“It’s a book,” Sheldon said, disappointed and more than a little vexed. He slapped the side of the casket and turned in anger.

Farilane studied the tome. It was in excellent condition. The cover was fine calfskin, though not nearly so refined as most new codices. There was no title or author visible on the outside. Expecting interruption, condemnation, or sheer anger from the monks, she opened the book to silence and stillness, and read the first sentence.

In the days of darkness before the war, men were called Rhunes.

Farilane nearly dropped the book.

“Sweet cackling serenade!” She stared down at the pages in her hands and began to shake. “It’s The Book of Brin.” She looked up at Kile. “The Book of Brin! The original!”

“Written in the hand of Brin himself almost two thousand years ago,” the abbot told her.

“It can’t be,” Farilane said, though every standing hair on her body told her it was. “It’s in such good condition. The ink . . . it’s so vibrant and clear.”

“We’ve taken good care of it.”

“At the risk of sounding like an ass, leaving the book in a coffin with a decomposing body isn’t really taking good care of it.”

The abbot seemed about to smile. The same expression fluttered across the other monks’ faces. “And yet . . .” The monk spread his hands, which appeared all the more impressive with his long, loose sleeves.

“Okay, sure . . . can’t argue with results. Do you . . . would it be all right if I were to spend some time looking at this?”

“Of course it’s yours. It belongs to you.”

“It . . . Really?”

The abbot nodded. “Forgive me for saying, but you are the Princess Farilane, are you not?”

“It was the hair that gave me away, wasn’t it?” She glanced at Kile. “I really should look into dyeing it, or maybe it would be easier to just shave it off.”

This brought surprised looks from Hildreth and Thorlac.

“As a descendant of the Empress Persephone, who—as a member of Clan Rhen, was a cousin to both Brin and Bran the Beloved—it is your rightful inheritance,” the abbot said.

Farilane nodded. As she did, a smile grew on her lips. “I’m going to be up all night.”

Chapter 12: Unexpected Consequences

Chapter Twelve
Unexpected Consequences

Breakfast was a spread on the same veranda where they’d eaten supper. The mood between the diners was far better, and the food just as good, but Farilane struggled to eat. Excitement had stolen her appetite. She had spent the remainder of the night reading, voyaging by lamplight through handwritten pages penned by a legend. Only Kile’s logic—that she could not continue her expedition of discovery if she died from starvation—managed to lure her to the table. Even so, she brought the book.