in the hands of a simple bard, playing a jaunty little tune to welcome the sunrise. Following his thoughts, he leapt straight from his exercises into a gay melody about a farmer's daughter and the sun.

Just as the bow in Jatheryn's hand really began to dance upon the strings, a knock came at the door to his rooms. A sigh of pure frustration escaped him. How could someone as lonely as him be so short on peace and privacy? With great reluctance Jatheryn set aside his viol and went to answer the door.

It was Jenni, Awenis' maidservant. The doe-eyed girl hastily curtsied, lifting the hem of her simple green dress.

"Begging your pardon for the interruption, milord, but your lord father and lady mother asked me to call you downstairs. They await you in the library."

"Very well, thank you Jenni," Jatheryn said.

"Milord." Jenni dipped her chin and turned to go. Pausing at the end of the hallway, she turned and looked back. "Your playing is very fine, Lord Jatheryn."

"...Thank you."

Tucking away the compliment from the servant girl, Jatheryn braced himself for the unknown and headed for the stairs. The libraries were on the far western side of the Saurivic estate, and it took a fair few minutes to get there. Jatheryn made no attempt to hurry. By the time he was reaching for the dragon-shaped library door handles, he hoped he was sufficiently prepared for whatever it was his parents wanted to discuss.

The Saurivic estate library was by far the oldest part of the building. Several times Tyene had tried to convince Jalborn to renovate and refurbish the library, but always Jalborn insisted history was happier in settings to match. Jatheryn wound through bookshelves of carven mahogany, their contents veiled under a fine layer of dust. Here were kept the records of the entire Saurivic line, all the way back to their founder, Taebor, youngest son of First King Amenthis himself.

There were also copies of famous poetry, original manuscripts, and architecture plans from the original estate design. Every generation of Saurivics added something of their own tastes to the estate though, while removing something of the previous generation. Jalborn had sworn sideways that nothing more would be changed while he was still head of the Saurivics. The shelves where renovation records were kept were looking particularly dusty.