Page 25 of Apple Boy

I saw Adam’s gaze drop to my lap,

“A stone?” he gawped, and then he inhaled a sharp chilled breath on recognizing the large deep red gem. But before he could speak again and accuse me of goodness knows what, I galloped on,

“This gemstone was set in your father’s ring—the one said he found after a nobleman dropped dead in the courtyard of the Crown and Anchor Inn on the City Road when you were a child.”

“Aye, but—“

“The man that ring belonged to was my uncle, and he didn’t drop dead, he was murdered. See here—” I said opening Adam’s fingers and placing the gem in his palm for I did not want him to think that I was the thief,

“The intaglio design of a rose thorn. That is my family seal. That ring belonged to my Uncle Aleccio. It belongs to the Aeling family.” I explained.

Adam was silent for a long moment, his gaze locked on the stone in the center of his left palm.

“Is my pa… a murderer? Did he kill your uncle and steal that ring?”

“No… no,” I gentled.

“Your father is many things, a brute, and a bully, but as far as I am aware, murder, no. A professional assassin killed my uncle.”

Silence fell between us as Adam absorbed all that I had said.

“Have you heard of the Dark Harvest?”

“Aye, the Lords of the Empire were wiped out on the same day te stop them carrying out the orders of the Twin Kings.” Adam recited as if he were reading a passage from a book.

“Correct. That was when it happened. Your pa wasn’t involved. He was an opportunist. He just stole something that he had no right to touch.”

Adam’s whole countenance sagged with relief. He tossed the gem up into the air as if it were a worthless beach pebble and alarmed; I snatched it.

“HEY! Do you have any idea what this is?” I said, mildly outraged.

“Nope, I always thought it was red glass. Pa called it his lucky ring, but I didn’t pay any mind to that. He was always talking shite!” Adam said, flopping back into the soft pillows and resting with his hands behind his head.

“I still don’t understand what this is all about. How did that stone make Fitzwarrin fly through the air?”

“Do you know the story of how the Kings ascended the throne of Osia?”

“What’s that got to do with anythin’?”

“Do you know?”

“Course I know, everyone knows. But, sure, maybe the version told in Thorn is different from ours. Tell me, Winter; I like hearing your stories.”

The compliment warmed me to the tips of my toes. “You can even add a giant or two if ye want,” he said, cocking a brow. I snickered and settled back beside him. With the flicker of golden firelight stealing my focus I began to speak.

“The tale told to me as a youth was that just over twenty years ago the twin princes, Fabian, and Kristoff Von Harte inherited a crown that was all but bankrupt, the wealth having been wasted by their father, King Emmerich.

Emmerich had been a good king, a kind king, until he took a fateful visit to the far side of the Empire, to the City of Serein. Witnessing the beauty of Serein sent him near mad with jealousy. The king became obsessed with creating a capital of greater wealth and beauty than the Erian capital. Osia have ruled the Empire for all of living memory, and none have dared to challenge that power, but this one city was different from all other capital cities because it was independent of Osian rule and had remained so for nearly six-hundred years.

Back then, Serein was officially named The Free Imperial City ofSerein. Serein possessed something Osia wanted, and so that unique status was given in return for goods and specialist services to the crown.”

“I know all that,” Adam protested, his head flopping to the side on his pillow as he pretended to be bored. I nudged him in the ribs, and he let out a laugh.

“Do you want me to continue or not?” I complained.

“Yes please,” Adam submitted. “Very well,” I took a breath and spoke on.

“King Emmerich’s obsession led to the commission of scores of buildings in the Osian capital, Altea. These buildings were grand and ornate, adorned with carvings, murals and sumptuous gilded detailing. Then, there were the thoroughfare projects, gardens, and architectural follies—no imagining by Osian architects was too outlandish, no expense too great.