Free Heritage: Book One of the Gairden Chronicles by David L. Craddock Page B

come say hello, since it didn’t seem you’d be stopping by anytime soon.” He dropped into a soft armchair in front of the hearth. Heat flooded from the logs roasting in the hearth, blanketing the tower room and mixing with the musty aroma of books and yellowed parchment. More books covered Tyrnen’s desk in stacks that rose up like shoddily-built turrets. Aidan was convinced that simply sticking one’s head through the door and breathing the scent of all the musty scrolls, books, and strange artifacts Tyrnen had accumulated over the years could make one grow smarter. Sadly, his parents and mentor disagreed.
    He had spent months of his life in this room, reading ancient texts, reciting spells, dates, names, figures. At the end of lessons— and in the middle of them, when he managed to divert the old man’s train of thought—Aidan would perch on the edge of this very chair, mugs of tea or hot cocoa—a sweet delicacy his parents always purchased from Leastonian traders who passed through—growing cold as he listened to Tyrnen spin tales of brave heroes, terrible monsters, and princesses in need of rescue and a good cuddle.
    When Tyrnen told his stories, his tower seemed to lift off and soar into the sky. Now Aidan sat quietly, watching the flames. His eyelids drooped. Each time he forced them back up, finally straightening to resist the chair’s tempting cushiness. He was so tired he felt sick, but he would not fall asleep. Not even here, a place where he always felt safe, more so than even the sword chamber where only Gairdens could enter.
    He had gone back to bed after talking with Heritage, unanswered questions tumbling around his head. The nightmares had returned the moment he drifted off, pouncing like a beast rewarded for stalking wary prey that had finally lowered its head to drink. He had seen his parents again, their bodies deformed and rotten as they screamed at him, telling him they knew he would fail them again. Heritage took its turn, rambling about destiny, lies, and deception. None of the dreams had felt as dire, as real as the first, but they were horrifying all the same.
    Aidan caught the scent of warm milk and creamy cocoa. Tyrnen lowered himself into a chair beside Aidan, placing two steaming cups of cocoa on the table between them. Mumbling thanks, Aidan took one and sipped at it. The warm sweetness melted through the chill of his nightmares. None had felt quite so real as the first, but they had still left him afraid to close his eyes.
    “Where is your ring?” the old man asked, gesturing at Aidan’s bare right hand.
    Aidan shrugged. “Wherever it landed after I threw it.”
    “You threw your Cinder Band?”
    “I haven’t felt like recognizing my few accomplishments as of late.”
    “You must wear it always, Aidan.”
    Setting his cocoa on the table, Aidan propped his feet on a cushioned stool. “You’re not disappointed in me, are you?” he asked, trying to sound indifferent.
    “Disappointed?”
    “Because of what happened—or didn’t happen—on my birthday.”
    Tyrnen folded his hands. “No, I am not disappointed. I was certainly surprised, but disappointment never crossed my mind.”
    “Mother and Father seemed to be.”
    “They said as much during our brief retreat, yes.”
    Aidan winced. “Why didn’t you invite me to go along?”
    “I didn’t think you were in the mood for company. Your mother’s account of your reaction when she extended an invitation confirmed my assumption.”
    Aidan ignored that. “Why weren’t you with them when they returned?”
    “I had gone ahead to my tower. There were matters that needed—”
    “They came to talk to me after the ceremony. They at least pretended to care. Where were you?”
    “I chose not to disturb your pouting session.”
    “I was not—”
    “You were. You acted like a petulant child. I was on my way to speak with you when I bumped into your father. He told me what happened during his visit, and I decided I had