The Length of Years (The Inquisitor's Account Book 1) - Xan Kaplan

The Length of Years (The Inquisitor's Account Book 1) by Xan Kaplan

Book excerpt

I was born in an isolated corner of rural Tar-ma-rin, in a small castle called Lyekeep, in the town of Lye-St-Eere. You have almost certainly already heard of what took place there. We’ll get to that later, for you cannot understand what was taken from me until you understand what I had to lose. My father was good and wise; my mother gentle and kind. My half-sister Varille was known throughout Tar-ma-rin for her beauty, and as for myself, I was as carefree as any boy could be.

Lye-St-Eere, and my family, were both named for Saint Eeres who first discovered gold in the western mountains. Of course, that gold had run out centuries ago. Money was something we had very little of. Though my father was a duke, he was not a wealthy one. I never knew this. As a boy, I believed all dukes helped with the harvest, and all duchesses lent a hand to sew torn bedding. We may not have had the life of leisure that some other nobility enjoy, but we were happy.

I spent most of my days running in the fields behind Lyekeep, climbing trees and fording the sweet little stream that flowed through our lands. As my parents could not afford a proper tutor, it was Varille who was in charge of my schooling. She was decently well-read, but had no aptitude for teaching—and no interest in wasting her time with me, as I was a hopeless student. If I ever begged, she was only too happy to let me skip my lessons. And I often begged. As such, my childhood was rather wild, unfettered by rules or schedule. I’d often disappear in the early mornings, playing or exploring until it was time for dinner. When the shadows grew long, I’d be called inside either by Varille or my mother, and I would sit down to food that was never stale or spoiled. In fact, I did not know that food could spoil. I believed it was always fresh as the day it was harvested.

One day, in midsummer, I was summoned earlier than usual. The sun was still high in the sky but my mother’s call rang, clear and loud, across the fields. I considered ignoring her. I could pretend I had been downstream catching frogs, or in the far field where we kept our donkeys, and therefore out of earshot. However, there was an edge in her voice that I had not heard before. With some trepidation I made my way back to Lyekeep, wondering the whole time if my mother had discovered some toy I’d left out or mud I’d tracked in. When I arrived, she seemed more nervous than angry.

“Hurry up and get washed for dinner,” she said. “The servants have put out clothing for you. And please be thorough.” She looked me up and down, her lips pursing slightly. “Don’t leave any dirt under your fingernails.”

I nodded and scampered off. In the typical way of grownups, she’d told me what to do but not why. And so, when I looked out the little window in my chamber, I was surprised to see a covered carriage winding its way up the long road towards Lyekeep. It was pulled by two fit-looking stallions, both with elaborately braided manes. I wanted to watch more so I could see the seal on its side as it came closer, but doing so would interfere with following my mother’s orders. And though she had never punished me, the thought of her disappointed face motivated me much more than the spankings my playmates all received from their own parents. I rushed to wash myself and put on the clothing that had been left on my bed.

It was my most formal dinner cloth, and I’d nearly outgrown it. I wore the outfit so rarely that I hadn’t even noticed the change. Squeezing into the waistcoat, I made a note to ask my mother for a new set. Though, to be honest, I wouldn’t have minded fully growing out of the ensemble and never seeing it again. Our house colors were navy, paired with a foppish powder blue. My father made it look dashing but with my yellow hair and cherub cheeks I found that when I wore it, I much resembled a pageboy in a mummer’s play. Still, I dared not disappoint my parents by showing up at dinner in something else.

Once I was suitably presentable, I scurried downstairs. The carriage must be almost here by now, and I was dying of curiosity. We almost never had guests, and when we did, they tended to ride in wagons. The last time a carriage had arrived it had carried Lord Falerdown, whose visit we had known about for months before it happened. This was a stranger and, better yet, a mystery. I bounded down the hallway, nearly dashing past the Great Hall where my father was sitting by the fire, arguing with Zed.

Zed was our mage, and my father’s only indulgence. At the time, I did not know what an extravagant expense a mage could be. I assumed every noble house had one, the same way they had a cook or a groundskeeper. It was only later that I learned their cost. I still can’t fathom how my father afforded to keep him on. Looking back, it’s clear that he was the reason why our food never spoiled, why the sheep never died birthing lambs and our crops never suffered blight. But still, a mage did not fit into my father’s meager budget. And I never saw Zed being paid. He was simply treated as a member of the household and that was that. I didn’t think more of it at the time, back when I was surrounded by people I could have asked.

For the most part, I avoided him. He slept often, and when he woke he was sullen and quiet. He liked to read. He did not like to climb trees or play in the stream, and therefore I had no use for him. Can you imagine that? I spent my whole youth with a mage living down the hall from me, and I thought he was boring because he didn’t climb trees?

But, I shall not chide myself for not knowing then what I know now. On that particular night, he caught my attention because he was arguing with my father. This was rare. No one argued with my father. The duke was a stern man, but he was just, and when he said something his words were taken at face value. Being the nosy sort, I stopped to eavesdrop. I peeked into the room, breathing as quietly as I could. I did not need to worry. Neither of them so much as glanced in my direction. Though I had missed the first part of their discussion, the tension between them was obvious.