‘Tomorrow night at the Festival, when all rules are relaxed, I’ll have my moment with your childhood friend, Alyssa, and whilst he’s caressing me as we dance,’ she touched her cheek, ‘I’ll remember how much I hate you.’
Alyssa felt the years of despair and her own unrequited love bubble up and boil over.
‘Xantia.’
Her friend turned, eyes glittering with her win.
‘Elder Iris did not relieve you of your duty. I must have failed to mention that the man you love so very much and can’t bear to live without, the same man who apparently desires you so much, personally requested that you no longer accompany him during his stay. He was playing with you, Xantia, because you’re so easy to impress. You did precisely what he knew you’d do—you fell for his charms and now he’s laughing at you.
‘Oh, and Xantia—Elder Iris did not choose me and I did not request it. Physic Gynt asked for me specifically.’
The face of the girl in front of her darkened like a gathering storm. Alyssa knew she had a new enemy to accompany her nemesis, Chief Inquisitor Goth.
‘I hate you, Alyssa.’ It was all she could think of to say.
Alyssa did not even look at her. ‘Close the door behind you, Xantia.’
A
lyssa could see him standing next to the cart. He said something to Saxon whose shoulders moved with laughter for the first time in years. Tor was all grace and charm it seemed.
She stayed in the shadows and watched them, digging her hands deep into her pockets to stop the nervousness. Her fingers felt a scrap of parchment; it was Saxon’s note. How had he managed to write it blindly? She unfolded it and glanced around to see if anyone was nearby. She was alone. Alyssa read.
Do you remember when I told you that I was not the one for you…that there was another? I said one day he would come. He is here now. Follow him. Believe in him. He is the One.
Alyssa read the note three times. What in the Light
was Saxon talking about? She did recall that day in the forest; remembered very well how her kisses had been gently spurned.
She hurriedly put the note away; she would have to think on this later. Stepping into the thin sunlight of the winter morning, she regarded the two men. One crippled and humbled; an older man with the life beaten out of him. The other in the very prime of his life, looking like a beautiful god on loan to the world. Self-assured; clearly used to the worship of women and the easy companionship of men.
He looked towards her, straightened himself to his glorious full height and waved, only to look embarrassed at his own enthusiasm. She liked him for that. Not so self-assured after all perhaps. It was a good feeling to know she could still unbalance Torkyn Gynt.
She arrived in front of him but spoke first to Saxon. ‘Saxon, thank you for doing this.’
He shrugged and she turned her attention to Tor, hoping he did not read her deep breath for the nervousness it was.
‘And hello again, Physic Gynt.’
He held her gaze, staring much too intently for her comfort. She gestured towards the cart. ‘Shall we?’
‘Only if you call me Tor and not Physic Gynt.’
Alyssa nodded.
Both men offered their hand. She took Saxon’s calloused one and stepped up lightly. Tor joined her on the back bench. Whilst Saxon clicked to his horses, two of the Elders obliged with the gates. Soon
they were out of the compound and trotting at an easy pace past the orchard.
Tor could not help himself. He reached across and took her hand but Alyssa snatched it back.
‘Please don’t,’ she said, frightened by the emotion she saw in his eyes. She pushed her hand into her pocket for extra security and she felt the note again.
He is the One,
she repeated in her mind as a difficult silence fell.
Tor suddenly looked up and a moment later a majestic falcon swooped out of the skies and landed on the wooden bench next to Saxon but facing them.
This is impossible!
Alyssa thought in alarm and let out a short squeal. She was surprised to see Tor grin.
Good timing, Cloot,
he said across the link.
It looked as though you needed rescuing. Don’t rush her, Tor,
the falcon counselled.
She doesn’t know the man. She only remembers the boy.
The bird gripped the bench with sharp talons and cocked his head to one side. Alyssa felt as though she was under serious scrutiny. Tor turned. There was no avoiding those blue eyes now, she thought. He spoke aloud.
‘Cloot, I would like you to meet the woman I have told you about. This is Alyssa.’
The large bird moved from foot to foot as it regarded her intently from bright yellow eyes. Alyssa stared at it in wonder.
Tor nudged her. He cleared his throat and nodded towards the bird. Alyssa found her manners.
‘Er…how do you do, Cloot,’ she said, completely in awe, then turned back to Tor. ‘Is this your hawk?’
‘Peregrine falcon if you don’t mind,’ he corrected. ‘Cloot gets very put out if one refers to him as a hawk.’
Her eyes sparkled. ‘Indeed. And he understands what I’m saying no doubt.’
‘Every word, so be nice.’
She looked back at the bird. ‘In that case, you are the most handsome falcon I have ever seen, Cloot.’ She was delighted to see the bird bob his head.
Tor translated. ‘He commends your excellent taste.’ And enjoyed hearing her laugh at this.
Saxon, unperturbed by the bird of prey next to him, pointed to the small brook they were passing.
‘Yes,’ Tor said. ‘Why don’t we stop here for a moment?’
He wagged his finger when Alyssa pulled a face at stopping so soon. ‘Your job is to be my guide. Here is where I wish to stop and admire Ildagarth’s beautiful scenery.’
Saxon motioned that he would stay with the horses. Tor and Alyssa walked in a more comfortable silence now to the brook’s edge while Cloot flew ahead to the small copse of trees. She marvelled at his grace.
‘Tell me about Cloot,’ Alyssa said as they sat down on the spongy grass.
She watched Tor’s face battle through a series of private conflicts. He finally sighed. ‘Where to begin?’
‘Well…how about after the Floral Dance?’ she said softly, pain lacing her words.
And so he did. He told her everything. Merkhud’s sensing of their link, the Stones, the fact that his mother and father were not his real parents, and how he had felt he must follow Merkhud to Tal. He explained how he had ridden two days later to Mallee Marsh to find her, to beg her forgiveness and her hand, to ask her to go with him; only to discover she had gone away. No note, not even an indication of where or why. Tor ran his hand through his hair; she remembered that trait. Then he told her how alone he had felt without her; the countless times over the years he had tried to link, always in vain but never giving up hope.
It was then she took his hand in her own. Tor felt a strength from her touch.
He described finding a gentle giant of a man—a cripple—nailed to a post and how this stranger, who could link with him, had begged him to stay close. When he told her the stranger’s name was Cloot, Alyssa, intrigued, looked at the falcon which was preening itself on a branch nearby. Tor knew the bird was doing this for her benefit. He told Cloot to stop showing off. Cloot ignored him, stretching his powerful wings wide so Alyssa could appreciate his fine, broad chest. She laughed, but not for long.
Tor detailed how badly injured Cloot had been that day; told her of Prime Cyrus and Doctor Freyberg; of the ant dismembering the cockroach and his healing of his new friend. He spoke of the little he knew of the Paladin. He chose not to mention being
crowned King of the Sea, or Eryn. This was perhaps not the moment, as Alyssa began to caress his hand, to be talking about making love to another woman.
His story gathered momentum: chasing through the night to Brewis; Cloot shapechanging into this glorious falcon; Cyrus nailed to a tree and how they had saved him; the King and Queen; Merkhud; life at the Palace and his growing obsession to find her.
Her tears fell onto his hand which she clasped close now.
Tor brought his life over the past five years to a rapid close for her, detailing his healing of Queen Nyria and subsequent falling out with Merkhud; his suspicions of the old man; the Prime’s disappearance in the Heartwood and of Darmud Coril and Lys. Tor did not speak of his dreams, though, and what he saw in them. That he would tell her later.
Right now he looked at her earnestly. ‘Do you believe me?’
Alyssa looked into his eyes and beyond. ‘All of it, Tor. Saxon has spoken to me of this same dream woman, the one you call Lys. She is the one who guided him to me.’
He nodded. ‘That makes sense. He is your guardian.’
It did not make much sense to her but before she could say more he was talking again.
‘Will you forgive me for Minstead?’
She put her cool hand to his mouth and stopped him trying to continue. She nodded.
‘And Xantia?’ she asked quietly.
‘Xantia?’ he said, as though not understanding the word. ‘She is no one, Alyssa…a distraction.’
‘Really? Well, that distraction has been my closest friend for years. More recently she chose to make me her enemy.’
‘Because of me?’
‘No. It’s complicated. Two sorts of jealousy have her entirely in their grip. A new Elder is to be named soon; Xantia believes the role should be hers. There are four candidates and as I’m one of them she feels threatened by me.’ Alyssa did not elaborate further but Tor guessed Alyssa was the first and obvious choice to all. He kept his thoughts to himself.
She continued. ‘More recently she has become enamoured by a man. You. She hears no reason. And in me, already someone she despises, she sees only a rival for that man she has known for hours and now claims to worship. Tor, Xantia thinks we are lovers!’
He smiled. ‘Let’s not disappoint her then. Let’s make your falling out earn its grief.’ He meant it. She could see it in his blazing blue eyes.
The falcon must have said something because he grimaced sharply at it in rebuke.
‘Tor, I’m not sure why but lately I seem to be reminding people rather too often what this circle of archalyt on my forehead means.’
‘What—this?’
When he touched the disc it fell soundlessly into the well of fabric formed by her robes as they draped across her crossed legs.
Alyssa was speechless. Even Tor looked bemused
as he picked up the disc between his long fingers and held it up, the green gem glinting fiercely in the weak sunshine.
He sliced a link into her mind,
Welcome back to me,
and slipped the disc into his pocket as he leant to kiss her.
Numb, Alyssa permitted the kiss but did not return it. It was as though she had been seeing the world through blurred vision these past years; hearing it through a gauze. As soon as she was released from the archalyt, every colour, scent and sound—and probably taste, too, she thought—increased in intensity.
Tor pulled back from her mouth. How long had he dreamed of that? He did not even care that the affection was so one-sided on this occasion.
Saxon!
Alyssa called across the link.
He came as fast as his hobbling gait and blind eyes would allow, his face contorted by emotion.
You’re back,
his lovely, deep voice said into her mind; a voice she had missed so much.
How?
Tor did it.
Saxon smiled his torn and ragged grin; a ghost of its former radiance.
That’s because he is the One.
The ride to Ildagarth proper would take them until midday and Saxon took the horses slowly to ensure the precious couple he escorted had plenty of time to say what needed to be shared between them.
‘So, what about you?’
Alyssa looked at Tor quizzically to buy herself a few more moments before she had to relive what she had tried to deny every day of her life since.
‘It’s painful for me, Tor.’ She looked at the purplish hills in the distance and the different greens of the grasses which stretched out towards them. She swore she could catch on the breeze the fragrance of the lavender on those hills.
He took her hand and kissed its palm tenderly.
Tell me,
he spoke into her mind.
And so she did, sparing him none of the brutal details. She watched him smile at her tale of flying with Saxon Fox and she watched grief form in his eyes when she described her first ordeal with Goth; then watched those blue eyes deepen into despair and then hatred when she told of her second, more physical encounter.
Her voice shook in the telling but his own trembling touch steadied her so she could finish the story. Perhaps he had thought it could not get worse but she felt his body stiffen at her description of what Goth had done to Milt and Oris, the injuries he had inflicted on Saxon and how he had promised he would wait for her.
When she had finished her telling, silence claimed the slim space between them. Finally Tor nodded.
‘I understand why you would choose the Academie. I even admire the archalyt now for how it protects you. I did not protect you.’
‘Tor, don’t. You weren’t to know any of this would occur. You forget—it was my choice to leave with Sorrel. I control my life, not you.’
She realised she had forgotten to tell Tor about the dream she had experienced while floating in the Green as Goth claimed her virginity but there was no time now. Saxon opened a link to tell her they were almost at their destination.
Alyssa reminded herself to tell Tor later about the stolen child and the books. Perhaps he might know something of the story or be able to make the connection with Merkhud.
She squeezed his hand. ‘Come on. Let’s make this a good day.’
Normally Tor would have revelled in the opportunity to explore a new city, particularly one of such historical note as Ildagarth, but his attentions were fixed firmly on Alyssa. Just watching the way she moved her hands as she spoke was far more fascinating for him than the glorious architecture, albeit in ruins, which surrounded him.
Ildagarth, or so the tale went, had never fully recovered from being razed by the warlock Orlac. All around were ruins of sad beauty which looked as though they had reared through the ground from another world. Around them had sprung a new city but the old one still peeped through.
The locals’ eyes slid easily past the exquisite columns of marble; the decorative floors, of which perhaps only a corner remained; the achingly beautiful carvings. In the oldest and most inspiring part of the city thrived a
new community dedicated to commerce and learning of a less philanthropic nature. To a visitor, however, Ildagarth was a place of unrivalled magnificence where one could almost hear the ghosts of centuries gone if alone in one of the dozens of empty, ruined buildings.
Right now, though, the city was filling rapidly with masses of the living. They had travelled from throughout the Kingdom of Tallinor and beyond from the Four Kingdoms to celebrate the most famous of all festivals: Czabba. Literally it meant ‘Death’ but the occasion was anything but solemn. The Festival dated back centuries to the time of the folklore legend of Orlac but its original meaning had become muddied as the times marched on. In truth Merkhud was right. It had evolved into a grand masquerade of gigantic proportions in which every street of the city reverberated to the merrymaking of its guests.