The Taste of Knowledge

Chapter 174: Where the Story Begins

Freya’s voice, as she began, seemed to shimmer, losing some of its ancient resonance, taking on a lighter, almost childlike timbre, as if the very act of recalling transported her. The scent of chamomile, lavender, and rosehip from their teacups mingled with the phantom aroma of damp earth and pine needles that her memory conjured.

“I was seven,” she started, her crimson eyes, now holding Myra’s gaze, softened, looking past the antique shop, past the centuries, into a sun-dappled morning. “My father was Lord Alaric Valerius, and my mother, Lady Iris. The world felt enormous then, full of unexplored wonders and very few shadows.”

...

The carriage rocked gently, a rhythmic creak and sway that had been the backdrop to young Freya’s dozing for the past hour. She blinked awake, rubbing her eyes with small fists, and immediately pressed her nose to the cool glass of the carriage window.

Outside, the morning was a tapestry of soft greens and golds. Dew still clung to the long blades of grass that lined the rutted track, each droplet a tiny, captured sun. The air, even through the slight gap in the window, smelled of damp earth, pine, and the faint, sweet perfume of unseen wildflowers. Tall, ancient trees, their leaves a vibrant canopy, formed a tunnel over the road in places, dappling the path with shifting patterns of light and shadow. 

Occasionally, the forest would break, revealing rolling hills that stretched towards a hazy blue horizon, dotted with distant farmsteads from which thin tendrils of smoke curled lazily into the clear sky. The road itself was uneven, a testament to infrequent travel, bordered by wildflowers in hues of purple and yellow. 

“Oh, look, Mother!” Freya exclaimed, her face lighting up as she pointed a small finger towards a particularly vibrant patch of purple blooms. “Wildflowers! So many! We never have ones like these by the lake, only the tall garden flowers. These are much prettier, like little jewels scattered in the grass.” 

Her delight in the beauty, however, was tinged with the thought of all she was leaving behind. A small, wistful sigh escaped her lips as she turned from the window to look at Lord Alaric, who sat opposite her, reading a leather-bound ledger. “Father,” she piped up, her voice clear and bright, yet tinged with that lingering wistfulness. “Why must we leave the lake house? I liked it there. The water was so sparkly, and I could almost catch the little silver fish.”

Her father, a man with kind eyes the same deep crimson as her own and a neatly trimmed beard already showing threads of silver, looked up, a gentle smile touching his lips. He closed his ledger, marking his place with a finger. “Ah, my little Starlight,” he said, his voice warm. “The lake house was for the summer, a respite. But our true home, your ancestral home, is where we are bound. Your grandfather… he has passed on, Freya. It is time for us to return to the Valerius estate. It has been our family’s seat for generations.”

Freya’s brow furrowed. She remembered Grandfather, a stern but occasionally twinkly-eyed old man who smelled of pipe tobacco and old books. His passing had been a quiet, solemn affair a few weeks prior, a hushed sadness in their summer home.

Her mother, Lady Iris, seated beside her father, reached out and smoothed Freya’s dark hair, her touch light and reassuring. She was a beautiful woman, her features delicate, her eyes a softer, more violet shade of crimson. “And there is someone very important there, my dear,” her mother said, her voice a soft melody. “A young woman named Amelia Valerius. You must be very respectful when you meet her, Freya. Remember your curtsy, the deep one we practiced.”

Freya considered this. “Amelia Valerius?” she repeated, the name feeling unfamiliar on her tongue. “Why is she so important if she’s our family? And… she has our name, Mother. Is she like us?”

“Do you think Amelia likes wildflowers too?” Freya then asked, her gaze returning to the passing scenery. “Are there many at this new house?”

Lady Iris smiled, a gentle but slightly distant expression. “The gardens at the estate are very grand, my dear. I’m sure you will find flowers there that you like.” Her answer, Freya noted, didn’t quite address Amelia’s preferences.

Her father cleared his throat, his gaze flicking towards his wife before settling back on Freya. He leaned forward slightly, his expression serious but kind. “Amelia holds a significant place within our family, Freya. She has resided at the estate for a very long time, overseeing many things. For now,” he said, his voice a fraction lower, “you can think of her as… as your sister.” He glanced again at Lady Iris, a swift, almost imperceptible look passing between them.

Lady Iris’s hand found her husband’s, her fingers lacing through his briefly, a silent message of support or perhaps caution.

Freya’s eyes widened. “A sister?” she exclaimed, a thrill of surprise and excitement bubbling up. “I didn’t know I had a sister! Is she my age? Will she play with me in the gardens? Does she like to catch frogs?” The questions tumbled out in a rush. “Will she show me where the best hiding spots are?”

Her father opened his mouth, a hesitant sound escaping him. “Well, she’s not exactly…” he began, then paused, looking to his wife for guidance.

Lady Iris smiled gently, though there was a subtle tension around her eyes that young Freya didn’t quite register. “Freya, darling,” she interjected smoothly, “Amelia is… well, she is a grown young woman, quite a bit older than you. She has many responsibilities. And it is a bit more complicated than just being playmates. You will understand everything in time, when you are older. These are matters for grown-ups to discuss first.”

“But why can’t I know now?” Freya pressed, her lower lip jutting out slightly in a pout. “If she’s my sister, shouldn’t I know about her? Does she know about me?”

“Patience, little one,” Lord Alaric said, his voice firm but still kind. “Your Mother is right. There are many things about families and their histories that are best learned slowly. What matters for today is that we are going to our home, and you will meet Amelia. She is family, in a way, and you will treat her with kindness and respect, as you would any respected elder in our family. Can you promise me that?”

Freya nodded, mollified somewhat by the promise of learning more later, though a cloud of questions still swirled in her young mind. “Yes, Father. I promise to be respectful. And to curtsy very low.” She pictured a grown-up lady, perhaps very elegant, waiting for them. Maybe this new home wouldn’t be so bad after all, especially if it came with an older sister, however mysterious her arrival into Freya’s awareness.

Her mother offered a small, relieved smile. “That’s my good girl. Look, Freya,” Lady Iris said, gesturing towards the window. “I believe we are nearing the estate. See how the trees change?”

Freya turned back to the window, her earlier curiosity momentarily overshadowed by the new mystery of Amelia. The wild, untamed forest was indeed beginning to give way to more cultivated land. The trees were taller, more ancient, standing in stately, deliberate lines, their branches intertwining overhead like the bones of giant fingers. Through a break in the foliage, she caught her first glimpse of dark, imposing stone rising against the morning sky. It looked… very big. And very quiet. “It’s… different from the lake house, isn’t it?” she whispered, more to herself than anyone. “It doesn’t look as sunny.”

A sense of unease, as faint as the morning mist but growing more distinct, began to prickle at the edges of her seven-year-old heart, mingling with the anticipation of meeting this new, mysterious ‘sister.’