The Grand Design (Tyrants & Kings 2)

by John Marco

  ‘Vantran . . .’

  ‘Simon, please. Do me this favor all right? It’s important.’

  He didn’t wait for Simon to rise, but instead left the chamber and proceeded down the hallway. As he’d hoped, Simon followed, albeit suspiciously. The Naren swiveled his head and surveyed the corridor, looking for a trap, but when he realized there was none he hurried up to Richius’ side.

  ‘Where are you taking me?’ he asked.

  ‘Outside. Like I said, I want to show you something.’

  The hallway spilled them into another just like it, then into Falindar’s great entrance chamber – the high-ceilinged marvel that greeted all the citadel’s visitors. The gates to the castle were open, as they always were on fair days, and autumn sunlight poured in. Richius led them outside, considering his plan. It had come to him in a flash of desperate inspiration, and now that he was outside he fretted over its soundness. Every morning Dyana walked with Shani. If it was warm outside like it was today, they would sit in the courtyard and play together, and Dyana would read from one of Tharn’s books. If Richius’ hunch was right, they would be outside right about now.

  ‘Vantran,’ probed Simon. ‘What is all this?’

  Richius put up a hand. ‘Don’t talk. You’ll see in a moment.’

  Simon grumbled but said no more, letting Richius lead him out into the courtyard. As always, there was the ubiquitous milling of warriors and workers, of horses being shoed and lovers whispering in shadows. Richius went to the edge of the courtyard where it was green and the land fell off down the hillside. Among the trees he found Dyana, sitting with Shani against a rock. His wife had a book in her hands. Richius slowed his pace so that Simon could see where they were headed. The Naren whistled as he caught sight of Dyana.

  ‘Who is that?’ he asked, mesmerized.

  Richius didn’t answer. He walked up to Dyana and his daughter and pointed at them both. Dyana looked up, startled.

  ‘Richius?’ she asked. She noticed Simon and her expression grew curious. ‘Who is this? What is wrong?’

  ‘Simon,’ said Richius desperately, ‘this is my wife, Dyana. And that little girl is Shani. That’s our daughter. I want you to look at them.’

  ‘Richius, what are you doing?’ Dyana asked.

  ‘That’s my family, Simon,’ Richius went on. ‘That’s why I’m here – why I left Nar and why I stayed behind when the war was over. Look at them. Are they not beautiful?’

  ‘Yes,’ Simon whispered. ‘Yes, they are.’

  ‘They’re everything to me,’ Richius said, his voice breaking. ‘I love them. Do you know what that means? I love them, Simon.’

  ‘What do you want me to say?’ asked Simon. He seemed desperate to leave. ‘Yes, they’re your family. I understand. Why are you showing them to me?’

  ‘Because I have no choice but to trust you, and I don’t want to. I want you to see what you would be destroying if you harm them. Look!’

  Dyana became indignant. ‘Richius, what is going on? What are you talking about?’

  ‘This is the Naren I told you about last night, Dyana,’ said Richius. ‘He’s the one I think might be here to kill me. Or you, or Shani. I want him to see you both. I want him to see why I betrayed Arkus and Biagio. Are you looking, Simon?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Simon soberly. His shoulders slumped and all the cockiness had gone out of him. He offered Dyana a thin smile. ‘They are beautiful. You are lucky.’

  ‘Yes.’ Richius reached down and offered out his hand to Dyana, who took it hesitantly while she spied Simon. ‘Biagio knows how much I love this woman. He might also know about Shani; I’m not sure. Whoever you are, Simon Darquis, I need your word. Lucyler is going away in two days, and he won’t make a decision about you. He wants me to decide your fate, and I can’t do that. I don’t know who you are.’

  ‘Richius?’ said Dyana. ‘What are you saying?’

  ‘Look at them, Simon,’ said Richius. ‘Remember their faces. Then give me your promise you won’t harm them. Are you looking?’

  Simon’s voice was a whisper. ‘Yes. I’m looking.’

  ‘Promise me, then. Please.’

  ‘Would you believe me if I gave it?’ asked Simon softly.

  ‘I would have to,’ replied Richius. ‘I don’t have a choice. I can’t keep you as prisoner, and you have nowhere else to go. If you leave Falindar you’ll starve or freeze to death in the winter. Just give me your promise. I’m begging you.’

  Simon’s haunted eyes moved over Dyana and Shani. To Richius he seemed distant, as though his mind was skipping back over the years of his life, blowing the dust off his past.

  ‘You have my word,’ he said. ‘Nothing will happen to them by my hand. I swear it.’

  ‘Again,’ Richius insisted. ‘Swear it again, before God.’

  Simon crossed himself. ‘Before God, I swear it.’

  And then Simon smiled at Dyana, a sincere expression that lit his solemn face. Then he turned and left the tiny family, disappearing back into the courtyard. Richius watched him go. Dyana was tugging at his hand, insistently dragging him down next to her. He dropped listlessly to the ground as he stared after the departing Simon.

  ‘Richius?’ Dyana pressed. ‘What is going on?’

  ‘I don’t really know,’ said Richius gently. He still did not look at her. ‘But don’t worry. We’ll be safe, I think.’

  Eleven

  Enli’s Angel

  During the endless nights of autumn, the Red Tower of Dragon’s Beak was a solitary place. The ocean breezes pounded mercilessly against the castle’s degenerating bricks, making the evening candles flicker. The warm smell of the kitchens and the hearths drew crowds of soldiers and servant boys eager to stay warm. This far north, the sun sank quickly. And Red Tower was too big for a person the size of Lorla. At night she slept alone, far from the chambers of Duke Enli, in a haunted corridor of squeaky doors and formidable drafts. Hidden under her thick blankets, Lorla would listen to the dark music of Dragon’s Beak, and would wonder about the timeless castle.

  Since coming to Red Tower with Daevn, she had seen precious little of her host. The lord of the castle was always preoccupied. At first Lorla had not minded the solitude, because she was tired from her long journey and she had all of the tower to explore. She had almost full run of the place, and she exploited the duke’s good intentions, forming polite friendships with the kitchen staff and the stable boys and getting to know her new home. The Red Tower was nothing like Duke Lokken’s castle at Goth. That one was bright and predictable. She had adored the Walled City, but Enli’s tower was a treasure trove, a maze of windy tunnels and twisting halls, of giant windows stained like rainbows and endless doors to forgotten chambers. There were artifacts of old wars, rusty weapons and mementos stacked high in cellars, dusty closets full of clothing and moths, and balconies engulfed in vines, with thorns as big as thumbs and crimson flowers that seemed oblivious to the cold. And there were books, enough to last Lorla a lifetime – yellowed tomes ripe with the scent of old leather and full of faded writings. Lorla had collected her favorites and had stacked them beside her bed. Some were in High Naren, and because she had learned a smattering of that dead language back in the labs, she was able to practice the tongue again, something she hadn’t done for months.

  Lorla was looking forward to her trip to Nar City, where she hoped to visit the labs again, but Enli hadn’t spoken of her mission, and Lorla had not asked. She had learned not to be too inquisitive. That was one of her most important lessons, and her teachers had been adamant on the point. The Master had plans for her. That was all she needed to know. And the Master had entrusted Enli with her mission. She would not question the duke, for she knew he had her best interests at heart. But she missed Enli. She missed his voice and the direct way he spoke to her. The others in Red Tower weren’t like him. They were all polite and pleasant, but Lorla sensed an avoidance in them, an almost fearful quality that made her wonder about her appearance or mannerisms
. At mealtimes she would eat alone in a small chamber off the kitchens. The other children of the castle, and there was surprisingly few, ate together or with their parents, but not so with Lorla. Lady Preen brought her meals to her, and never sat down to share the food. Lorla ate her bread and soup staring out a window, with only the startling view to ease her loneliness. Lady Preen was a plump and pleasant house servant, a cook and cleaner mostly, but she was not a friend to Lorla, nor were the soldiers who constantly drilled in the courtyard or the stable boys who groomed their horses, and the children of Red Tower were pensive like their parents, always quiet when Lorla was around. They did not shun her precisely, for they always offered her a kind word, but never once did they spare her any more than the most basic courtesy. By Lorla’s reckoning it had been at least two weeks since she’d arrived at the castle, and the magic of the place was wearing off. She wanted to see Enli.

  But Enli was almost never seen, and when Lorla did catch a glimpse of him he was with his soldiers. Curiously, the number of men in the castle seemed to grow almost daily. Now when Lorla looked down into the courtyard she counted more of the soldiers with their fancy dragon helmets. More horses, too. So many, in fact, that Duke Enli had no time for her. So far he had come to her only once. She had been in bed, reading, and he had sat down on the edge of her mattress and had spoken kindly to her, stroking her hair the way he thought her mother might have, and had apologized for his absence.

  It was necessary, he had explained to her.

  As he had told her when she had arrived in Dragon’s Beak, he had business with his brother. That first, then they would go to Nar City. Duke Enli had kissed her goodnight. The memory of the touch burned in Lorla.

  On the first afternoon of her third week in Dragon’s Beak, Lorla decided to go looking for the duke. It was a typically gray day, and she had made the decision over another lonely meal in the little room off the kitchen. Lady Preen had told her that the duke would be leaving soon, and when Lorla had asked her why, the house servant had simply shrugged as though she didn’t know. More precisely, Lorla was sure, Lady Preen had dropped a secret, and was a very poor liar. So Lorla finished her food and left, telling Lady Preen she was going to her room to read. But Lorla didn’t take the hallway back to her chamber. Instead she skirted off in the opposite direction, to the north side of the castle where Duke Enli’s personal chambers were. Lorla had never been in this part of Red Tower before; Enli had politely forbidden her. She felt nervousness in her stomach as she moved quietly down the deserted corridor, but Enli was kind. He wouldn’t be mad at her.

  Much to her surprise, Lorla found that the north side of the castle was much the same as the rest of the place, although slightly colder and quieter. The familiar sounds of castle life fell off behind her as she made her way down the halls, all lit with oil lamps that stained the ceiling black with soot. The walls were faded brick, and family memorabilia lined the way, old swords and suits of armor guarding closed doors, each bearing the furious reptilian crest of Dragon’s Beak. Lorla moved silently, suddenly frightened. She thought to try one of the doorknobs, then hesitated. She didn’t want to startle Duke Enli or get him angry. But she didn’t want to turn around, either. That strange loneliness pushed her on, deeper into the forbidden halls. She glanced behind her uncertainly and was relieved to find no one there. She felt tiny, ridiculously out of place, as though the house were made for giants. The doors loomed up, taunting her to try them. Lorla reached out for one cold doorknob and gave it a wary turn . . .

  . . . and found the room exquisite.

  She stood in the threshold, wide-eyed and thunderstruck. Before her was a magnificent chamber, with a high ceiling like a cathedral and walls lined with endless bookcases, all stuffed full of manuscripts. Light flooded in from two tall windows, setting the mahogany shelves aglow, and a monstrous hearth blazed against the western wall, crackling comfortably and filling the room with heat. Above the hearth was another of the duke’s curious artworks, this one of a golden-haired woman, her green eyes looking down serenely on Lorla. Near the window were two big chairs, more enormous than Lorla had ever seen. Soft and lulling, they beckoned Lorla to rest on them, to pull a book from the shelves and lose herself in their leather embrace. In the center of the room, near a table and some neglected teacups, was a pedestal cage housing a sable-feathered raven that squawked when it noticed Lorla. Yet despite the bird and the blazing hearth and the dirty teacups, the room seemed empty. Lorla stepped unsteadily into the chamber, leaving the door open behind her. The raven watched her, its beady eyes tracking her every move.

  ‘Hello?’ called Lorla softly. Ts anyone here?’

  To her great relief, no one answered. The library was indeed empty. Again she chanced another step. The raven gave a disapproving caw. Lorla put a finger to her lips.

  ‘Shhh,’ she ordered. ‘Be quiet. I’m not going to hurt you. I just want to look around.’

  Her eyes scanned the towering bookcases. There was a ladder for reaching the highest shelves. Up and up they went, touching the ceiling. Lorla spun around to see them all, an astounded smile on her face. Enli had said nothing of this. There were already books aplenty to occupy her in the other rooms, but this was spectacular. She laughed, unafraid of who might hear her, and the raven joined her, cackling.

  ‘How lovely!’ she exclaimed.

  As she spun she caught a glimpse of the portrait, watching her.

  ‘And you, lady. Who are you?’ she asked the painting. The woman’s face was bright like the sun. Her long, golden locks fell on her shoulders and emerald dress, and her ruby-painted lips seemed to move with smiling animation. Her green eyes were lashed long and sensually, and they watched Lorla without judgment. Lorla walked up to the portrait, craning her neck to see it better.

  ‘You’re very beautiful,’ Lorla whispered. A forlornness washed over her. ‘Who are you?’

  She wished the portrait could answer and ease her solitude. But the painting was only a painting. The raven rustled its feathers noisily. Lorla turned from the portrait and went to the bird, studying it. Its black eyes turned on her, full of mirth.

  ‘Who are you?’ it said in its startling bird-voice. Lorla jumped back, delighted.

  ‘You can talk?’ she asked. ‘That’s wonderful!’

  ‘Wonderful. Wonderful. Who are you?’

  Lorla laughed and clapped her hands. ‘Oooh, you’re so beautiful, bird. What’s your name?’

  ‘Wonderful. Wonderful’

  ‘Yes, yes,’ said Lorla. She tried to talk slowly so that it might understand. ‘What is your name?’

  This time the bird only cawed, stretching out its wings with a bored yawn.

  ‘My name’s Lorla,’ she said, pointing to herself. ‘Looor-laa. Can you say that?’

  The bird said nothing.

  ‘All right then, don’t talk. I don’t care.’ She turned around and pretended to ignore it. A second later it spoke again.

  ‘Lorla.’

  ‘Yes!’ cried Lorla.

  ‘Angel! Angel!’ cawed the raven. It shuffled back and forth on its perch impatiently. ‘Wonderful’

  Lorla brightened. ‘Angel? Is that your name?’

  ‘Lorla. Wonderful’

  ‘No, no, not me. Is that your name? Angel?’

  ‘Angel,’ the raven echoed. ‘Angel’

  Lorla put her face to the cage and smiled at the bird. ‘Well, hello then, Angel. I’m pleased to meet you. I’m new here. Did Duke Enli tell you about me?’

  The bird said nothing.

  ‘I’m Lorla, from Goth. Well, from Nar City. That’s where I was born, I think. But I moved to Goth to live with Duke Lokken. Now I live here in Dragon’s Beak. But not for long. Duke Enli is taking me back to Nar City soon. Angel, have you ever been to Nar City?’

  ‘No, he hasn’t,’ said a voice. Lorla jumped. In the doorway was a young woman, fresh-faced and lovely. ‘He hasn’t been anywhere but Dragon’s Beak,’ she said, stepping into the room. ‘He was born
here. Like me.’

  ‘Who are you?’ Lorla asked.

  ‘I should ask, rather, who are you, don’t you think? But I already know who you are . . . Lorla.’

  She was stunning. Worse, she was exactly the woman pictured in the portrait. Lorla stared at her, oddly terrified.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she stammered. ‘I shouldn’t have come here.’

  ‘That’s right, you shouldn’t have. Didn’t anyone tell you this part of the castle was forbidden?’

  ‘I was just looking around,’ Lorla explained.

  The young woman undid the latch on the raven’s cage and put her hand inside, offering the bird a finger. The raven jumped on and she pulled it out of its cage, whistling gently to it. Lorla watched, fascinated. The bird was perfectly tame and cocked its tiny head for the woman to scratch it.

  ‘My sweet one,’ she purred happily. ‘Did Lorla frighten you?’

  ‘I didn’t,’ said Lorla indignantly. ‘I didn’t even touch him.’

  ‘Lorla,’ cawed the raven. ‘Wonderful’

  The woman smiled. ‘Cackle likes you, I think.’ She reached out her hand and touched Lorla’s shoulder. The bird hopped on. Lorla giggled excitedly.

  ‘Oooh,’ she cooed, feeling its scratching talons through her dress. The sensation wasn’t painful, just strange. The raven began nibbling on Lorla’s hair.

  ‘Cackle?’ said Lorla. ‘Is that his name?’

  ‘Yes,’ replied the woman. ‘We call him that because of his laugh. Have you heard it?’

  Lorla nodded, carefully so not to disturb the bird. ‘I think so. But I thought his name was Angel. He told me so.’

  ‘Oh no,’ said the woman. ‘That’s not his name. That’s just something he says sometimes, when people look at the painting.’ She gestured to the magnificent portrait above the hearth. ‘That is Angel’

  ‘That’s you,’ said Lorla. ‘Isn’t it?’

  ‘No. My name is Nina. That’s my mother. Her name was Angel’

  ‘She’s very beautiful,’ Lorla said. ‘And you look just like her.’

  Nina reached up toward the painting, then withdrew her hand. ‘It’s my father’s favorite painting. He has so many of them, but only this one of her.’ Nina turned to Lorla and frowned. ‘You shouldn’t be in here. Duke Enli wouldn’t approve. This is his private library.’