‘Tor, you don’t know anything—you only believe what she tells you!’
Alyssa suddenly felt sorry. He looked so beaten.
‘I have no one else to trust. Orlac is coming.’
She felt the fight go out of her at his final words. He was right. They were all victims and they could choose to give in or to at least die fighting this god.
‘What do you want me to do?’ she finally asked of him, wishing his handsome head was not bowed by the same empty despair she felt.
‘Look after Gidyon and Lauryn. Keep them safe whilst I go in search of Rubyn. If and when I return with him, we will consider our next move.’
She nodded; said nothing.
Tor finally voiced the question he feared most to ask. ‘What about the King?’
‘Lorys will be given the truth. He will lay no hand on our children, you can be sure of this, Tor. They have my absolute protection.’
Tor shuddered. Similar words had been said to his parents many years ago by a silver-haired man who had also believed he had a royal authority of safety to offer. His thoughts drifted back to Jhon and Ailsa Gynt. He must see them.
‘When will you leave?’ she asked.
He glanced towards the window. ‘Before dawn…soon.’ He looked at her, sadness flitting across his face. ‘It’s best I’m not here when the King returns.’
‘How will he believe me if you are not here for him to see for himself?’
‘The children are enough proof,’ he said flatly.
‘I have never told him of our marriage.’
‘Keep him in ignorance,’ Tor said, bluntly. ‘He has enough distress headed his way.’
Alyssa turned back to the window at the sound of an almighty thunderclap. She looked out just in time to see the sky turn almost white as a massive strike of lightning arced menacingly across the land. She saw its jagged pattern disappear behind the moors and would not
understand until later that morning the great wave of sadness she suddenly felt pass through her.
With these final theatrics the storm broke and the heavens opened, unleashing a hard and relentless rain which would last for several days, making a setting fit for the great sorrow of Tallinor at the death of its King.
Far away across the seas in the land of Cipres, itself being lashed by torrential rain, another woman looked out from a palace window and made a fearful decision. She was not a queen, but she protected one…a young one.
‘Why these dreams?’ she asked herself. Relentlessly invading her nights—which were sleepless anyway since the death of her beloved Queen Sylven—was a woman’s voice. It was a lovely voice which did not frighten her, and yet what she spoke of did.
Hela watched the downpour intensify, finally blanking out views over the manicured gardens and treetops. Why did this dreamspeaker implore her to smuggle the child away from her home? Surely Sarel was coping with enough? Here she was, barely dealing with her own intense grief following her mother’s murder, whilst the realm fell into crisis and dignitaries clamoured for the child’s immediate coronation; fierce competition was already erupting between the men who sensed they might control the nation as the new Queen’s regent until she came of age. Plus, there was a harem to consider for the future and begin assembling, as well as advisers to gather…people they could trust with the young mind.
No, it was all too fast.
Sarel was certainly of an age to assume her royal role but Hela knew she could only be a figurehead for a while yet. The young Queen was still too immature and unworldly to make decisions on State matters. Hela shook her head, imagining how Sarel’s idyllic childhood would be gone in a flash, replaced with weighty tasks which Sylven had not planned for her beautiful daughter so soon. Hela knew how the former queen had protected Sarel, even from the adoring public, and she had often heard Sylven proclaim privately in her chambers that she would not allow Sarel’s special years to be claimed by royal protocol as her own had.
But all of these protestations fell aside as Hela tried to understand the implications of this strange woman’s earnest words to flee with the young Queen.
Still more extraordinary, this woman told her to find Torkyn Gynt. He alone would cast the ring of protection around Sarel whilst he dealt with her usurpers. Usurpers? What did she mean? The Regent? Or was there something more sinister in this Dreamspeaker’s words.
Hela laid her hands and cheek against the cool of the window and made a pact with herself. If the dream woman spoke to her tonight, she would find the courage to reply rather than just cringe, terrified, hoping she would leave her alone.
The notion of seeing Torkyn Gynt again was enticing. She had admitted to herself many times that if Sylven had not fallen for him so hard, she herself would have made her own moves to win his attention. However, the thought of escaping with Sarel, smuggling her away from all things familiar and travelling into the Kingdom of Tallinor was petrifying.
Hela needed a reason—one she could fully appreciate—and she intended that this Dreamspeaker would provide it, or once and for all leave her alone.
Lys did visit Hela that night and was pleased that the maidservant was finally responsive. So far she had been mute; the conversation so one-sided it sounded ridiculous even to her ears. Until the girl began to ask questions it meant she was not taking to heart anything which Lys was saying. Time was short; she needed Hela to take action immediately. Orlac was about to enter the city, bringing with him the demonic mind of Dorgryl. It was obvious they had designs on Cipres; an ideal place from which to access Tallinor whenever Orlac was ready to make his move.
She knew Dorgryl too well, assumed he would want to play for a while and resume his former debauched habits. It would be novel for him to have a body again and he would indulge it to its fullest. Time was clearly on his side: Tallinor could fall just as easily later as now.
The Prince of the Host might feel differently, of course. In fact, she was counting on Orlac to fight back.
Oh, she was happy for any additional time she could win, but her last hope for saving lives curiously relied on Orlac ignoring Dorgryl’s demands. How odd that she found herself on the side of the young god; perhaps they might even find themselves united in the struggle to rid all worlds of Dorgryl.
She pushed these thoughts aside and concentrated on Hela’s tentative voice; good, the girl had found the courage to ask a question in her dream.
Who are you?
My name is Lys. I am a friend of Tor.
Why do you visit me in my dreams?
It is the only way I can reach you, Hela.
What do you want of me?
I have already told you. I need you to get Sarel away from Cipres.
What are we running from? Surely she is safest in her own country?
Under normal circumstances she is. But right now, Hela, there is evil headed into Cipres. Evil’s name is Orlac. He intends to snatch the throne of Cipres.
Hela smirked in her dream.
We don’t have kings in Cipres, Lys, we only have queens. How can he hope to rule?
He will rule by giving Cipres the new Queen it needs, craves…but it won’t be Sarel.
How can you know this?
She sounded angry now.
Because I know him. He is clever, interminably patient and he is fuelled by a terrible hatred. Hela, I want you to listen to me now…I have a story to tell you. Will you hear me out?
Yes
, came the firm reply.
Lys told the maidservant the tale from ancient times, bringing her up to date with Tor’s escape to Tallinor and why he had had to run away and not return to the site of Sylven’s death. It took some time to relay this and when she finally finished, there was silence.
She pushed Hela.
Do you believe this story?
I believe in Tor. I knew there had to be a reason why he didn’t come back. Everyone said he was involved in the killing but I never accepted this.
You like him, don’t you?
I defy any woman to say differently.
Lys laughed. It was a lovely warm sound in Hela’s dream and she joined the Dreamspeaker in her mirth before the woman spoke again, seriously.
Tor is the only one with the knowledge to fight Orlac.
So why are you here talking to me and not helping Tor fight this Orlac?
Because Orlac is almost at the gates of the city and I am responsible for his arrival, shall we say. I want to restore order to the world he invades. If something should happen to Sarel by his hand, then I will not be able to right things. She must be protected whilst the fight between Orlac and Tor is dealt with. I promise you, Hela, if you cooperate we will return her to her rightful throne, but first we must keep her life whole.
And Tor will be able to do this?
Tor and his supporters, yes. I believe Sarel is much better off amongst the Tallinese than with her own kind right now. Cipres is not safe for her.
Lys held her breath.
I shall do as you ask.
The Dreamspeaker felt relief flood through her. One step at a time, and this was the first in the right direction,
the first step towards keeping everyone she could safe from the threat of Orlac and, more so, the evil Dorgryl.
When must I leave? It will not be easy.
You must make your preparations immediately. You have access to Sarel and, most importantly, you have her trust. Use that now and get her away from this place. Take only what you can carry. Jewels and gowns are not necessary. Wear peasant clothes but carry money. Pay for passage across the seas and when you reach Caradoon, look for a woman there called Eryna—she runs a brothel. She will help you. You must tell her you are a friend of Tor. You can tell her the truth and your secret will be safe.
How will I find Tor?
Hela asked.
He will be making his way into the Great Forest—I know this means nothing to you but all will be plain when you reach Tallinor. The Heartwood, within the Forest, is a sacred place—it is where you will find him. Right now Tor is back at the palace in Tal.
With the Queen he loves?
You know about that?
Before she died—that same morning in fact—Sylven mentioned something to me about a proclamation that King Lorys had married a beautiful, young commoner. She remarked that this woman was Tor’s former lover.
Oh, she is far more than that, Hela. Alyssa is Tor’s wife.
Tor took his leave of the Queen and their children just prior to daybreak. It was the hardest of partings. Gidyon was stoic but Lauryn’s face betrayed her feelings; they
both understood the need to remain at the palace whilst their father completed this journey to find their brother. They had learned the incredible news of their brother’s existence while huddled over tea and honeycakes in their mother’s rooms. Sallementro and Saxon had rejoined them and even Gyl, in better humour, was permitted to join this intimate gathering.
There had been silence when Tor told Sorrel’s tale.
It was Gidyon who gathered his thoughts first. ‘So do we presume that Lauryn, Rubyn and myself form the Trinity?’
Tor nodded. ‘It is my belief that once we find Rubyn, yes, we will have assembled the Trinity.’
Lauryn looked alarmed. ‘But what is expected of us?’ She gazed at the Queen as she said this.
Alyssa shrugged slightly, a faint smile playing around her lips. ‘When you start to hear a woman speaking in your dreams, then you’ll know more.’
‘You mean Lys? This woman who speaks to Father and Sax?’
It was Tor who nodded. ‘And Cloot, Sallementro, Arabella, Solyana, Figgis…all of the Paladin. I agree with the Queen, Lys will probably advise what is required of the Trinity.’ He ignored Alyssa’s slight scowl at his formality. Considering they had only recently kissed so tenderly, it did seem a fatuous pretence, but she understood the need for his caution.
Lauryn’s eyes narrowed. ‘Does she speak to you, your highness?’
‘Please, Lauryn…I would like it if you called me Mother.’ Alyssa looked hopefully at her daughter. Even though she was a queen and used to giving orders, it was
a difficult request to ask of someone who was still very much a stranger to her. ‘No, Lys has never spoken to me,’ the Queen answered, brushing the crumbs of her light meal from her gown. ‘I don’t know why this is so but I have given up wondering over it.’
Gyl’s patience was wearing thin. He had made a silent promise that he would try very hard this morning to find a level of understanding; one which was generous enough to cope with all these strange stories and concepts. He clamped his jaw tight for fear of saying something he might regret and yet all of this was so far-fetched. And now the conversation was drifting into banality. An old woman had died on this very seat before him just hours ago—where the corpse had disappeared to remained a mystery and although her death had set off some frantic decisions, here they all were sipping tea, munching honeycakes, politely talking about strangers being allowed to call his mother, ‘Mother’!
Gyl’s eyes inevitably strayed back to Lauryn; he was angry with her. How could she be his sister…halfsister, that is—or was it stepsister? What ludicrous series of events had led to this? Mind you, he had to admit it, she was worth all this frustration. What a beauty— and to think this was the girl he had met on that terrible day on the road to Axon. She had been heavier then, he thought, and dripping in mud so the beautiful face was shielded from him. She was deliberately avoiding his gaze now, he knew this. That boded well—if she had not found him attractive, she would have been able to stare straight back at him. As for the brother—his stepbrother he conceded with slight bitterness— he did not give much away; held his
thoughts close and yet seemed fairly at ease with the supposed strangers around him.
Gyl’s own thoughts turned outward again, back to the gathering which seemed, finally, to be on the move. The man, Gynt, was pulling himself to his feet, his incredibly blue eyes always glancing back to the Queen. Gyl imagined these two people together, and their love which had produced three children—real children; not like him, an orphan welcomed into the palace. His mouth tasted suddenly sour. He must not start to think like this. The King would be home shortly—any hour in fact—and all would be put right.