‘I am Lauryn,’ she said, struggling to keep her voice steady.
Tor’s tears spilled over now and ran freely down his face. ‘I named you, child, the moment your mother bravely birthed you, our most precious daughter.’
He reached out his arms and felt the Colours roar within as he pulled his beautiful child into his arms.
Orlac would never touch these children was his last rational thought before he lost himself completely in the emotion of the reunion. He reached for Gidyon, who joined his sister and father. Solyana, Arabella, Saxon, Kythay and even Cloot melted away into the darkness of the trees, leaving the trio to embrace in their private sanctuary. Only Darmud Coril remained to watch over them.
The god sighed inwardly.
Almost there,
he whispered.
In the Bleak, Lys breathed out with relief.
Almost,
she echoed silently.
Tor spent the next few weeks enjoying getting to know his children within the cocoon-like atmosphere of the Heartwood. The joy they brought was, at times, overwhelming. On several occasions Lauryn asked him why he was staring; and Gidyon noticed that his father often deliberately sat so near to him that their shoulders touched. He liked it but did not comment, for fear of chasing away his father’s welcome attention.
For Tor, it was a remarkable time. Being able to see these glorious individuals every day made him want to burst into song. One day he did, to everyone’s astonishment. He was happy; truly happy.
Lauryn was already in love with him. A daughter’s love; so precious. He knew this by the way she seemed to delight in every moment of the day she shared with him and by the way she warmly accepted
his affections. Tor sensed that this very beautiful daughter of his had felt her lack of parents keenly, and now that she had found family, she was terrified to let go.
Gidyon was different. He had arrived at the Heartwood as a ‘complete’ person; at ease with himself and his loneliness. Tor could see that he had a very good head on his shoulders. The boy was a leader, all right, and the power he commanded seemed to seep out of every pore. If Tor cast around Gidyon, without making actual contact, he could feel that power pulsating within the boy. But Gidyon was not aware of its magnitude. He was also unconscious of his classical good looks. His unassuming manner would stand him in good stead, Tor was sure of it.
The children enjoyed those carefree weeks hosted by the Heartwood, while Tor, Saxon and Cloot were reminded of those wonderful days with Alyssa after the escape from Caremboche. This time, however, they knew their days here were numbered, but for now it was a time of peace and of learning for the children.
Gidyon and Lauryn had much to catch up on about the story of their parents. Their memories of their childhood had gone now; even Lauryn’s recall had dimmed to nothing of ‘before Tallinor’, as she described it. Neither seemed particularly troubled by this, though both suffered grief over Sorrel’s death, especially Lauryn who had shared those first few days after their arrival with the old lady.
At Cloot’s wise bidding, Tor began to inform the children in much greater detail about his past, their
mother’s past and what he knew of this strange journey he was destined to make. Saxon disappeared for a few days’ foraging in the forest and Tor took advantage of this time to educate Gidyon and Lauryn.
This particular day, over a leisurely picnic, he picked up the threads of his story with the intention of finishing it. He spared them no detail and included all he could remember of his dreams about Orlac. If he thought the tale of Cloot’s shapechanging had created intense curiosity, he was not at all ready for the barrage of enquiry which followed his telling of his more recent adventures. He brought them up to date, finishing with his journey back to the Heartwood, where he had come to await their own arrival.
Gidyon shook his head in disbelief. ‘And our mother is now Queen of this realm?’
‘As I am given to understand,’ Tor replied.
Lauryn wasted no time in hitting to the heart of the matter. ‘And how do you feel about that?’
Tor took a breath. He had promised them nothing but honesty at the outset. ‘Devastation. Anger. Pain. Heartbreak.’ He sighed. ‘Perhaps understanding…I hope,’ he added and smiled, a little embarrassed. That wound still felt very raw.
‘There could be a mistake,’ Gidyon offered hopefully.
Tor shook his head. ‘No, son. I read the official notice; saw the royal seal which I know all too well. And your mother is disarmingly beautiful—like her daughter here.’
Lauryn wanted to pinch herself. She still could not believe anyone, even a biased parent, could say such a thing.
‘Any King would fall in love with her,’ Tor added very quietly.
Lauryn switched subjects quickly. ‘What about Goth?’ she demanded. ‘What kind of threat is he to her, or to us?’
Tor took a sip of the sweet wine he held in a clay cup. ‘Of this I am not sure. What I am sure of is that he will go to ground for a while. He will re-emerge to do more damage but I shall be looking for him this time. Your mother has been warned and is safe.’
‘Father…’ Gidyon said tentatively, ‘in all this time, we have not yet talked about this Trinity you speak of and how Lauryn and I fit into the story.’
Tor nodded. ‘You are right. I have not discussed it because I do not know what to tell you. I don’t even know if you
do
fit into this terrible web being weaved about us; I am assuming you must.
‘The Trinity eludes me, as it eluded Merkhud. But it is the only weapon with which we can fight Orlac and I have to keep searching for it—or all the suffering will have been worthless.’
‘Could it be us?’ Lauryn asked. The two men looked at her. ‘I mean, the three of us, now that we are reunited?’
‘Possibly,’ Tor conceded. ‘That was certainly my first notion. And yet I feel there would be a sign; an indication from the Heartwood, or even from Lys, to
tell me that the Trinity is complete. But so far there has been nothing. It just doesn’t feel right for it to be us.’
‘What is your plan? Where will you continue looking?’ said Gidyon.
‘Well, first things first. I wanted you both to have this quiet time in the Heartwood. But soon we must move on to Tal. It is time we met with your mother.’
He looked unsure and Lauryn read his hesitation. ‘How do you think she will receive this news?’
Tor grinned sadly. ‘Your mother’s wrath scares me more than Orlac’s.’
The children smiled, but they knew there was probably some truth to their father’s words, having got to know the feisty Alyssa through both Tor and Saxon’s recollections.
He continued. ‘I don’t know, Lauryn. You must remember that your mother birthed you amidst great trauma and, above all, confusion. She had no idea that you had even been born. Worse still, she believes Gidyon to be dead; she saw what she was led to believe was his corpse. Can you imagine the pain of that?
‘And now, seeing her dead son alive after all these years, then learning that she was tricked into believing only one child had been born, and discovering that I knew of you both and allowed you to be sent away…Just one of these lies would be enough to send any woman mad. We are about to hit her with all three.’
The children nodded.
‘Finally, I am faced with confessing that I allowed her to watch me die. She loved me as deeply as I still
love her and yet I permitted the trickery to take place. She witnessed the brutal execution of the one person she could love whilst she grieved for her dead son. How will she react to see me standing in front of her, when she realises I lied to her and betrayed her?’
Tor saw the dread and concern in their faces and tried to lighten the mood. ‘I suggest we all wear armour!’
It won the smiles he wanted but he could see they were uncertain. ‘Her anger will be directed at me, not you. She will be shocked to learn of your existence, but she will love you. I give you my word. You are her flesh.’
‘We are your flesh too,’ Lauryn cautioned. ‘I will stand by you, Father.’
Tor felt a surge of love for this proud child. She would need that courage for what they still had to face. He wished that Lys would come to him. She had been absent for a long time now and he wondered at how much time they had left. He knew it would be short and he must use it wisely in training the children.
As Merkhud had taught him, so he would now teach them. Gidyon’s power was vast but it was not under his control nor could he summon it easily. That must be righted. Lauryn, he sensed, would wield her power with subtlety but she must judge what to use and when.
He decided to spend another Eighthday in the Heartwood before beginning the journey to Tal. This would give him time to teach the children more about
wielding the Power Arts. It would also give him time to gather the courage he knew he would need to face Alyssa once again.
While her children talked about her with their father, the Queen of Tallinor was tasting the custard which would grace that night’s sweet course at the banquet which the King was throwing in her honour. It was her Name Day and when she had shyly admitted it several days previous, the King had insisted they put on a feast and a show for the city of Tal.
‘Such extravagance, Lorys. Really, it is not necessary,’ she had admonished, desperately wishing she had never confessed.
‘Tush, my love. It is my pleasure to spoil you. I will hear no more against it and will leave it with your good self to plan with Cook. There must be plentiful food on stalls for all who care to come to the palace to pay their respects. And there will be wine and music and songsters. Sallementro can write a special song for you, Alyssa.’
‘Another one?’ she said, a groan evident behind her words.
‘Any amount of them would not do you justice. I see the Maglieri Chorus is in Tal—a more beautiful group of voices I cannot imagine. They must sing for our people in a free concert.’
Lorys continued to outline his spontaneous plans but Alyssa had already stopped listening, knowing
already that she would have to suffer another of the King’s balcony scenes. She was only just recovering from the last one, on the day of their marriage, when it had seemed as though thousands of Tallinese had squashed into the main castle courtyard to celebrate their union. She had not enjoyed the experience.
Standing on that particular balcony had brought back the nightmare of Tor’s execution all those years ago. It had shocked her that these memories could still affect her so profoundly and she had needed to steady herself on the King’s arm whilst she pushed the rush of visions away.
That grisly scene aside, Lorys might enjoy the attentions of his genuinely adoring people but Alyssa still felt very awkward about being called Queen. She and Lorys had been married almost three moons now but she could not shake the notion that she was an impostor. Lorys simply laughed and kissed her to stop her talking when she broached the subject; but Nyria’s perfume still permeated the chambers Alyssa had been given and that was how fresh the older woman’s memory was in Alyssa’s mind.
‘Well, dab some of your own around,’ Lorys had suggested. He was no help in this situation. He was so enamoured of his new wife that none of her gentle protestations had any effect whatsoever.
It made Alyssa nervous that the Tallinese had accepted her so readily after loving Nyria for so long. It was old Koryn, the King’s manservant, who had commented quietly to her that the Tallinese memory was long.
‘They have never forgotten that courageous young woman who proudly watched her lover die the worst of deaths. The people never held you to blame, my lady. They suffered with you at the thought of what that terrible Goth had visited on you and their hearts bled with you when Physic Gynt died.’
She had cried when he said this to her. ‘Thank you, Koryn,’ she had whispered, ever grateful for his wise and timely counsel.
‘Let them love you, your highness. You are a wonderful partner for the King. They can see this. And you embrace all that is good about Tallinor: grace, elegance, a love of the village, a respect for its people, its creatures. You have opened five schools already, my lady. It won’t stop there. The education of our young minds is the future, and yet you also hold close to the past with your knowledge of herblore and even your mark as one of the Academie. You are truly a fine ambassador for our Land,’ Koryn had added.
The old servant had died only two days later and it was Alyssa who had grieved the hardest. His insightful words still echoed in her mind. She needed to trust his judgement—and her own ideas of how the new Queen of Tallinor should win the respect of her people.
She may dress in stunning robes, sleep between silk sheets and be bathed and groomed by a myriad of servants, but she was still, in her heart, Alyssandra Qyn of Mallee Marsh. Her closest staff begged her to be more lavish and to command them to do her
bidding rather than politely request it, but such behaviour was not to Alyssa’s liking.
Nyria had earned her respect over a lifetime and, although it might have sounded to others as though she commanded, that was just her aristocratic manner. And working so closely with Lorys as his assistant, Alyssa had learned that though he was King by right, he never behaved as though that right came to him unearned. Lorys believed that the sovereign must earn the respect of his people through action.
No, if Alyssa had to be Queen, then she would rule alongside her King in the only way she could. Her own way.
Which was why she was in the kitchens with Cook right now, her sleeves rolled up and her face gleaming from the efforts of crafting the perfect custard.
‘How’s this?’ she asked, dipping a wooden spatula into the mixture and holding it out.
Cook loved Alyssa. They enjoyed a special relationship in which familiarity was important to both.
‘Well, I can hardly tell my Queen I hate it, can I?’
‘Speak plainly,’ Alyssa said, grinning. ‘I defy you to find fault.’
Cook tasted the fluffy yellow blob on offer. ‘Well, well…it is delicious, your majesty.’
Alyssa clapped her hands. ‘You mean it?’
‘I do,’ Cook replied, genuinely impressed. ‘Now, turn it out into that fresh bowl—Jos will help you lift it—and let it cool for tonight. You learn fast, your highness.’
‘I enjoyed doing this,’ Alyssa said, wiping the back of her hand against her forehead.
Cook put her own spoon down firmly. ‘I know. But you can’t keep hiding down here. You belong upstairs. And it’s time you headed to your chambers and prepared for tonight. You have to look wonderful, not all red and sweaty. Come on—away with you, my pretty Queen, or I’ll be in trouble with the King.’
Alyssa pulled a face. She wished she
could
hide down here in the kitchens. But Cook was right: she had to prepare herself for the evening’s festivities. It was not that she was ungrateful for the people’s attentions—she felt honoured and humbled by it all—but she also felt it was undeserved.