He laughed. “Then so do I. Come tell me about it. I’ve brought some of your favorites.” He led me to a corner where he had spread a blanket. From a basket he pulled a sealed cask of sparkling cherry muscat, the bubbly vintage of the Morrighan vineyards that I adored but was only allowed to drink on special occasions. He also unwrapped half a wheel of sweet fig cheese and the toasted sesame crackers from the village baker. These were the tastes of home I hadn’t even realized I missed. We sat on the blanket, and I ate and drank and recounted the details of my theft.

It was the day before the wedding, and the Scholar was at the abbey officiating at the signing of the last documents. I still hadn’t made my final decision to flee, but as I sat in the darkness of my dressing chamber stewing, my well-honed animosity toward the Chancellor and Scholar reached its sharpest edge. They hadn’t even tried to hide their elation over my imminent departure when I went to the Chancellor’s offices earlier that morning to give my royal artifacts back to the collection. My crown, my rings, my seal—even my smallest jeweled hair baubles—the Chancellor made it clear that none of it could leave with me when I went to Dalbreck. He said my purpose wasn’t to enlarge the treasury of another kingdom.

The Scholar was there acting as witness and recorder. I had noticed he seemed especially eager for me to be on my way, rushing through his ledger, nervously shifting from one foot to another. I found it curious, since the Scholar was usually rigid and assertive in all his dealings with me. Just before I walked out the door, I was slammed with a thought—you have secrets—and I spun around. I saw the surprise on both their faces.

“Why have you always hated me?” I had asked.

The Scholar froze, deferring to the Chancellor. The Chancellor couldn’t even be bothered to look at me when he answered and went back to reviewing the ledger. He clucked like I was a foolish twit, and then in his snipped dismissive voice he said, “You’ve always asked the wrong questions, Princess. Maybe you should ask why I would have any reason to like you?” But the Scholar never moved, never took his eyes off me, as if he was waiting to see what I would do next.

Walther listened attentively. I explained how I turned our encounter over and over in my head as I stewed in my dressing chamber that afternoon, and the words hit me again. You have secrets. Of course they did, and I headed straight for the Scholar’s offices, since I knew he was at the abbey.

“It wasn’t hard to find, a false drawer on a bureau and one of my long hairpins easily picked the simple lock.”

“Are you going to leave me waiting in suspense? What did you steal?”

“That’s the strange part. I’m not sure.”

He cocked his head to the side, smirking, as if I was being coy.

“Truly, Walther. It was a few loose papers and two small books. Very thin old volumes. They were wrapped in a soft leather sleeve and placed in a gold box, but I can’t read either of them. They’re in ancient or foreign tongues.”

“Why would he hide them? He has his stable of lackeys who could translate them.”

“Unless they already did.” Which meant they should be part of the official collection. All recovered artifacts from ruins belonged to the realm, even ones found by soldiers in distant lands. It was a crime to secrete them away.

We both knew the Scholar was the Royal Scholar for good reason. He was not only the expert on the Morrighan Book of Holy Text but was also well versed in the translation of other ancient languages—though maybe not as gifted as some supposed. I had seen him stumble in some of the simplest dialects, and when corrected by me, he’d been undone with anger.

“Why don’t you translate them?”

“And just when would I have the leisure, my dear Prince Walther? Between being a fugitive princess, the caretaker of three donkeys, sweeping out rooms, and serving meals, I’m lucky if I have time to bathe. We aren’t all leading the regal life.” I used my most royal haughty tone, making him laugh. I didn’t mention my other activities, like berry picking with handsome young men. “Besides,” I added, “translating isn’t a small task when one has no knowledge of the language. The only clues I have are cataloging notations in the loose papers. One of the volumes is titled Ve Feray Daclara au Gaudrel, and the other is from Venda.”

“A volume from Venda? The barbarians read?”

I smiled. “Well, at least at one time they did. It might very well be the jeweled gold box that they were in that the Chancellor is so sorely missing. Its worth alone would probably allow him to add yet another wing to his sprawling country manor.”

“Or maybe it’s a new find, and the Scholar’s afraid you’ll translate it first and steal his thunder. He does have his position to keep secure.”

“Maybe,” I answered. But somehow I was sure the volumes weren’t new, that they had been hidden in that dark drawer for a very long time, maybe so long even the Scholar had forgotten them.

Walther squeezed my hand. “Be careful, Lia,” he said solemnly. “Whatever the reason, they want it back very much. I’ll discreetly nose around when I get back and see if Mother or Father knows anything about it. Or maybe the Viceregent.”

“Don’t let on that you’ve seen me!”

“Discreetly,” he repeated.

I nodded. “Enough about the Scholar,” I said. The conversation was becoming too somber, and I wanted to enjoy this gift of time with Walther. “Tell me other news from home.”