perform even the most basic of controlled Featherbreaths. You must take care not to treat the Arcania like a toy. Magic always has a cost. And the Tower of Water is perhaps the most … inconstant.”
“I just wanted to…” Robin wasn’t really sure what he had wanted.
“To show off?” Irene finished for him with a little smile. Robin flushed. “Well, you are a boy after all. It’s in your nature to do so. You had Henry there with you, which I’m not convinced is always a steadying influence. And of course, Calypso cannot help her nature. Nymphs do tend to bring out the chest-beating in the male species, heaven help us all. And they have little common sense as far as you or I would understand the concept.”
“She didn’t tell me not to try it,” Robin said, feeling he should defend his actions, however flimsily.
“Well, no, she wouldn’t have,” Irene nodded. “Nymphs are not truly concerned with the fates of others … on the whole. They are a self-centred people. They are drawn only to the strongest of emotions. Love, grief, hate. It is probably why so many of them fell to Eris’ cause in the war, drawn by her passion. I’m fairly certain, if you had asked your tutor whether you should run with scissors, she would have suggested you attempt to cartwheel also.”
She interlaced her fingers in her lap. “You, however, are not a nymph; you are the Scion of the Arcania, and, more than practical casting, combat training or mana-management, much more importantly, you must cultivate the skill of common sense.”
Robin nodded contritely, staring at the golden rugs as his yellow hair fell into his eyes.
“Now, don’t look so grim,” Irene insisted, her clipped tones softening a little. “Your tutor may be a little … unconventional as authority figures go, but I stand by her appointment. I hired her after all. She will teach you what you need to know. And it could be worse. Nymphs can be careless with the lives of men, but at least she isn’t a siren. Those creatures are malicious.”
Robin had always thought of nymphs and sirens as the same thing. “Was it a siren we found today?” Robin asked, referring to the grave and their grisly discovery.
“Fates, no!” Irene sniffed. “Sirens are base creatures. Wickedly clever, but mostly just wicked. They live in the dark places, and they are always hungry. What you found today is an Undine. A type of Panthea you have not yet met. Distantly related to nymphs like your tutor, but only in the way that lions…” She glanced at the flickering carved fireplace. “ … Are related to fluffy housecats.”
Robin was intrigued as she continued. “Undine are fierce and powerful beings. Wiser and more knowledgeable than you could imagine, and masters, true masters, of the Tower of Water. Beautiful to a one. They would make your rather glamorous tutor look like a dull dishrag in comparison, although she at least could pass for human in a pinch. Undine could not. They are a much older race.”
She indicated a tea-table by her chair. “Whether through accident or design of the fates, you discovered the last resting place of one of these elder-beings today. Right here under our noses. More importantly though, Robin, you discovered this.”
The cylinder of dark wood lay on the table top. The odd tube they had found the dead Undine holding so tightly. Irene reached out and picked it up, turning it over in her hands.
“It is quite safe,” she assured him. “Calypso feared it may be cursed, or protected, but it was merely … hidden. Whoever placed it there clearly thought that Erlking was protection enough.”
She passed it to him. It was surprisingly light. Clearly hollow.
“What is it?” he asked, turning it over in his hands. It was intricately carved with stylised waves, and what looked like swirling lettering worked into the design.
“It is a scroll case,” his aunt replied quietly. He was aware that she was watching him carefully, studying him.
“I just wanted to…” Robin wasn’t really sure what he had wanted.
“To show off?” Irene finished for him with a little smile. Robin flushed. “Well, you are a boy after all. It’s in your nature to do so. You had Henry there with you, which I’m not convinced is always a steadying influence. And of course, Calypso cannot help her nature. Nymphs do tend to bring out the chest-beating in the male species, heaven help us all. And they have little common sense as far as you or I would understand the concept.”
“She didn’t tell me not to try it,” Robin said, feeling he should defend his actions, however flimsily.
“Well, no, she wouldn’t have,” Irene nodded. “Nymphs are not truly concerned with the fates of others … on the whole. They are a self-centred people. They are drawn only to the strongest of emotions. Love, grief, hate. It is probably why so many of them fell to Eris’ cause in the war, drawn by her passion. I’m fairly certain, if you had asked your tutor whether you should run with scissors, she would have suggested you attempt to cartwheel also.”
She interlaced her fingers in her lap. “You, however, are not a nymph; you are the Scion of the Arcania, and, more than practical casting, combat training or mana-management, much more importantly, you must cultivate the skill of common sense.”
Robin nodded contritely, staring at the golden rugs as his yellow hair fell into his eyes.
“Now, don’t look so grim,” Irene insisted, her clipped tones softening a little. “Your tutor may be a little … unconventional as authority figures go, but I stand by her appointment. I hired her after all. She will teach you what you need to know. And it could be worse. Nymphs can be careless with the lives of men, but at least she isn’t a siren. Those creatures are malicious.”
Robin had always thought of nymphs and sirens as the same thing. “Was it a siren we found today?” Robin asked, referring to the grave and their grisly discovery.
“Fates, no!” Irene sniffed. “Sirens are base creatures. Wickedly clever, but mostly just wicked. They live in the dark places, and they are always hungry. What you found today is an Undine. A type of Panthea you have not yet met. Distantly related to nymphs like your tutor, but only in the way that lions…” She glanced at the flickering carved fireplace. “ … Are related to fluffy housecats.”
Robin was intrigued as she continued. “Undine are fierce and powerful beings. Wiser and more knowledgeable than you could imagine, and masters, true masters, of the Tower of Water. Beautiful to a one. They would make your rather glamorous tutor look like a dull dishrag in comparison, although she at least could pass for human in a pinch. Undine could not. They are a much older race.”
She indicated a tea-table by her chair. “Whether through accident or design of the fates, you discovered the last resting place of one of these elder-beings today. Right here under our noses. More importantly though, Robin, you discovered this.”
The cylinder of dark wood lay on the table top. The odd tube they had found the dead Undine holding so tightly. Irene reached out and picked it up, turning it over in her hands.
“It is quite safe,” she assured him. “Calypso feared it may be cursed, or protected, but it was merely … hidden. Whoever placed it there clearly thought that Erlking was protection enough.”
She passed it to him. It was surprisingly light. Clearly hollow.
“What is it?” he asked, turning it over in his hands. It was intricately carved with stylised waves, and what looked like swirling lettering worked into the design.
“It is a scroll case,” his aunt replied quietly. He was aware that she was watching him carefully, studying him.
Similar Books
