Will you not help them?
I will help them the only way I can. You will help only your cause. If they live or if they should die, it matters not to you.
That is a strong accusation.
You have earned it. I hate you.
May I show you something?
It was a change of tone and topic Alyssa had not expected.
No. I wish you to leave me. Invade Saxon’s dreams…or Cloot’s. Better still, give Goth the nightmare he deserves.
I want to show you why your children matter to me.
Well, I want nothing to do with you. Let me be. Let them alone. You will get no absolution here, Lys.
I don’t seek absolution. I seek to show you who you are.
That caught her attention.
I know who I am.
Do you?
Alyssa faltered, Lys could hear it in her shaky response.
I…yes.
Come, child. This is more important than your hate.
Where?
Follow me.
And Alyssa did. She permitted herself to be swept up and along with Lys—whom she could not see. They travelled in her mind and Alyssa found herself watching the birth of a child. It was a boy. He was given to the flaxen-haired beauty, his mother, but only briefly. She wept bitterly when the baby was gently taken from her by an immensely tall, dark, wavy-haired man with brilliant blue eyes. He was instantly familiar and then that thought was gone—she could no longer see him, only his arms handing the child to a woman. The woman’s face was shrouded by a gauzy hooded cloak.
‘Take him,’ Alyssa heard the man say.
‘Are we sure this is right?’ the woman asked over the bitter weeping of the mother.
‘Go now,’ he said and she did.
The vision became hazy.
Where is she taking him?
Alyssa asked of Lys, helplessly intrigued.
Watch.
The vision cleared and Alyssa was watching the shrouded figure of the woman walking along a dusty road. She was approaching a small hamlet. There was a familiar scene ahead and she began to feel a chill creeping across her.
Flat Meadows,
she whispered.
Lys said nothing.
Alyssa watched as the woman, carrying the infant, entered Flat Meadows, walking towards the inn as she turned off the main road to Tal. She did not want to believe this scene.
I don’t want to see this.
You must.
Alyssa held her breath as the woman walked up to that well-known doorway and entered. Now she found herself inside with the woman at a table, sipping on water, poking at a meal. She could almost smell its delicious aroma because she knew whose cooking this was. Sure enough, the cook appeared and she heard their conversation.
‘Come on now, I won’t have anyone pick at my food,’ said the familiar voice. ‘Here we are, then. Give me that babe and you eat my beef and leave none, mind. You’re scrawny enough.’
On cue, the infant began to wail. The cook did not wait for it to be handed over. Instead she reached and took the child from the woman’s arm and disappeared with it. When she returned some time later, the woman had finished her meal and the child was brought in from
the back rooms. It was sleeping and content. Alyssa heard the cook explain that one of the lasses in the village had a new baby and more than enough milk for an extra mouth. She noticed that the infant was not yet handed back to the woman, who had removed the hood but her back was to Alyssa. And then in amazement she listened to this woman tell a tall tale about how she had come by the child. The cook, that dear plump lady, listened with increasing woe, her eyes getting wider as the story unravelled. She began to weep at the child’s abandonment and the woman’s story that the parents had died in a fire and no one from his village would take him.
Stop this!
Alyssa screamed but Lys did not listen.
She tried to close her eyes but they would not obey. Instead she witnessed the cook lean forward and make an offer to the woman who accepted in an instant. Taking off her apron, one arm still cradling the precious boy, she led the woman out of the inn and now Alyssa wanted to look away but she could not. She did not want to see which dwelling the pair of women walked towards, talking in hushed tones. But there it was already…a familiar cottage at the end of the village sitting amongst pretty gardens. A happy enough home although it had never enjoyed the sound of a child’s laughter. It was the home of the travelling scribe who had done well for himself; had worked hard to provide a solid roof over his head and that of his wife.
Alyssa felt dizzy. She tried to talk to Lys but knew it was useless. Lys intended her to see this vision through to its conclusion, whatever that was, and so she fought her nausea and looked on as Jhon Gynt put his arms around his plump wife, Ailsa, and smiled at the baby she
carried in her arms. He welcomed the stranger who was already in a hurry to depart, claiming she was on her way to Tal and the infant had so slowed her up that she had lost income. They smiled and made small talk and then finally the stranger dug into her pocket and lifted out a small pouch, knotted at one end.
She handed it to Jhon Gynt, telling him it was to be given to the boy when he was ‘of an age’. They enquired when that would be and she waved away their questions, rising to leave.
‘You will know the right time,’ she said. ‘Take special care of this precious child. His name is Torkyn.’
And with that she turned, her face uncovered, and Alyssa saw the woman’s face for the first time. She sucked in her breath with shock. She thought she may have begun to scream but she went unheard; she tried desperately to wake herself but she was still in her dream as she watched the first vision blur and disappear as another seemed to take shape.
Now Alyssa was staring at a village green. She caught her breath. It was Minstead. The spinsters were dancing and the men of the surrounding villages had gathered. She could see her father. Her whole body began to shake with the tears she wanted to cry at the sight of him. He was young and proud. Not a handsome man but broad, with a bright smile and a wit which kept the other young lads laughing constantly. His sandy hair was neatly tied in a thong and his face clean-shaven. And whilst he laughed with his friends his eyes never left a woman who was too far away for Alyssa to recognise. She could see honey golden hair, loose, with two small plaits tied at the back with flowers. The woman finally
tossed her bouquet and Lam Qyn courageously fought off all those who coveted that same bunch of daisies.
Alyssa cried out again in the next scene as she saw her father standing outside the cottage which had been her home for fifteen summers —she could even see the old apple tree where Kythay had once been tethered by her friend, Sorrel.
Then she was inside the cottage. She saw the midwife imploring a woman who was presumably her own mother to push her child out. The woman’s thighs—all she could see—were sweaty and she made short, shallow breaths between contractions. The midwife was a tall, large woman blocking out her mother. Alyssa wished she could shove her out of the way but she could not. She could only wait and hope she would be permitted to see the mother she never had in life.
Alyssa thought she had begun to cry in her dream. She knew the ending of this tale. Her mother would die and she would live. She felt the old guilt grab her throat and twist as she wept, begging Lys to release her from this vision. Lys paid no heed.
You must watch this, child,
she said. It sounded to Alyssa as though the Dreamspeaker’s voice caught as she spoke. Was she moved too?
Her mother had begun to scream and push hard now, and then in a gush of blood a tiny, perfect child was brought into the world. She began to scream immediately and the midwife wasted no time in severing the thick blue rope which connected Alyssa to her mother. As her blade sliced through the tube, Alyssa thought she heard Lys cry out too. She looked back and saw that her mother had begun to bleed profusely. The midwife called out and
Lam Qyn came running in. There was no time for joy at the birth of his daughter, who was bundled roughly into a linen and thrust into his hands as he was given the news that his wife was haemorrhaging.
‘I doubt she’ll live through this,’ the midwife said matter-of-factly.
Were all midwives so callous, Alyssa wondered—so oblivious to the emotions of the people involved in the life and death struggle of birth? It seemed they were because not long after, a sheet was laid across her bleeding mother and the midwife told Lam Qyn she could do nothing more.
‘Your wife is dying. Give me the child…let it suckle at her breast for as long as she can before her weak heart stops,’ she said, wanting to snatch the child from her father who looked at the midwife with distaste and disbelief.
‘You’d better say your farewell,’ the midwife cautioned. ‘She’s not long for this world.’
How true,
Lys thought, her cheeks wet with tears of pain and guilt as she watched her now-grown daughter live through the agony.
Alyssa heard a soft sigh and Lam Qyn call his wife’s name over and over again. He even shook her, grabbing the child just in time before she fell off her mother’s breast. He clutched the child in one arm and encircled his dead wife with the other and sobbed in the same way she herself had heard him sob over the years. These were the tears of an inconsolable man. They had been married only ten moons.
And now his wife’s spirit was gone. All that was left was her shell; cleansed and laid out by friends. She lay
on her bed, flowers in her hair, dressed in a soft gown of palest cream.
People finally stepped out of the way and Alyssa could look upon her mother for the first time. She was beautiful with an ethereal quality— from her pale and flawless skin to the ghost of a smile on her dead lips.
She was the woman who had brought Torkyn Gynt to Flat Meadows.
The vision disappeared and there was silence again. Alyssa was breathing hard and her mind was racing…returning again and again to the same one place, to one woman, one single notion.
The woman who brought Tor to his parents was my mother?
The answer did not come immediately.
The dreams do not lie,
Lys finally said.
And this woman, then…she is you.
There was no question in her voice. It was a statement, uttered in a flat voice of resignation.
Alyssa heard Lys sigh once again. It was heavy with regret.
Yes, child. We are mother and daughter.
No. It can’t be true. If my mother is dead, how can you be the Dreamspeaker who talks to all of us?
Because your mother was never an ordinary woman, Alyssa. Lysandra was my grandmother’s name. I took it when I passed through the worlds to enter Tallinor.
Lys waited. This would be the most difficult of all moments for her daughter.
What do you mean, through the worlds? Who are you?
You know I am Lys. Now you know that I am your mother and you must accept the truth. I am also the Custodian of the Worlds.
A god!
Alyssa shrieked it so loudly in her dream, it took Lys by surprise
. My mother is a god?
Your father never knew.
Alyssa took several deep breaths to find some calm in her voice.
Am I to understand that everything from marrying my father to dying in childbirth was a part of your plan?
I am sorry but this is so.
It was too much to bear, too much to begin to understand. Alyssa began to scream.
Lys tried to calm her but it was of no use.
Leave me! Get out of my head!
She awoke, trembling and perspiring into the chill of the early morning. She stood and deliberately shook herself free from the touch of Lys. She stomped off into the lightening of dawn, not trusting herself to be amongst others. She needed to think…alone.
Lauryn had been groomed and dressed in a plain but exquisitely fine shift. Her hair had been brushed until it gleamed and then expertly braided into a single plait. She was clean and tidy but anxious. What now?
Juno put her fingers to her lips.
I will see you soon. I must go to him now.
Adongo?
We’ll stay close. Try to remain calm. Consider these your rooms for now.
Juno left Lauryn nervously pacing. They were in unknown territory now and her own heart was beating faster as she contemplated what Orlac’s desire could be for this girl. She moved quickly through hallways, making her way towards his suite. She was given immediate entry into the salon where she waited to be announced. The servant returned to bid her follow. The Fourth of the Paladin took a deep breath and stepped inside.
Orlac had bathed too she saw. His golden hair was still very wet and he was towelling himself. He was not at all self-conscious about his nakedness and Juno marvelled at his incredibly perfect body. Again she was reminded of a sculpture but she could not imagine any artist had ever had such a beautiful model to work with. She had not realised she was staring and got a shock when she noticed him grinning at her. Even his bright, wide smile was completely disarming.
‘Enjoy what you see, Juno?’
‘Er…my lord, forgive me. I was far away in my thoughts and I did not mean to stare.’
‘Don’t apologise. I like you looking. It makes me believe all that iciness is contrived and that you really do desire me.’
Juno wished she could blush; that would help cover her true feelings towards him. Instead she steadied herself and ignored his delight in teasing her. ‘You summoned me, my lord.’
He sighed. Juno would give him no sport today. ‘Join me outside.’ He nodded towards his bed chamber. ‘She’s sleeping.’
Outside on Sylven’s favourite and huge balcony the servants had laid out a lavish spread. Tying a fresh towel about himself he sat down and began to graze on the food. Juno joined him at his request but as usual did not eat.
‘How is the girl?’ he asked.
‘Frightened.’
‘Is she comfortable?’
‘As much as I can make her. May I ask where is she from?’
‘Didn’t she tell you?’
She shook her head.
She’s lying,
Dorgryl cautioned.
Be quiet!
Orlac responded, not taking his eyes from Juno.
‘My lord, she said nothing whilst I bathed or dressed her. She is young and it is perfectly understandable that she is terrified in this strange place.’
‘I see. Has she said anything?’
‘Yes. She asked me what you wanted of her?’
He laughed harshly. ‘Can she not guess?’
Juno kept her peace and tried not to glare. She must do nothing to give herself away or put Lauryn into any further danger than she was in already.
He shrugged. ‘Have you noticed anything about her, my all-seeing Juno?’
‘I have, my lord,’ she replied cautiously. ‘It seems she is the woman from my vision.’
‘Hah!’ He clapped his hands with glee. ‘I knew you’d pick it. She is everything you described and you were right, I desire her very much.’
‘Is that your plan for her then, my lord? She will be your…’ she searched for the right word and then found it, ‘companion?’
He nodded. A sly expression seemed to shroud his handsome face.
‘And Xantia?’
‘Is also my companion,’ he said, adding, ‘when I choose.’
Juno left that alone. She despised Xantia and knew the arrival of Lauryn would mean trouble. ‘May I ask her name, where she came from? It might help me to bring her out of herself for you.’
Orlac inhaled the fresh scents of citrus from the gardens below. Distant sounds of the city coming alive for another day could be heard. ‘Is Titus with her?’
‘Yes.’
‘Good. Ask him. He knows who she is.’
Juno rose and bowed. She could push no further. He was closed to her now. ‘Will that be all, my lord?’
‘For now, yes. But I wish you to bring her to me tonight.’
The Fourth had not expected this and had to think quickly. ‘Might that be too soon, sir?’ She made it sound as though she was sharing a thought rather than asking a question or, more to the point, offering a rebuke.
He answered her query in the same casual way she had asked it. ‘I think not. I think it is time we turned her from a girl into a woman.’
The god heard Dorgryl’s rumbling laughter inside.
Nicely done,
he said.
Orlac felt his own heartbeat quicken at the thought of touching Lauryn. He ignored Juno’s pursed lips. ‘Don’t defy me, Juno. I will expect her brought to my chambers tonight.’
‘And Xantia?’ She felt annoyed with herself for returning to the same question.
‘Is of absolutely no concern to you, servant,’ said the owner of the name, appearing on the balcony. ‘Whom do we speak of, my love?’ she cooed, wrapping her arms about his neck and kissing his cheek.
Orlac deliberately loosed himself from her. ‘Of a young woman called Lauryn. She will be sleeping in my bed tonight, Xantia. Please move your things. I don’t like that you seem to have set yourself up in my
chambers in my absence anyway. You have your own rooms.’
Xantia’s face darkened but not enough to betray herself. She turned brightly towards Juno. ‘Is this one of your picks from the city?’
Orlac reached for a warmed, sweet roll. ‘Pour me some of that, Xantia,’ he said. He was purposely treating her in the same brusque yet polite manner in which he treated all servants, but Xantia reacted as though he had just called her by some pet name.
‘Of course, my love,’ and hurried to do as bid.
He continued. ‘She is my choice. Juno had never met her before.’
Xantia poured. ‘From Cipres?’
‘No,’ he said abruptly. He did not even turn to the Fourth. ‘Thank you, Juno. Don’t forget my instructions.’
Juno bowed again and left quickly, hurrying now—just short of running—back to Lauryn’s rooms. Upstairs on the balcony Xantia was scowling behind Orlac. He continued his grazing on the food.
‘You met her on this trip?’ She tried desperately to make it sound casual.
‘Yes.’
‘So, she’s Tallinese?’
‘It would seem so.’ He waved a hand towards her, showing he was tired or worse, bored by her conversation. ‘Xantia, when you leave in the next minute or two, could you ask my aide to come by as soon as possible. I want to see if there’s any word from Goth.’
It was a dismissal. She had no choice but to depart. Xantia tried to kiss him, but he brushed her affections
aside, finding the sweet cake more to his taste this morning. She was enraged when she left. Her first call was not into Arlyn’s rooms as instructed. Instead she hurriedly dressed, gave pinched orders to servants to move her belongings from his lordship’s chambers, and made enquiries as to where she would find this woman who had stolen her place in Orlac’s bed. It did not take long for the information to be delivered.
Adongo’s warning was abrupt.
Beware of Xantia! She comes.
Xantia swept past the nomad whom Orlac had insisted on taking with him to Tallinor. She hated him as much as Juno. Both watched her with guarded expressions and knowing ones too. ‘Get out of my way, Titus,’ she commanded.
It was amusing that Xantia treated the palace staff as though she was royalty and her orders must be obeyed. None of the Cipreans knew which was worse right now: the threat of the stranger’s powers over them or the viciousness of the whore he had installed in the palace. Xantia wrenched open the door and froze as the small figure stood up from the chair on which she had been perched. In that instant she was dragged back years and all those old feelings of hatred returned to settle on her shoulders once again. Adongo sidled up silently from behind.
‘Alyssa?’ he heard Xantia whisper.
Lauryn heard it too and in that silent stretch of brief moments, she took in the blue disk of archalyt which
glinted on the woman’s forehead and marked her as coming from the Academie at Caremboche. She had learned this from her father when he was regaling them with tales of the happy years with her mother. As the woman stood there glowering, Lauryn’s memory suddenly gave her what she needed. Her father had mentioned a vicious woman called Xantia who had hated her mother. So this was she. Lauryn was prepared now for danger. This was clearly no social visit.
‘I am Lauryn,’ she said, deliberately hardening her voice, pleased to hear that she could. ‘And you?’
She stepped further into the room. ‘Xantia. Orlac’s woman.’
Lauryn breathed out. ‘Then he won’t be needing me,’ she replied, moving towards the window to put as much space between herself and Xantia as possible.
‘I wish that were the case,’ the dark-haired woman said. ‘It seems he is a little besotted by you.’
‘I can’t imagine why,’ Lauryn said, stalling for time and wishing Adongo would rescue her as he stood quietly watching the exchange.
She is very dangerous. Do not make her angry
, is all he said.
‘Where have you come from?’ Xantia asked, approaching, still staring intently. She looked like a predator, lining up her next meal.
Lauryn avoided that stare. ‘Tallinor.’
‘Extraordinary,’ Xantia breathed close by. ‘Face me!’ she commanded and Lauryn was angry with herself for turning and doing just that.
Now they were barely inches apart, Xantia standing far taller and scrutinising her from on high. Lauryn was
not expecting it. It was as fast as a snake might strike. Xantia’s hand slapped across her face.
‘That’s for your mother, the bitch. You are Alyssa’s daughter, I presume, because you surely can’t be her twin.’
Lauryn was still trying to catch her breath. She had never been hit before. It was more than just shock; it was anger that claimed her now. So it was true. This was the same woman her father spoke of. The Colours swelled and as Xantia towered above her, a satisfied smirk on her face, Lauryn prepared to retaliate.
Don’t!
Adongo shouted in her head. He had felt the thrum of her magic gathering.
Lauryn stopped herself, breathing hard now.
She is protected by archalyt. I have a better idea for dealing with Xantia.
The Link closed and Adongo disappeared. She wondered what his plan might be.
‘Answer me!’ Xantia screamed.
Lauryn pulled herself back to her feet. Her hair had come loose and her face ached where she had been struck. ‘I am the daughter of Alyssa and Torkyn Gynt.’
Xantia laughed. It was a manic laugh; one which told Lauryn that she stood before a woman whose emotions were suddenly out of control. With her lips pulled back and her eyes wide and wild, she looked deranged. She was.
‘I knew it! So they married and had a child. How very nice for them. How are your parents, child?’
‘I don’t know,’ she lied. ‘I have not seen either in a while.’ Lauryn played for time wondering when Adongo would return.
‘Your mother and I have a score to settle,’ Xantia all but spat.
‘So I can see.’ Lauryn was pleased she felt a level of control now. She would beat this woman.
‘Let’s say my mark on your face is a foretaste of what’s to come.’
‘Xantia.’ It was said mildly enough but both women turned towards the voice, one with relief, the other with fright. ‘Step away from her,’ Orlac said.
Xantia wanted to say something placating. But it was too late. The sentient ones felt his minuscule push on his powers and Xantia was savagely flung back against the wall. She hit it hard and crumpled with a groan on the floor.
Lauryn instantly shielded herself. ‘No need,’ Orlac said, moving towards her. ‘I am not here to hurt you. Let me see your face.’ He cupped her chin in one of his large, elegant hands and she could not help but feel a tingle of attraction once again for this man. He terrified her but his presence was so overwhelming he seemed to remove all resolve from her. She permitted him to hold her as he studied her cheek. ‘I am truly sorry.’ He meant it too and he stroked her face very gently. ‘Titus!’
‘My lord?’ Adongo bowed.
‘Fetch Juno. Have her see to Lauryn’s face and hair.’ He had not let go of her yet. She could feel the strength in his body which touched her now as he stood so close peering at her with those amazing violet eyes. He is my uncle, she told herself and tried to feel revulsion —but could not.
‘At once,’ Adongo said, not really wanting to leave her with Orlac.
‘And have Xantia removed from here and deposited in her quarters. She no longer has access to mine.’ Adongo smiled as he bowed. ‘And at no time, under no circumstances, is she allowed to go anywhere near Lauryn’s chambers. I hold you fully responsible.’
‘You have my word, sire,’ the Moruk said.
Orlac bent and kissed the spot on her cheek which hurt the most. The pain had settled to a dull throb now. Lauryn felt a Link slice open. She expected it would be Adongo but was chilled to hear Orlac’s voice in her head.
You were wise not to use your powers against her.
She felt she stood there naked now. He knew she was empowered and he was not even perturbed. She no longer had barriers against him. He could link and enter her mind at will, brushing aside her shield as though it were not even there. Now he bent and kissed her hand, but this time spoke aloud. ‘Until tonight.’
He left without another word nor did he glance back at the prone figure in the corner.
Alyssa was not just quiet, she was silent. Saxon had tried several times to link but she had shielded from him; asked him to give her time to think on something. He respected her privacy, knowing she would come to him when she was ready to talk about whatever was unsettling her. Tor, whose turn it was to drive the cart, did not notice her withdrawn state for several hours as he concentrated on steering the horses along the uneven track. He and Cloot maintained a constant Link, with their private chatter going back and forth—it kept Tor’s
mind occupied. Goth of course said nothing and everyone ignored him, quietly revelling in his groans each time the cart hit a bump and jarred his arm.