Miyo was escorted back to her chambers, the guards stopping only once her door stood before her. As she walked, she wondered. Father had asked to be alone with Ikari. That alone pressed uneasily at her chest. When he does that, it is never without reason. The thought followed her like a shadow she could not shake.
She slid the door open and found Kiri already inside, speaking to Magister Q'otto.
Kiri bowed at once. "Welcome back, my lady," she said. "The Magister and I have been waiting for you." Then, more gently, she asked, "Where have you been?"
Miyo did not answer right away. She studied them instead.
Magister Q'otto sat beside a low table weighed down by heavy books stacked one atop another. He was one of the teachers of History and Lore—an esteemed position in the realm, ranked just beneath Lords, Ministers, and Priests. His face was long and deeply aged, his white beard falling freely against his chest, his hair receding and just as pale. His eyes were grey and tired, as though rest rarely reached them. He wore no finery. His long, dark robe reached his boots and was cinched at the waist with a thick rope belt. Over it lay a short leather mantle, reinforced with metal clasps, marked by five clean, new stripes. A small pouch hung at his side.
"I was by the lake," Miyo said at last, pulling her robe from her shoulders.
Kiri's voice remained respectful. "My lady knows her father does not like it when she leaves the palace."
"Ikari was with me," Miyo said.
The Magister looked up. "Who?"
"Ikari," Miyo said. "My guard."
"And where is this guard now?" he asked.
"He is with my father," Miyo replied.
She did not say more. She did not speak of ropes or orders or the way Ikari had been taken from her side. The thought of it made her worry even more. She knew she was not meant to leave the palace grounds—but she had never meant for Ikari to be punished for it.
The Magister showed little interest in the matter. "You should not leave the palace when you have lessons," he said plainly. He gestured to the chair placed beside his own. "Come. Sit."
Miyo obeyed. As she settled into the chair, the Magister opened the first book, its spine creaking softly. Behind them, Kiri folded Miyo's robe with care and placed it into a basket among the others.
"Where did we end our last lesson?" the Magister asked.
"You were teaching me about the Age of Dawn," Miyo said. "It was the era when Anawaar—the Morning Star—united the great houses of White Haven against the western invaders and became the first ruler. The Lord of the realm."
The Magister nodded. "And who rode beside him during his campaign?"
Miyo searched her memory. She said nothing. The Magister waited. Still, she did not answer.
"These men are your ancestors," he said at last. "You ought to know them."
Miyo remained silent.
"Saudare, his younger brother" the Magister said for her. Then he asked, "And what did the people call him?"
"The Dreamer," Miyo replied.
"Good and why?" the Magister pressed
"Because he prophesied Anawaar will succeed in victory restoring peace to the realm" Miyo answered.
"Good," The Magister said, and turned the page.
Miyo sat still for a moment before speaking again.
"I have a question, Magister Q'otto."
"Yes, Little Lady?" he replied, not looking at her.
"Have you ever been beyond the city?"
The Magister turned a page slowly. "No. Why do you ask?"
Miyo watched his hands as she spoke. "You are a teacher of History and Lore. Shouldn't you know what life is like beyond the city walls?"
That made him look at her. His eyes rested on her longer than before. "I am a teacher," he said, "not an adventurer."
"My father often says I will rule one day," Miyo said. "If that is true, then I should not only read about the people. I should speak to them. I should know them."
Magister Q'otto straightened slightly in his chair. "'History and Lore' as you say, are the foundation of the people and of the realm," he said. "Without them there is no identity and no future. A ruler who does not know these things rules blindly."
"I know that," Miyo said at once. "But the records I read are centuries old. I think the world has changed."
As she spoke, Ikari's words surfaced in her thoughts—how the places she read about were not as colorful, not as whole, as the books promised.
"The world has not changed," the Magister said firmly. "The world your ancestors ruled is the same world today."
"How would you know?" Miyo asked. "You have never been outside the city."
The Magister gave her a sharp look.
"Kiri has been outside the city," Miyo said, turning her head and calling out, "Kiri."
Ignoring the Magister entirely, she waited.
Kiri approached, surprised. "Yes, my lady?"
"Have you been beyond the city walls?" Miyo asked.
Kiri blinked. "Yes," she said. "But it was many years ago."
"What was the countryside like?" Miyo asked. "I've heard it's cruel."
Kiri glanced at Miyo, then at the Magister.
"Life outside the city is not as pleasant as life within it," she said carefully. "That is why my father brought us here."
"How unpleasant?" Miyo asked.
Kiri lowered her eyes. "I was little when my family came here," she said. "There is not much I remember. I made myself forget what I could."
Miyo frowned slightly. "I heard many children there are orphaned," she said. "Is that true?"
The room fell quiet. Before Kiri could answer, Magister Q'otto spoke. "That is not part of your lesson," he said sharply.
Miyo let the Magister's interruption hang in the air longer than politeness allowed.
"Everything is part of my lesson," she said at last, her voice calm but edged, the way it became when adults tried to shut doors in her face. "If I am to rule, I cannot learn only what is written. I must learn what is lived."
Magister Q'otto closed the book with deliberate care, as though afraid the pages might escape him. He looked at her.
"You mistake curiosity for readiness, Little Lady," he said. "The world beyond these walls is not a tale meant for you yet."
"Yet is a convenient word," Miyo replied. She folded her hands in her lap, copying the posture he liked, though her fingers betrayed her restlessness. "It means never, if spoken often enough."
Kiri shifted beside them, clearly uncomfortable. Miyo noticed, and that only sharpened her resolve, but before she could press further, she heard muffled voices from beyond the door. Miyo froze. The cadence, the low register—it was familiar.
Ikari, she thought.
Her heart leapt. Without thinking, she rose from her seat and walked quickly toward the door, sliding it open just enough to peek through.