Arcanym

ARCANYM

J. M. Samland

Arcanym

Copyright © 2023 Jamie M. Samland

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without the prior written permission of the copyright owner, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

ISBN: 979-8-9868949-3-5

Cover art by MiblArt

Internal art by Ryan Allen

For Mom and Lori,

My biggest fans who keep me moving.

When you get to where Elvan wakes up from the nightmare, just skip to the next chapter.

From the Author

Here we are, my fifth novel in two years. I debated heavily on what the genre is. Is this a romance with an adventure/mystery subplot, or an adventure with a romance/mystery subplot? Either way, it’s my first time writing a sex scene, and my mother will read this.

Arcanym was actually the first book I planned, years before Realms of Terswood. The original full title was Arcanym: The Art of Scamming Tweens for Cash. The goal was to hit all the major tropes and hit them hard. I’m glad I waited for it. It starred Princess Miriam, who fell in love with a peasant boy. He, of course, dies, but she captures his ghost. Then they fall in love while he’s a ghost, because… obviously. Quest to find a way to resurrect him, yada yada lich strikes a bargain, double crossing, etc. New York Times bestseller and two movie deals. My husband and I thought about it in depth while on long car rides, taking copious notes.

The problem was when I started down that road, that wasn’t the story I wanted to tell. I wanted to write about a shy gay boy living in a queernorm fantasy world coming into his own. That’s the story I would have loved to read growing up and dammit, that’s what I wanted to write! So I did! That original idea with the ghost boyfriend will be my next book. I’ve already started on it.

A friend recently read The Chronicler’s Awakening books and asked me where the characters came from. Lone has a lot of my better or idealized qualities. Daelin is an amalgamation of my father figures. Dehset is my shyer side. Aiden is the himbo I play in D&D. The friend’s next question was, Ooo, then who is Cazlandt based on? No one; he’s just a gross monster. Every character starts with a basic trope and grows as they interact with the story. I think the author’s job is to pull the character far enough from that trope that they’ve created a believable person, but not so far that you can’t distill the character to their core.

Enter Elvan Galmoth, the innocent, the young noble with crippling impostor syndrome. He’s riddled with moments of self-doubt that most can empathize with. When I made Cazlandt the star of Necromancer of Urbus, I put the deeply flawed character front and center. Except that Cazlandt will happily take the spotlight. He’s a doer and will tell anyone about his successful exploits. Elvan is a very different person. I found it cathartic to drive him through this story and let him surprise me when he took over.

So, which character is easier to write? The shy homebody or the arrogant person of action? I wouldn’t have been able to answer that before putting Elvan’s story to the page. Now I have an answer to it. … Send me a message, ask, and I’ll tell you.

As always, so many thanks go to friends and family, for without their support, this wouldn’t be possible. Whenever I start to feel dark, they boost me back up and sit me back in the chair. Thank you, Rob for being my sounding board on this project. Thank you, Ben for guiding me through new paradigms of story planning. Thank you, Mary for empathizing with the woes of being a writer. Thank you, Aaron for, despite not helping at ALL during the draft one process, wanting to read my book all at once when I was done. Thank you, mom and Lori for your continuous support and endless love.

Prologue

S

ELAYNA TORE THE PAGE FROM the notebook, ripping away any excess, and folding it to a tight square. She shoved that deep into the bodice of her blue silk dress as the banging at the front door started. She dipped her quill again and smoothed out a fresh, full sheet.

By order of His Majesty, King Pearce VI, came the strained and familiar voice, muffled through the heavy door. Open immediately.

She wrote faster.

The thumping continued.

Selayna? Are you going to answer that?

She looked up at the man standing in the entryway to the dining room, wearing a disheveled gray suit, his hair a mess.

Go out back to the gardens, Miles. Her eyes lingered on the crystal glass of amber drink in his fist and returned to her furious writing.

He walked past her while the banging and shouting continued.

Miles, no!

Selayna watched him walk through the library to the foyer, gripping her quill tighter with each step he took until he reached to unlock the front door. Worthless gobshite, she whispered, leaning back in her velvet armchair as soldiers in red and gold shoved her paltry excuse for a husband out of the way, flooding the manor. They surrounded her, muskets cocked and raised, but she paid them no mind as she set her quill back in its inkwell among the neat stacks of manifests and invoices.

The click of a steel cane on the polished tile pierced her mind, regular with the limping gait of the one who wielded it. Selayna folded her hands on the desk in front of her as a man in voluminous black robes strode through her front door.

She pushed back her chair and stood, smoothing the creases of her silk dress.

Inquisitor Nilranke. Selayna ran her tongue over her teeth, tasting the foulness of the man’s name. She sniffed, curling her nose at the miasma of tobacco and herbal remedies surrounding the inquisitor when he stopped within arm’s reach.

Lady Galmoth, he said and reached to snatch the page from the desk beside her. His dark eyes scanned the words quickly and drifted back to meet hers, along with a predatory grin. You maintain your lies, it would seem.

Selayna raised her chin to look down her nose at the inquisitor. The princess—

His hand flashed across her cheek, snapping her head to the side. She looked back at him slowly, the coppery blood taste of blood filling her mouth.

You will keep the princess’s name from your traitorous mouth, Nilranke said.

Selayna spat blood onto the man’s face.

Nilranke didn’t flinch. He tucked his steel cane into the crook of his elbow and held the single sheet of her missive, tearing it in half, before passing it to a soldier, who tossed it into the small fire in the hearth. He only then raised a gloved hand to wipe the blood and spit from his cheek, flicking it to the floor.

Guards, leave us.

The men in red and gold exchanged hesitant glances but retreated from the study.

It’s not often, I hear, that a man finds a vocation that he truly enjoys performing. Nilranke pulled the leather glove from his right hand, one finger at a time, as he spoke. Rarer that the vocation is one such as mine, with such a profound importance to the proper function of the crown.

She won’t succeed. Someone else will stop her.

The king thanks you, Lady Galmoth, but your services will no longer be required. Inquisitor Nilranke shot out his right hand to touch her neck. Electricity arced through her, dropping her to her knees with a single cry. It only lasted a moment, then he was tugging on his glove, grinning.

You’re one of them! She held a hand to her neck, falling backward against her chair.

He tapped his cane on the floor and grinned down at her. One of what? Anything you say is just the ravings of a felon. He laughed, stepping back. Guards, bring the irons.

1

S

URROUNDED BY THE MUSTY SMELL of leather and parchment, Elvan Galmoth traced ink-stained fingers down a column of invoice numbers. The values didn’t add up; not without considering at least two other books laid out in front of him. He brushed the feathery end of his quill across his lips and made yet another note of the discrepancies in the ledger directly in front of him. Elvan reached across the table and tugged another book from the middle of the stack, scattering those above it into a pile. He flicked through the pages to find one he’d earmarked and groaned at the number that matched nothing else in front of him.

I’ve the post for you, said the small voice, breaking through Elvan’s concentration.

Happy for any distraction, Elvan looked up from the ledgers to see Cenna enter and place a stack of papers beside him. Thank you. Setting his quill back in the inkwell, he took the daily news on top of the pile and shook it open to scan over the headlines. Another raid on an Artist family in Spheris. Barely a week goes by without one. I wonder how they find them all.

They can only catch them in the act, Cenna said while straightening and stacking the papers and tomes enough to clear space to serve lunch. Otherwise, they’re no different from the rest of us.

I hope they find all these people, eventually.

Cenna paused with a stack of loose parchment in her hands and gave Elvan a knowing look. Really, Elvan? You, of all people, are cheering on the inquisitors?

Elvan waved off the conversation and flipped through the other pages, pausing at the narrow sales ads; people selling furniture and clothing in bulk. That’ll be me soon enough. He roughly folded the paper and tossed it onto the stacks of ledgers of data spanning decades before him. Picking up a thin stack of envelopes, he set aside the past-due bill and invoice notices until he held a single red square of folded parchment with his name written in a looping hand. He tore it open and flattened the letter, letting his eyes travel first to the delicate signature at the bottom.

It’s from Her Royal Majesty, the High Duchess. He blew out a loud breath and read the short missive, his heart and shoulders sinking with each sentence.

Cenna chuckled. And how is your sister? She set a bowl of cold soup and crusty bread at the head of the table.

She’s invited herself to visit.

That’ll be nice. I was visiting my mum the last time she was here. I think I’ve only seen her once since she moved out.

If you say so. Elvan tossed the letter on top of the bills and pushed back his chair to move to the head of the table. His eyes grazed over the dusty trinkets on the fireplace mantle and the dingy tint of the curtains framing the floor-to-ceiling windows looking out at the overgrown garden. The dining table that only a few years ago had served a noble house now lay covered with a mess of thick tomes, the only place in the house large enough for Elvan to spread out his work.

When is she coming? Cenna asked.

Next week. She’s not bringing her husband, but I know she’ll have a retinue of handmaidens trailing her. At least I doubt Princess Lorelai would come. I can’t very well deny playing host, but… He let the sentence hang with a sigh. Cenna knew as well as he the financial state of the Galmoths.

You have more books out than I usually see you with, said Cenna. You have to be making some progress.

Elvan snorted and paused with a hand on the chair’s back. My mother is a true master at maneuvering money. I wonder if I’ll ever understand her method. He reached to pick up a smaller notebook, fanned his thumb across the edge quickly, and tossed it back on the pile. Layers upon layers, so much more complicated than it should be. I still don’t doubt her innocence, but how she deliberately obfuscated the finances would make a lesser man wonder. Sitting in front of the cold soup, he flourished a cloth napkin over his thigh.

With your determination, I’m sure you’ll find the truth in it all. She picked up a stack of papers, marginally neater than the others, and walked her fingers through the pages. What are these? What’s Magpie Aoith?

Is that how you pronounce that? They’re invoices for a shop in Spheris. My mother spent a lot of steel there, but I can’t trace the items she purchased.

Why don’t you go find out? Take a trip into town and look up this shop. A change of scenery might help.

Elvan’s spoon paused halfway to his lips. You’re joking, right?

Cenna took a step back and folded her hands before her. You really should go. I haven’t seen you leave the house in weeks.

Elvan looked down at his rumpled clothes. I think it would be better to stay out of the public eye for a while longer. I’m still scarred from what happened with the Council of Houses. Besides, I can’t scrape together the steel coin for a carriage. I barely find enough to pay your wages and all… He waved at the stack of bills a few chairs away, That.

Cenna pulled back another step, picking at the fraying fringe of her apron. I have a bit stashed away that should be enough.

What? Cenna, no. Don’t be silly.

I’ll be fine, I… She looked down to focus fully on the apron.

I will not steal from the last person left to me in the world just to go... He watched her fidget with the hem, not meeting his eyes. What is it?

Cenna took a deep breath, raising her chin, her eyes glimmering with unshed tears. The Kae house has reached out to me. They need a governess.

I see. Elvan set his spoon down and watched it reflect a distorted image of the ceiling’s mural. Better Kae than Serhane. Have you responded?

Yes. Her single word shot through him like a nail into a coffin lid. I’ll start there the first of next month. They wanted me sooner, but I couldn’t leave on such short notice. I’ve been trying all this last week to find a time to tell you. I’m so sorry. I held out as long as I could.

There’s nothing to be sorry for; we both knew this would happen, eventually. Elvan looked up at the governess and maid who faithfully served him every day for almost two decades, had stuck with him through his family’s darkest moments these last years. His mother hired her when Cenna was his age and she gave her best years serving a failed house. If they want you sooner, you should start right away. He forced a smile even as his eyes burned.

I couldn’t, young master. I can’t leave you alone, especially now with the Duchess coming.

It’s no longer your concern, Cenna. You’ve gone so far beyond your duties for years. I won’t hold you back a single day more.

She focused on the apron’s hem again. Thank you. I’ll send up a flare and get my steel.

Elvan knew the carriage would probably drain her of the last bit of steel in her private coffers, but Elvan’s mother taught him to never refuse a gift. He stood and took her hand in one of his. Thank you, Cenna. I will pay you back and more. He wanted to kiss her on the cheek, but she stepped away with a curtsy, never raising her eyes as she fled the room.

He watched her leave, her tan and blue uniform disappearing toward the servant’s wing, and raised his eyes to the mural overhead depicting the Sovereign King in all his divine, abstract glory. Elvan muttered a curse to it, another to the stacks of ledgers spread over the dining table, and several more while he closed the binding on the book he used for his note taking. A long piece of leather attached to the back cover ended in an ornate silver key. Elvan wrapped the leather twice around the book, tucking the key between the strap and cover, securing the book closed before turning to the empty, dusty halls on the way back to his room.

Elvan turned right where the grand staircase split and paused at the top. He glanced behind him through the dim shafts of light to the double doors at the far end of the hall, to what was his parents’ bedroom. He had every right to move into that room with the wide, south-facing windows overlooking the valley and river, but it somehow felt wrong. Like giving up on his parents ever returning to the house. Beside those doors, his sister’s room was the second largest. Despite him being eldest, she got the larger room because, as their mother said, girls need more space. Delphina would never return to live here.

He scratched at his head and strode to his childhood room. Even living for the last two years with only the dwindling manor staff, and soon to be completely alone, Elvan never spread out from here. Every object he acquired over the last nineteen years he kept in his relatively small space with narrow windows facing the north, to never feel the sun. He crossed to the wardrobe, pulled out the chest tucked into the bottom, and dug through it to find a set of plain gray and tan traveler’s garb. Elvan held it against himself before the mirror and muttered a curse. It still fit. He wore roughly the same size now as when Ser Vazadon gifted him the clothes almost three years ago.

I’ll go to town, but not as Elvan Galmoth. Tomorrow I’ll be, he paused, and a smile flickered at the edges of his lips. I’ll be Tristan Griffith, wandering scholar. He clutched the clothes closer and grinned. The story of Tristan’s life blossomed in his mind; the persona he would adopt to go unnoticed in the city. Tristan wasn’t a disgraced noble, shunned by his peers. Tristan’s father, a local merchant of no particular fame, raised him. His mother died when he was young, but Father didn’t like to talk about it. Tristan came to Spheris in search of a rare book dealer. No, Elvan shook his head. Rare book dealers were too, well, rare. Textiles. That’s boring enough. Maybe this is Tristan’s first time away from his small village home, but he’s not a wandering scholar yet, just aspires to be one someday.

A knock at the door frame. Elvan yelped and dropped the clothes. Cenna stood at the threshold holding a small leather sack.

I didn’t mean to interrupt you. I saw the response flare from town, she said, while pulling at the strings of the bag. The carriage will be here first thing in the morning, young master. She crossed the room to stand near him by the mirror. Playing a bit of dress-up?

Elvan’s cheeks burned. I think it might be easier to move through the city if no one recognizes me.

You can’t hide from the other Houses forever.

Elvan looked down at the dark pouch she pressed into his palm, feeling the weight of coins within it. His eyes burned again. I don’t know what to say, Cenna.

Empty-handed, she took a step back. It’s been an honor to serve you all these years. This isn’t goodbye forever, just for a little while. I know you’re close to understanding your mother’s books. If not, maybe I could get the Kae’s financier to help.

That would be the last possible thing he would want, for a rival family to understand his mother’s embezzlement and money laundering.

She unclipped a ring of keys from her apron and handed those to him as well. I… Goodbye, Elvan. She leaned forward to kiss his cheek and was gone a heartbeat later.

Elvan stood alone in his room with a maid’s savings in one hand, the keys to his manor in the other, and a set of unassuming traveler’s clothes at his feet.

2

T

HE CLOP OF HORSE HOOVES on cobblestone announced the carriage’s arrival. The coin in Elvan’s hand felt like an anvil’s weight, knowing he’d go to the city only to return to a house in total ruin. As he climbed into the carriage wearing long robes of gray and tan, the driver paid him little attention.

The hour and a half it took to get to Spheris gave Elvan plenty of time to think, but his mind was blank. He caught himself more than once staring, unblinking, at a piece of torn fabric near the ceiling of the carriage. With Cenna gone, he would be alone in the huge manor. Alone… with only a mountain of debt to keep him company. The idea of selling floated by him, but any family that could afford a fraction of what the manor and its grounds were worth would already have their own estate. Maybe a family from one of the outer provinces? Slenas to the south held a lot of wealth.

He shook the thought away. Selling the manor would absolutely be giving in to defeat and dismissing any chance of redeeming what the Galmoths lost when the inquisitors took his mother away in iron.

His mind drifted back to the ads in the newspaper and he began a mental inventory of what was left in the house. His mother’s gowns and furs would fetch a decent price, as would his father’s rifles and whiskey. He touched the invoices, folded and tucked into an inner pocket. I’ll find this shop, then maybe a broker to help sell things.

The city’s polluted choke penetrated Elvan’s wandering reverie. Merchants hawking their wares, distant screams of delight, and discordant notes from a few dozen instruments surrounded him while the carriage slowed at the line before the main gates. He fished coins from his pouch to cover the fare and a meager tip before stepping from the carriage. The driver showed no interest in having ferried the head to one of the great Houses as he pocketed the steel and urged his horse from the line.

Elvan pulled up his cowl and wrapped the