The War of Queens

Chapter 57

Thomas

 “There he is!” the Servant exclaimed as Thomas entered the Temple.

 The Servant, who went by the name of Cyril, approached him. Behind him walked a man who wore the same fiery clothing as him, but who seemed younger. His dark hair and beard were both well-groomed, almost as though he were a lord.

 “Thomas, this is Lucas. He is a Servant of the Temple in Westhall,” he explained. “Lucas, this is Thomas Irving, the musician I told you about.”

 Lucas smiled. “How old are you, boy?”

 “Fourteen, sir,” he said, his eyes on his feet. Lucas’ eyes were a clear, sharp blue that seemed to look into his very soul.

 “Fourteen?” Lucas repeated. “And you already play the violin, the flute, the lute and the organ?”

 “Yes, sir.”

 He laughed, though Thomas could not see the joke. “There will be many who won’t believe that to be the truth. And do you sing?”

 Cyril cut in. “He has the voice of an angel. He even composes a bit.”

 “At the age of fourteen?” Lucas said, disbelieving.

 Cyril walked to Thomas. “Here is your letter of recommendation.” He handed over a letter and Thomas grasped it firmly. “Lucas will accompany you to the capital. When you arrive there, Lucas will show it to the Queen and she might give you an audience.”

 Thomas nodded. “Thank you so very much.”

 “Now, don’t let go of this letter even once,” Cyril said. “Not even for a second. It may hold the key to your future, if you’re lucky.”

 “I won’t, I promise,” he said.

 “Good.” Cyril kissed his forehead. “Now go, say goodbye to your loved ones. Tomorrow, Lucas will take you to Westhall.”

 Thomas bowed and back out of the Temple. From there, he followed the dirt road between the wheat fields that led from the Temple and the Garden of the Dead to the little town in which he lived.

 “Thomas! Thomas, wait!”

 He turned around to find Eloise Reed running after him. She was not considered the most beautiful of women by most men, though she was pretty in a plain fashion. However, they did not see the beauty in her smile, nor did they see how the Sun’s light sometimes formed a halo around her beautiful, brown tresses.

 She stopped before him, her breathing a little ragged, with a wide smile - even for her. “How did it go?”

 He smiled, he could not have helped it. “Perfectly well.”

 Her smile grew. “I am so happy. Where are they sending you.”

 “To the capital,” he said. “To the Queen herself, if possible.”

 She gasped. “The Queen? You must be the happiest man on earth,” she mused, standing on the tip of her toes briefly to kiss him.

 He watched her as she returned to her normal height and brought a hand up to caress the side of her face. “If only I didn’t have to leave you,” he whispered and placed a quick kiss on the tip of her nose.

 Her eyes fell closed. “You know my father. He won’t let me marry until I am fifteen.”

 “A year from now,” he said thoughtfully. “Perhaps, a year from now, I will be composing for Her Grace. Perhaps he will let us be married, then.”