The High Lord (Legends of Trianon: Starla Book 2)

by J. A. Comley

  “Actually, I want to speak with you,” he said, trying to hide his uncertainty behind command and hating how cold his voice had sounded because of it.

  She stepped back to let him in. He took two steps into the room and sealed the door behind him with a spell to prevent eavesdropping.

  “Starla, I need to know what happened. Why you were so —” he began, all the carefully planned words vanishing as her emerald eyes watched him critically.

  ***

  Starla flexed her shoulders as she put down the heavy food basket she was carrying and looked around, hopefully. The Makhi who was watching her today was sitting in the shade nearby, testing new food supplies for poison and sealing others so that they would not rot, fanning herself with one hand. Silently, she cursed herself. Of course the High Lord wouldn't be here yet. It was too early. He came at lunchtime and stayed for the rest of the day. She had watched him work at every opportunity. Every moment he worked made the servant's and the Baron's words seem like more of a lie. Every word proved her own instincts about him true. All his actions and all his words drew her to him. He showed complete selflessness as he worked among the refugees. He never tired, moving back and forth between them, working as hard as any servant. She had nearly laughed out loud seeing him sitting in the dirt with a small group of children, helping them mend their toys.

  “Hello, miss Starla,” a timid voice said at her elbow, drawing her back to the present.

  “Aferion,” Starla greeted the young Cosmaltian man, her mind not fully in the conversation.

  “We asked everyone at the meeting yesterday,” he began, and Starla felt her heart quicken. She had asked his father to enquire after any humans living on Cosmaltia who had had a baby just before the war began. Or any Galatians, for that matter, even as the thought made her heart tense.

  She gave him her full attention and noticed that his dichromatic eyes held regret.

  “No one knows any who fit your criteria even among those who are unaccounted for.” His voice held deep sadness, like everyone else's here. “I am sorry.”

  “That's okay. Thank you for your help.” Starla said, feeling the small hope vanish. The Cosmaltians she had shown the bracelet to had said that the engraving seemed to be the work of a Brosney, a magical metal-smith, but none could identify the crafter's mark.

  “Where is your father?” she asked, wondering belatedly why it was Aferion who had come to deliver their findings.

  He winced, “He is consoling a family. There were two Corruption attacks in the City yesterday. Some of us got caught up in them.”

  “I am so sorry.”

  Starla watched him accept her apology with a heavy heart. She had learned that many here believed that their troubles, the destruction of their planet, was all due to the murder of the High Prince nearly two thousand years ago. The spilling of noble blood placing them under a curse, as prophecy had warned.

  “I should return.”

  Starla nodded mutely, knowing she could offer no aid.

  Had Larkel been forced to deal with those attacks too?

  In an increasingly melancholic state, she let her thoughts stay with the High Lord. Mostly, she had watched how the people here responded to him. These people didn't know him as the city-dwellers did. Most were not even Galatian. The fear and hate that followed him around the City faded here. Here the people saw what she saw: compassion, kindness, and a determination to set things right.

  Foolish girl, she scolded herself. I let myself believe that a bond created through magic shouldn't be used as a reliable basis, but it really does feel more like I have known him for years, even though it all took place over just a single day.

  Again, Starla felt the tears sting her eyes. After this morning, he probably wouldn't show up at all, anymore. The memory made her heart twist. After a week of uncomfortable silence every time their paths crossed, she had thought it couldn't get worse. But then he had shown up at her door, asking for an explanation.

  Starla stared up at the High Lord, always so solid and sure, now unable to speak coherently, his eyes holding back pain for which she knew she was responsible.

  “Why did you word things in such a way that I would think you were acting on the king's orders?” she answered with a question, her voice made cold in her effort not to rush to him and apologise.

  She had seen a flash of something warm under the ice, and Starla felt her heart tighten. In the next moment, it was gone, yet he remained mute, either unwilling or unable to tell her why.

  “Did you make all those mind-links with me to try and glean as much information as possible, intending to use it to plan out how I might react?”

  “What?” he said, looking confused.

  “Or did that just happen later, when you realised you had enough information?” Starla said, interrupting him.

  He narrowed his eyes, sounding more like his old self. “Is it not normal to use your knowledge of someone to try and make better judgments with regards to them?”

  ***

  Larkel sat up in his chair, remembering how Starla's eyes had filled with disappointment as his question had confirmed the answers to hers.

  “So it is true. You used our mind links to learn things about me before I had chosen to share them. Why?” she asked, the last word slicing through his heart, just as her very first question had.

  Of course she wouldn't want his favours and who could blame her, but her words brought him up short. He had thought he let his own feeling project onto her, making him believe he had seen things in her eyes that obviously weren't there, yet now, that didn't seem to be the case.

  The High Lord shut his eyes, remembering what he had felt when he had read her mind in the prison cell, when he'd shared his mind with her at the camp. She had been told, repeatedly, he was dangerous and untrustworthy, and yet, when they met, she, herself, had had an open opinion. She had a kindness and beauty within that intrigued him. And she had looked at him as if he had no scars, looked at him without fear after the attack. Seeing her now, emerald eyes hard with accusation, he couldn't manage to speak.

  “Was it all manipulation?” Starla asked into the silence. “Were you trying to make me trust you so that I would tell you my secret? Did you think I could be bought?” She grimaced, as if wishing to take the words back.

  “Is that really what you think of me?” he said, his voice harsh from holding back pain, his eyes narrowing at the accusation, even as he was sure only his continued silence had brought it forward.

  “No, it isn't. I had wanted to spend time with you, get to know you, but you haven't been around,” she said, stepping forward, eyes wet with unshed tears.

  ***

  Starla swiped at a stray tear, turning back towards the cart that had brought the new supplies. As she picked up the next basket, the morning's events continued to replay in her head.

  She stepped closer, wanting him to know that he had a chance to set it right, that she didn't really believe any of the words that had just poured from her mouth in anger, in embarrassment at her realisation that her sudden rejection must have come as a surprise after so much acceptance.

  “You made it clear when you returned the clips that you didn't want me around,” he said bitterly, his face twisting. “It is my fault. I thought Raoul didn't matter, that the emotions tied to the memory were not that kind of love, but I see now I was wrong.”

  Starla froze halfway to him, genuine confusion overshadowing the surprise in her eyes.

  “Raoul again? He has nothing to do with this.” She shook her head as Larkel drew an unsteady breath.

  “You lied to me. I want to know why,” she said. She strove to keep her voice even.

  Stepping back again, she pulled away from him, fighting to hold back the tears even as her heart ached. She had never thought to meet a man that would fit all her desires. He simply had not existed in her world. Yet when she had met him here, she had pushed him away, mistrustful of the magic that had made her heart sure.

&
nbsp; In the refugee camp, Starla knelt behind the cart and finally let her tears flow.

  ***

  Larkel walked back to the window in his office, looking out as if he could see her without the spyglass. He had watched her from afar, watched her gentleness and kindness win over everyone in that camp, refugees and volunteers alike. Everyone looked happier when she approached. Everyone knew her name. Shaking his head in regret, he made himself remember the rest.

  Starla's words had forced him to take responsibility for every decision he had made since the King asked him to see that she was well looked after and watched day and night. She was clearly about to start crying. Because of him. He cursed himself for revealing so much. Feeling wretched, he had turned away from her.

  Why had he lied? He felt his own tears spill over as the honest answer came. He was afraid. Afraid of what she would think of him if they had become closer, if she had found out what everyone else knew about him, that the side of him she had seen in the street during that Corruption attack had an even darker beginning.

  “Makhi Adronai will be outside in one hour,” he said to her, unable to keep his voice level or answer her questions.

  He had run straight here after that, feeling every inch a wretched coward. Now, as he stared towards the refugee camp, he felt fresh tears coursing down his cheeks, shame burning in his blood. Would things have been different if he had managed to get the words past his lips? Or maybe everyone was right about him, and he didn't deserve that kind of bond, especially not with a such a kind, innocent spirit.

  ***

  “Oh, my dear girl, what happened?” exclaimed Horato as his shadow fell over Starla where she knelt in the dirt, her face still wet with tears. “Come. Come with me.”

  Inside the main aid tent, Starla collapsed into a plush, but sturdy, chair as Horato began to make some golap berry tea.

  “Here, drink up,” he said gently, handing her a steaming cup of the sweet tea. “Do you want to talk about it? If anyone in this camp has misbehaved, you can tell me, and I will sort it out.”

  Starla looked up at the ancient Makhi's eyes, one purple, one blue. “How long have you known L… the High Lord?”

  Horato eyes widened, then he gave her a sad, knowing smile. “Ah. I did wonder if this had to do with why he has been here for only half-days,” he muttered, stroking his bushy moustache. “I've known Larkel since he was born. I served his father, High Lord Jari. We were close friends, even after that whole business with Mukori was over.” He reached over and patted her hand. “What has that foolish boy gone and done?”

  After a moment's hesitation, Starla started right at the beginning and told him everything she could while still keeping her promise to the Guardians.

  ***

  “Enter,” Larkel said after making sure his eyes and cheeks were dry, feeling hollow inside.

  “High Lord,” Grand Makhi Redkin bowed. “I have—” He stopped, no doubt seeing the redness in Larkel's eyes. “Larkel, what has—”

  “Your earlier message said you had important findings, Makhi Redkin,” Larkel said, forcing Starla out of his mind. It didn't really work very well, but he tried to ignore the rest, shrouding himself in his duty.

  The old Makhi frowned, his ears flicking back, eyes narrowed. He gave a small huff and bowed again.

  “Yes, my Lord.” He shook his head before handing over the chart he was carrying. “Here. If you look at the latest projection charts from the power surge that caused the Shield to fail, you can see that it exactly matches the others from the previous year.”

  “So, after a year of trying, whoever Kyron's spies are have finally figured out how to break the Shield Connectors,” the High Lord murmured, noting how the spikes centred on the binding spells between the power of the Sacred Stones and his own power, rather than the Shield itself.

  “Exactly, High Lord.” He paused, waiting for Larkel's full attention. “We have also managed to trace the energy pattern to a source.”

  Larkel looked up sharply. “You found the perpetrator?”

  Redkin gave a sad chuckle. “The same perpetrator as always, High Lord. The energy pattern matches that of a magmus' mental strike, only, it has been amplified.”

  Larkel rose and began to pace behind his desk.

  “High Lord, if there is a magmus in the wood, that close to the city, we must investigate. It must be destroyed.”

  The High Lord paused mid-stride and looked at the robed figure standing before his desk. Redkin was a veteran, having served the previous two High Lords: Makhi Hodan, and Makhi Jari, Larkel's father. He had been with the Galatian force fighting the Unseen Hand in the legendary battle of Wailing Shadow. When Larkel became High Lord, he could think of no one better to be his second-in-command than Redkin, who had served the Order as a whole, faithfully, for nearly six thousand years, refusing to retire.

  “Redkin, you know so many of us cannot leave the City,” Larkel said, frustration colouring his tone. “If that idiot of a Baron hadn't exiled the Sacrileons, they might have helped us.”

  “One may yet be able to help,” Redkin said, a broad smile on his face. He continued as Larkel raised a questioning eyebrow. “Gaby's Sacred Stone has been registering external power spikes for about a week,” he finished, handing over another graph.

  Larkel wanted to laugh. “I should have known she wouldn't leave. Cloaking her power. Well done.” The High Lord's brow furrowed. It appeared that Gaby had started using her power again the day Larkel had seen the Baron and his minions in the inn's garden, the day he had spent with Starla. His heart ached, but he pushed it away. “See if you can make contact with her. Secretly,” he added, remembering the Makhi with the Baron. He had found him, tracing the signature through his bond with his Order, but he had no doubt that the man was not working alone, although his tampered with mind had held no answers for them. “And try not to frighten her.”

  Redkin smiled conspiratorially. “Yes, High Lord.” He took a seat, uninvited, folding his hands in his lap. His voice assumed a stern, fatherly tone. “Now, Larkel, would you like to tell me what has you so distracted? Although, I'm guessing the young lady with golden hair and emerald eyes has a lot to do with it. Every day, you have demanded a mind-link for … research purposes.” His tone made it clear that the excuse had never been believed. “This morning you refused the link, saying you had completed your research and were sure she wasn't a Corruption. Did I miss something?”

  “It's not that.” Larkel breathed a heavy sigh. “I don't know what to do, Redkin. She found out that I had chosen to do all the things I did, that all she had received were gifts from me. Not under orders. And she … seemed unhappy about it, about me, about what my actions might mean.”

  “You mean you hadn't told her yourself?” Redkin interrupted, surprised, his ears tilting back. Larkel had kept his own mind carefully hidden during their links. Now he knew why. “That doesn't sound like the man your father raised, and your mother will be furious if she learns of it.”

  Larkel winced but nodded.

  Redkin sighed. “No wonder she is unhappy. Being lied to is not a happy event.”

  “It's not. I just didn't … she's …”

  Redkin laughed long canines gleaming. “Ha! Our great High Lord, lost for words,” He continued on quickly as Larkel shot him an icy glare. “I know. Ever since she got here, she's all you talk about, every dinner, the whole dinner long.” His joking tone turned serious as Larkel narrowed his eyes him, pain hidden in them. “I did as you asked, and yes, Fla'ik Lanteg was in Starla's room that night. Starla also went to dinner with the Baron that night, though it didn't last more than a few minutes.”

  “So I was right. This was all the Baron's doing.”

  Redkin frowned again, his tone stern. “You were right, High Lord Larkel. But you are also wrong. If you had been honest from the start, Mrs Lanteg and Baron Malion would have had nothing to work with.”

  Larkel slumped back in his chair, nodding, shame colouring his cheeks.<
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  “Larkel, you haven't yet told me why she's so important, or why you lied,” Redkin prodded, gently.

  Larkel gazed at him for a moment, calculating.

  “Here, I'll show you,” he said extending his hand. Quickly, he shared what he had felt in her mind, memories of what he had seen since then, the day they had spent almost entirely linked. “Do you understand now?”

  “Yes.” Redkin's voice held a sorrowful note under his fatherly smile. “And I also understand why she is confused. To you, mental communication is normal. You have been engaging in it since you were a boy of five, more so than even other Makhi because of your strength. To her, it is unknown. She doesn't know how impossible it is to hide your emotions perfectly. If she did, I do not think she would have reacted like this.”

  Larkel nodded, still wondering if he was worthy of her.

  Redkin snarled, a sign he was losing patience. “And you can stop that. Your self-pity is not a worthy trait. You know who you are, and it is not who they say you are.” Redkin rose, nodding at the look in Larkel's eyes. “You know what you have to do, Larkel.”

  Larkel looked up, his eyes brightening a little with hope, even as something darker lurked in the background. “But could she even consider it?”

  “You won't know until you try.”

  “But the Order. There have to be traitors among us and—”

  “I promise to take care of our brothers and sisters, High Lord. I believe Makhi Ditte to be in league with the Baron. He'll be a good place to start. If I can get some evidence of where his loyalties lie, we should be well on our way. But you? You need to get over to that girl and sort things out. We cannot have a High Lord who is beside himself with distraction and guilt. Whatever the outcome, whatever her choice, you need to resolve this today.” Bowing formally, staff across his chest, Redkin moved to the door of the High Lord's office with the rolling gait of his people. “I will be here, to celebrate or commiserate.”