republic, bring the rightful heir to the throne.
A memorial chapel, located in the new wing of the library, the Platus
Morianna wing—had been set aside, by the king's command, to
honor the dead. It was this wing, this chapel, that were to be
dedicated today.
The ceremony was to take place in the evening. Before that, in the
afternoon, Dion was accorded the honor of a private tour of the
Academy grounds. The new buildings had been completed and open for
use for several months prior to the dedication, the king's busy
schedule having precluded him from coming earlier. But the buildings
had all been closed the day before His Majesty's arrival for cleaning
and decorating, done by the students themselves.
The dean of students was the proud guide. She walked His Majesty
relentlessly over every centimeter of the new structures, pointed out
every new feature of the new library, and would have undoubtedly
exhibited each new volume individually had time allowed. His Majesty
was interested and attentive, however, and if Dion's eyes
occasionally strayed out the windows, to the crowds to students
massed outside to catch a glimpse of their king (and he was their king, being the same age as most of them), no one noticed the lapse
except D'argent, who noticed everything, and the captain of the Royal
Guard, whose duty it was to watch over His Majesty's every move.
And perhaps by the headmaster, a quiet and unassuming man, who
reminded Dion of his own mentor, Platus.
"You have done a splendid job, Dean, Headmaster," said Dion
when they were nearing the end of the tour. "This is exactly what we had in mind. We couldn't be more pleased."
"Thank you, Your Majesty." The headmaster smiled with quiet
pride. Both he and the dean were dressed in their academic
gowns—long, flowing-sleeved black robes with silk-lined hoods,
which had been a tradition among scholars for centuries.
"Working on this project has been a true labor of love for me
and for my staff. We deeply appreciate Your Majesty's support."
They had emerged from the new music conservatory and were standing at
the end of a corridor, on ground level. "But where is the
memorial chapel?" Dion asked.
"Ah, we have saved the best until last, Your Majesty. This way."
The headmaster, accompanied by the dean, and the king, accompanied by
the ever-present, ever-vigilant Royal Guard and the quiet,
unobtrusive D'argent, proceeded to the end of the corridor.
There were no other rooms in this part of the building, no windows.
The walls were painted in soft, subdued colors; the lights gradually
dimmed as the party proceeded down the corridor, giving an effect
both soothing to the eye, calming to the soul. At the end of the
corridor stood a large double door, carved of oak, bearing the emblem
of the lions-head sun, the king's standard. The doors had no handles,
no locks.
"As Your Majesty requested," said the headmaster. "It
is open to all, day and night."
Dion gave the doors a gentle push, walked inside.
The chapel was a round room, cloistered, but light and airy. Its
walls were of marble, whose stern aspect was softened by a row of
slender columns forming a series of arches around the chapel's outer
perimeter. Diffused light, from a glass dome in the ceiling, cast the
columns' shadows against the marble walls behind them, forming a
delicate pattern of light and darkness.
Beneath the skylight was a fountain, carved of limestone, unadorned,
plain and simple in design. The name platus morianna was
engraved in the stone.
Dion walked up to the fountain, stood a moment in silence, his head
bowed, his thoughts with the gentle man who had raised him, who had
given his life for him.
The headmaster held back a moment, out of respect. Then he came
forward to stand by Dion's side.
"The chapel is quite popular with the students, Your Majesty.
Several traditions have already sprung up concerning it. It is said,
for example, that the sound of the falling water has a soothing
effect upon
A memorial chapel, located in the new wing of the library, the Platus
Morianna wing—had been set aside, by the king's command, to
honor the dead. It was this wing, this chapel, that were to be
dedicated today.
The ceremony was to take place in the evening. Before that, in the
afternoon, Dion was accorded the honor of a private tour of the
Academy grounds. The new buildings had been completed and open for
use for several months prior to the dedication, the king's busy
schedule having precluded him from coming earlier. But the buildings
had all been closed the day before His Majesty's arrival for cleaning
and decorating, done by the students themselves.
The dean of students was the proud guide. She walked His Majesty
relentlessly over every centimeter of the new structures, pointed out
every new feature of the new library, and would have undoubtedly
exhibited each new volume individually had time allowed. His Majesty
was interested and attentive, however, and if Dion's eyes
occasionally strayed out the windows, to the crowds to students
massed outside to catch a glimpse of their king (and he was their king, being the same age as most of them), no one noticed the lapse
except D'argent, who noticed everything, and the captain of the Royal
Guard, whose duty it was to watch over His Majesty's every move.
And perhaps by the headmaster, a quiet and unassuming man, who
reminded Dion of his own mentor, Platus.
"You have done a splendid job, Dean, Headmaster," said Dion
when they were nearing the end of the tour. "This is exactly what we had in mind. We couldn't be more pleased."
"Thank you, Your Majesty." The headmaster smiled with quiet
pride. Both he and the dean were dressed in their academic
gowns—long, flowing-sleeved black robes with silk-lined hoods,
which had been a tradition among scholars for centuries.
"Working on this project has been a true labor of love for me
and for my staff. We deeply appreciate Your Majesty's support."
They had emerged from the new music conservatory and were standing at
the end of a corridor, on ground level. "But where is the
memorial chapel?" Dion asked.
"Ah, we have saved the best until last, Your Majesty. This way."
The headmaster, accompanied by the dean, and the king, accompanied by
the ever-present, ever-vigilant Royal Guard and the quiet,
unobtrusive D'argent, proceeded to the end of the corridor.
There were no other rooms in this part of the building, no windows.
The walls were painted in soft, subdued colors; the lights gradually
dimmed as the party proceeded down the corridor, giving an effect
both soothing to the eye, calming to the soul. At the end of the
corridor stood a large double door, carved of oak, bearing the emblem
of the lions-head sun, the king's standard. The doors had no handles,
no locks.
"As Your Majesty requested," said the headmaster. "It
is open to all, day and night."
Dion gave the doors a gentle push, walked inside.
The chapel was a round room, cloistered, but light and airy. Its
walls were of marble, whose stern aspect was softened by a row of
slender columns forming a series of arches around the chapel's outer
perimeter. Diffused light, from a glass dome in the ceiling, cast the
columns' shadows against the marble walls behind them, forming a
delicate pattern of light and darkness.
Beneath the skylight was a fountain, carved of limestone, unadorned,
plain and simple in design. The name platus morianna was
engraved in the stone.
Dion walked up to the fountain, stood a moment in silence, his head
bowed, his thoughts with the gentle man who had raised him, who had
given his life for him.
The headmaster held back a moment, out of respect. Then he came
forward to stand by Dion's side.
"The chapel is quite popular with the students, Your Majesty.
Several traditions have already sprung up concerning it. It is said,
for example, that the sound of the falling water has a soothing
effect upon
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