‘Ah, do forgive me ladies.’ He pulled a patch down over the offending wound but stepped no closer. ‘I was just neatening myself for your arrival.’ He smiled and warmth immediately flooded a battle-scarred face.
Now he did take a few steps towards them. ‘Allow me to welcome you aboard The Raven. I am her captain and your host, Janus Quist.’ He bowed carefully.
‘You are too kind, Captain Quist,’ Hela replied on their behalf, relief coursing through her.
Quist turned to Sarel. ‘Your highness,’ he said, this time with genuine awe. He bowed once again, deeply.
It was a shocked Hela who responded. ‘But…how could you know?’
The captain tried to conceal his amusement but it was clearly there on his wind-burnt face. ‘Madam, it is my business to know who comes aboard my ship.’
‘But I have shielded all knowledge of our identities from everyone. Even the guard back at the palace did not know about her,’ she said, looking quickly at her Queen.
‘No, but then I have eyes and ears throughout Cipres, through the palace in fact,’ he said, without guile. ‘Please, sit with me, let us speak over a glass of Neame’s finest.’
Hela felt rattled but the pirate was behaving in a most gracious manner towards them. Sarel sat first and then nodded. Suddenly there was a Queen in this chamber.
The captain bowed again. ‘We are honoured to help, your majesty. Your mother, Queen Sylven—may the gods guide her to the Light— was a great sovereign and once did me a rare kindness. In helping you, highness, I perhaps can return that gesture.’
‘Thank you,’ Sarel said. ‘Please sit.’
Hela and Quist finally joined her. There was a knock at the door and a willowy young man stepped in with a tray. Quist nodded.
‘May I offer you wine, your highness?’
Hela was about to answer out of habit but felt her mouth close at the look from Sarel. The child had grown up. Here now sat a Queen.
‘I would be delighted to share a cup with you, Captain Quist,’ she said, her tone measured, her words well chosen.
The server stepped forward. Quist gestured for Sarel to take a cup. ‘Your majesty, may I introduce my brother-by-marriage, Locklyn…Locky. He will be ensuring your safety and comfort aboard The Raven for our voyage.’
Sarel’s eyes immediately flicked to the dark pair staring down at her. She felt her breath catch but quickly composed herself. ‘Are you the same Locklyn who risked the Kiss of the Silver Maiden?’
He blushed. ‘I am, your highness.’
‘You are brave indeed. I wished very much to have been there to share in your courage,’ she said demurely.
Hela was surprised that Sarel even knew of this event.
Quist cleared his throat. ‘Locky was fortunate, your highness, to escape with his life.’
‘My grievance was validated,’ Locky added softly, stepping quickly to offer Hela a cup of the wine.
Sarel’s gaze followed him and none of it was lost on the sharp eyes of Hela.
‘To close escapes, then,’ Quist said raising his cup, humour playing around his far from handsome mouth.
‘To close escapes,’ they replied, and Sarel smiled over her wine at Locky.
5
The King’s Secret
Far away from the Exotic Isles, in Tallinor’s south east, a Queen finally grieved over her King. She had carried herself with grace through this most difficult of all days, holding in her tears, fighting back her bitterness, keeping her emotion entirely in check until it was appropriate to loose it. Gyl had wasted no time and already half a dozen messengers were galloping across Tallinor towards the north, south, east and west of the Kingdom, stopping only to pick up fresh horses and ride through the night to their destinations, delivering news of the death of King Lorys. She anticipated all the neighbouring monarchs would be in attendance at the funeral and extra time had been allowed for the Ciprean Queen to respond as she was the furthest afield, yet Alyssa believed the famous Queen Sylven would pay her respects to Lorys and the people of Tallinor. In the meantime, despite his fatigue, Herek had sent out messengers to all the nobles. News of the death was still to filter into the furthest parts of the city but it would spread fast now, spilling into the countryside. She needed the nobility gathered by morning so succession could be decided without delay.
Alyssa had done all that she could. Now the time was hers to be with Lorys, and she was glad that Gyl and Saxon had cleared the chapel to provide that peace for her. Tomorrow this place would be a hive of activity—the King’s body would be cleansed and prepared for viewing and the palace would be dressed in full mourning. Poor old Cook would already be stoking up her fires to prepare the funeral feast which Gyl was also masterminding.
Having ticked everything off in her tidy mind, Alyssa finally allowed herself to pull back the purple satin sheet which covered the near-naked body of a man she loved very much. His face was untouched…in death it seemed he had found serenity at last, reflected in his peaceful expression. His body, however, told a different story. It was charred and burnt. One particular area on his chest was a ghastly black and shrivelled; all the hair on his strong arms was singed. ‘Dead before he hit the ground.’ She recalled Herek’s powerfully descriptive words. ‘He did not suffer. But he knew he would die. Knew he was a marked man.’
Now she understood part of the first messenger’s words; a personal communication from the King for her ears only. She recalled how the little man had arrived wet and exhausted having outrun the storm to reach Tal. Alyssa had folded his cold fingers around a cup of steaming broth and urged him to give her his private message from the King.
‘Your majesty. His exact words to you are: Forgive me, my love, for leaving you. Find your own people. Free them. Save Tallinor.’
She had looked at the man with curiosity, not comprehending any of it. He too had shrugged, forgetting himself momentarily in the presence of his sovereign.
Her expression had creased in puzzlement. ‘That’s all he said?’
The messenger nodded. ‘He commented to me, your majesty, just before he chose those words, that he had begun to dream. Then he gave me that message; said you would understand.’
‘I see, thank you, Hawse. You’d better away to your rest now…and thank you, for reaching here under such circumstances. King Lorys will reward you, I’m sure.’
The man had nodded and then left her with her thoughts. What had Lorys meant? It was cryptic. The first part she understood better now. It was as though Lorys had foreseen his own death. But finding her people? That was such an odd thing to say, for her people were of Tal, like his. Free them? None of that made sense to her. Mind you, saving Tallinor was very much on her mind after the heartbreaking arrival of Tor Gynt back into her life. Could Lorys have foreseen Orlac? Unlikely. But then with the mention that he had begun to dream, anything was possible, if that wretched Lys was involved.
Alyssa lifted the purple sheet to his neck so she could gaze on his fine face and no longer look at his damaged chest—the chest she loved to lay her cheek against. The first tear rolled down that same cheek now; it was the start of a torrent she would cry that night as the impact of his death began to penetrate and shatter the shield she had built around herself that day.
She wept hard, silently wiping her tears away until her own linen was as wet as the cheeks she vainly tried to dry.
As her sobs finally eased, she noticed the candles had burned down and several hours had passed while she had clung to her dead husband’s body. During this time of intense grief, her thoughts had crystallised —Alyssa was convinced the gods were punishing her. The death of a husband and a child, both of whom had returned from the dark. Then the man she had learned to love deeply and with whom she had begun to build a life now lay before her, dead. It was too much grief for one person to bear. Still, her resolve hardened and she now knew what it was she had to do.
She whispered to the spirit of Lorys, wherever it was. She hoped it had linger
ed long enough to hear her words.
‘You can join Nyria now, my beloved. She awaits you. I am pleased that your hearts can be joined once more. I have loved you deeply—I hope you know this.’
The Queen bent and kissed the cold, already hardened lips of her King.
‘May the Light speed and guide you safely,’ she said, shrouding his lovely face with purple, the colour of death.
Gyl could remember a similar awful silence around the palace at the time of Queen Nyria’s passing. He had been able to escape it all those years ago, following Herek and some of the Shield into the foothills, but not on this occasion. He had responsibilities this time and he would not let his mother down. She was depending on him to bear the burden of almost all the official duties surrounding the King’s funeral; thank the Light he had Rolynd to assist him. The man’s calm, measured style was a boon when most of the other minds in the palace seemed messy and confused, including his own.
He had loved the King deeply. Somehow Gyl had always wanted to find a way to tell him, explain to him that it was not just the blind love of loyalty. No, he truly loved Lorys for the man he was. Often he had caught the King watching him; sometimes the Sovereign would attend training sessions in the courtyard and applaud him loudly as he regularly beat all the other soldiers. It was—he knew from what his mother had told him —the King’s idea to create the new position of Under Prime. Alyssa had explained it was the King’s intention for Herek to groom Gyl for the top job.
At this Gyl’s chest and sense of pride had swollen immeasurably —he would not let his King down. And following his mother’s marriage to the Sovereign he had felt incredibly close to Lorys, loving every opportunity to accompany him on the morning ride across the moors which had been his preference. There had been many occasions when they rode alone; Gyl acting as sole protector. These were his favourite times because he had had the King to himself and they would talk—almost as father and son. Lorys would encourage him to speak of his early childhood and his true mother, Marrien, promising whatever they discussed would be kept between themselves. At other times they had talked about kingship: how to run a realm effectively and to earn the respect and loyalty of a nation’s people. Gyl enjoyed the tales of old King Mort and the King’s father, Orkyd, and how they had finally won Tallinor through bloody battle.
These rides together had become habit, with Alyssa encouraging Gyl to spend as much time with the King as possible. It had not been hard to do; he had genuinely loved the King’s company and their many private moments of shared laughter. He would miss that companionship greatly. All the other subjects had lost a King but Gyl felt the keen loss of a friend —someone he looked up to as one would a father…the father he had never had. He had often thought about what it would be like to have a real father and secretly he had decided it would feel very similar to the relationship he enjoyed with Lorys. He would never air such a thought openly, of course…not even to the Queen.
Who would he ride with now? Gyl knew he was popular with the soldiers under his command and that he had their loyalty; he also knew he was just as popular with the ladies of the court and he had already manoeuvred his way around a couched marriage proposal from one of the wealthy nobles who could appreciate the benefit of marrying off his daughter to the Under Prime. But Gyl also knew he had no real friend other than the King. He was close to Saxon, but the Kloek had curious ways and there was a remoteness about him which it seemed only his mother could touch. He loved Saxon but in all truth, he had been far closer to Lorys. There was no young woman to call friend either; no one he had ever felt excited enough about, or even close enough to, to consider calling it a loving relationship. If he looked at his life objectively, Gyl had to admit he was something of a loner. Which is why he felt so removed from everyone now; he had no one to turn to other than his mother, and she was deep in her own grief.
Gyl found himself strolling into the private royal gardens. This was a pretty walled garden which the King had built for Alyssa as his marriage gift. She could always count on it as a haven for absolute privacy; whenever he could not find his mother, he would always come to this place and sure enough, the Queen would be reading within the fragrance of her favourite magnolia tree, or writing at her bench amongst the lavenders and herbs she loved so much. He appreciated, perhaps for the first time, the privilege of having access to his mother’s place, which no person bar himself, Saxon, Sallementro and the King had permission to enter without royal assent. Gyl had not yet shed a tear over his King…this might be the quiet spot where he could sit and think about life without Lorys.
He sat beneath an apple tree and laid his head in his hands. Tears came easily.
‘I…I’m sorry, I should leave,’ came a soft voice he recognised as Lauryn’s.
Looking up, towards his mother’s favourite rose arbor, he saw Lauryn’s pretty face—so similar to Alyssa’s —staring back at him, concern written all over it.
She stood and walked around. ‘I felt so awkward in the palace. I thought to escape here but this is a private place for you and I’ll leave.’
Gyl said nothing but drank in the large grey-green eyes which regarded him.
Lauryn felt uncomfortable with the way he was looking at her. ‘Gyl, I’m so very, very sorry about the King. Were you close? I mean…I’m guessing that you probably knew him very well with our mother being married to him and all that.’ She stopped. She realised she was gabbling; he truly was disarmingly handsome, particularly when the haughty air was dropped and she could see some of his vulnerability. ‘Forgive me, Gyl, for interrupting your quiet time.’ Lauryn smiled briefly and began to walk away quickly.
‘Lauryn,’ he called and was glad she turned. ‘I could use the company in truth.’
‘Are you sure?’ She looked doubtful.
He nodded and patted the ground next to him. ‘I’d be grateful if you joined me for a while. Where’s your brother?’
Lauryn tentatively sat down on a bench nearby, ignoring his tempting offer to seat herself next to him. ‘I’ll stay for a few minutes if you wish.’ She smiled and he recalled from the first time he met her how delicious she looked when she allowed her smile to sparkle in her eyes. ‘Gidyon’s gone for a walk. He wishes he could have gone with our father, but I think he already feels great affection for the Queen and wants to comfort her but does not really know how. He’s so sensitive.’
‘Not like you?’
‘I hardly know Gidyon yet we both feel so close to one another. Yes, I think in all honesty I’m probably hardier than him emotionally. I think Gidyon shows his emotions whereas I’ve learned how to hide them, probably…I don’t really know.’ She shrugged.
Gyl was surprised to feel himself grin. ‘Oh, I think you’re as tough as one of the wild boars of the forest.’
Lauryn threw a grimace at him. ‘Charmed.’
‘Well, I only have our first meeting to go on.’
‘I was scared, Gyl. You’ve heard our story—as impossible as it must sound to you, it’s all true. I hardly understand it myself.’
He shook his head. ‘No one will ever believe it.’
‘Yes, I think you’re right,’ she said. ‘But it doesn’t make it any less true.’
‘Tell me your story, Lauryn.’
‘No. You know plenty about me already. How about you tell me about you?’
‘All right,’ Gyl said, straightening up and closing his eyes to plan where he should begin.
Lauryn felt her throat tighten. What a beautiful man he is, she thought as Gyl began to tell his own story. Not as tall as Gidyon or her father but they both seemed taller than any man she could remember. He had strong shoulders and his body tapered to slim hips. He wore simple clothes and she liked him for that. Even in her short time in the palace she had seen quite a number of people who favoured bright, decorated garments. She wondered whether the King had been one of those. Saxon, and indeed her mother, she was glad to see, favoured simplicity, but then looking like Alyssa one would
need no other adornment. Gyl obviously preferred the garb of a simple soldier even though he was Queen’s Champion. Nevertheless, for all their simplicity she noticed his clothes were well cut and hung from his body superbly.
‘…and they found me chained like that the next morning. If it wasn’t for Queen Nyria, I’d have probably got myself a boot up the arse for being such a nuisance. Instead, I was put in the care of our mother, Alyssa, who was just a palace servant at that time.’
She nodded, did not want to interrupt him. Lauryn liked hearing his voice. There was a certain wistfulness in it she often felt herself. Gyl was talking about growing up at the palace now and as he did so, she turned her attentions to his face.
He had a square jaw, a straight nose and dark green eyes. It was a symmetrical face framed by dark, slightly curly hair which he chose to wear short—rather than longer and tied back as seemed the fashion in Tal. His most arresting feature was the long lashes outlining his eyes and she wondered how often he had been teased about those by the other soldiers. Small neat teeth could be glimpsed when he laughed, which Lauryn thought must not be all that often any more. It seemed the weight of his title might have pressed down the young, carefree lad he might have been and required him to be more serious.
‘You need to laugh more, Gyl.’ She had not meant to blurt out her thoughts.
‘Pardon me?’
Lauryn was embarrassed but she pressed on. ‘You take yourself a little too seriously.’
‘Really?’ he said, the tone in his voice telling her he was anything but flattered. ‘That’s very judgemental for someone who has only been in Tal for a little under one day and who knows me hardly at all. What do you know of my life, Lauryn? Or my responsibilities? Has it even occurred to you to imagine how difficult it is to suddenly be told I have half-brothers and a sister and now I share my mother with two…no three others?’
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