Daughter of the Diamond: Book IV of the Elementals Series

by Marisol Logan

  Her heart pounded in her chest, and if Andon hadn't been engaged in an icy stare-down with Rames in that moment, she wanted to run into his arms and layer him with passionate kisses.

  Intimidation was not the route that any of them had planned to take, but it seemed to be working. Rames cowered a bit and surveyed Veria carefully when he broke his eyes from Andon's. She felt a twinge of guilt that Andon was antagonizing him during his mourning, but it was brief in light of his cruel words aimed at her, and the fact that Andon hadn't said anything untrue or unjustified about how Rames had treated Irea the entire time he believed her to be his child.

  “Since I found out Irea was mine, two months ago, I have visited her as many times as you have in a year and a half,” Andon stated. “And since the birth of my second child two weeks ago, I have not left Veria's side for more than half a day. If you have a shred of selflessness in you, or care for the child you believed to be your daughter, you know they are better off with me, and you will not fight this.”

  Desperation and panic crept into Rames' voice as he grasped at any attempt to protest or save face. “Have you had this assertion verified?” he asked, looking wildly around the room begging for any of them to answer.

  “Rames, you are in the presence of one of the best Sapphire Magers the world has ever seen,” Turqa said softly. “If she chose to become one, she'd be the most sought after verifier in the world. She has also just given birth recently, so she is in a stage of great sensitivity. If everything that has been said today were a lie, she'd be crumpled in a heap on the floor in agony.”

  “And you? What of your reputation?” Rames spat at Turqa in disgust. “I'll take your praise with a grain of salt, as I've heard many lavish false praises on you, and you apparently can't even properly perform a fatherhood examen.”

  “I was wrong. Mistakes happen. I am getting old,” Turqa said with a gentle, innocent shrug. “Thankfully, everything has been corrected. I am truly devastated by your loss, Rames, as I delivered Ambra myself, many years ago.”

  Rames winced at the mention of his deceased wife, and his body went softer in the middle, like he had taken a hit to the gut.

  “I sincerely hope you find the happiness in your life that this little family has managed to find in ours,” Turqa continued, his voice ripe with emotion.

  Rames dropped his head in defeat and sorrow, and in an abrupt and shocking change of the mood in the room, Andon grabbed his shoulders and comforted him as he began to sob loudly. His entire slender frame shook, and just as his spindly legs threatened to give way, Andon slipped a steadying arm under Rames' armpit and halfway around his back, patting it tenderly with a saddened look on his own face.

  “You have been through unimaginable pain,” Andon whispered. “No man should have to go through it. I did not wish to add to your suffering, but Veria is the love of my life, as Ambra was surely yours.”

  “When I met her, I thought—she hadn't been the woman I loved and married for quite some time,” Rames recounted through heaving sobs and gasping inhales in between. “She was obsessed with having children. It practically drove her insane, on top of slowly killing her. That was the hardest part to watch. At least now...her suffering has ended.”

  He regained his composure gradually, standing up straight and pulling away from Andon's supportive hold. He smoothed his jacket and straightened his black hat, clearing his throat and sniffling loudly.

  “Please forgive my unbecoming display today,” he muttered self-consciously to the room. “Congratulations on your new arrival Lady Veria, Lord Villicrey,” he nodded to them. “I should let you get back to your newborn.”

  “You may see him, hold him if you like,” Veria suggested in a warm tone. “If it would make you feel better.”

  “That's very kind of you, Veria, but at this point I think it would still be too painful,” Rames admitted.

  He shook Andon's hand firmly and nodded at Turqa and Veria before tipping his hat farewell and leaving quietly. Veria's body slumped forward as soon as he was gone. She was relieved, but also filled with sadness for Rames.

  “I shouldn't have been so hard on him,” Andon muttered, looking at his feet and shaking his head.

  “He was unkind to Veria,” Turqa said plainly. “You were not out of line to defend her.”

  Veria crossed the room to Andon and took him in her arms, an act he quickly reciprocated by enveloping her in his arms, as well.

  Turqa excused himself to check when lunch would be served, sliding quietly out of the room.

  “I think he will be alright, in the long run,” Andon sighed, resting his chin on top of Veria's head. “I have met his mother more than once, and I'm sure she is looking for a new wife to provide him an heir already. Probably started before Ambra drew her final breath, to be honest. She's far worse than your mother, she just thinks she's better because she's traditional about it. But she is cold and cruel and all business. Oh, dear...” he uttered with a sudden realization.

  Veria pulled back and looked up at him. “What?”

  “Well, I've just put another eligible young Lady back on the market for Madame Orvilla Rames to choose from,” Andon groaned.

  “Oh, dear,” Veria echoed him.

  “I don't think that Orwin will allow himself to be pushed back into another engagement so quickly after this trauma,” Andon speculated. “But I wouldn't be surprised of we get notice of an impending marriage between him and Emmandia someday further in the future.”

  “Orwin? So, that's his first name,” Veria said.

  “He prefers his surname,” Andon replied. “When I heard Ambra call him by his first name, at some ridiculous ball we all attended, I wasn't even sure who she was referring to.”

  “I wouldn't have either. I've always just called him Rames.”

  “Promise me, darling,” Andon pleaded, grabbing her hands in his, “that we are not going to spend all of our free time attending balls and giant dinners.”

  “I would complain to you incessantly if we did,” Veria laughed. “I loathe dancing.”

  “Oh, I'm still going to dance with you,” Andon grinned. “The last time we danced together was quite pleasant.”

  “You didn't want me there,” Veria accused, jabbing a finger in his firm chest dramatically.

  “I wanted you, right then and there,” he argued, licking his lips as he started to sway her back and forth in his arms. “No matter how terrible of a dancer you were.”

  She gasped in feigned offense and he broke into hearty, warm laughter.

  “Lets make a deal,” he said, continuing to dance her gently in place. “You take me on as your apprentice, and I'll teach you how to dance.”

  Veria gasped for real that time. “Apprentice? Andon, I don't—I couldn't—” she sputtered until he put a finger on her lips.

  “First of all,” he said in the lilting, rich tone of his that she loved and that always managed to instantly soothe her, “you are the best. And I want the best Master available. Secondly, I think that there's an unspoken rule that if you kill a Master, even if he wanted to die and all is forgiven, you have to take on all of his apprentices.”

  “Oh, really?” Veria chuckled, tilting her head to the side.

  “Yes,” Andon nodded, his eyes devouring every detail of her face intently. “Luckily for you, his only apprentice at the time of his death is a ruggedly handsome and quite talented Esperan man who happens to be madly in love with you.”

  “He sounds interesting,” Veria teased. “Can he cook?”

  “Oh, yes,” Andon smirked mischievously, and nodded as he sent her into a slow twirling turn. “Rather well in fact. I hear his Rosa is divinity in a bowl.”

  He pulled her back in after the turn, but only briefly, before gently tilting her back into a dip, supporting her back with his strong arm and leaning his upper body over hers until their faces were only an inch apart.

  “He can also sew,” he raised his eyebrows suggestively.

  “Alright
,” Veria sighed playfully, wrapping an arm behind his neck, “I'll take him.”

  They were about to join their lips when a knock sounded at the front door, just outside the den. Andon pulled her up and steadied her before they both walked into to the foyer to answer the knock.

  A messenger stood before them and offered a letter to Andon. “Andon Villicrey?” he asked. “Willis Villicrey said I might find you here.”

  “That is me,” Andon said, taking the letter slowly.

  The messenger gave a short wave and hopped down the steps, mounting his horse when he reached it and taking off in a fast-moving blur of brown.

  Andon opened the envelope, which Veria noticed was sealed with the Regalship emblem, and unfolded the letter, scanning it with a furrowed brow.

  “Andon...” Veria murmured, placing a hand on his shoulder when she saw his entire body go rigid.

  “He's stripping me of my title,” he muttered, slamming the letter down on the small round table in the middle of the foyer.

  “What?” Veria gasped.

  “Browan has had the Regalship vote to remove me from the Lordship of the Guyler Estate, and all associated wealth, benefits, standings, or positions. Nor shall any of my offspring, illegitimate or otherwise, be able to claim the title or its wealth. So there's his retaliation against me,” Andon spat, gesturing to the letter. “This is my punishment. It actually says the words 'illegitimate or otherwise' in that letter, that spiteful, vile sack of cremerdo.”

  Veria didn't know what that word meant, but she was absolutely positive it was the worst thing Andon could think of calling someone.

  “Andon—”

  “He just attacked my children, our children, Veria,” Andon snarled. “And I don't intend to forget that or let it go.”

  -XII-

  Three months passed and Longberme was bustling with excitement as Turqa had just cleared Aleon to leave the house, stating that he saw basically no difference between Aleon and a baby of his age, except overall size. Even that did not indicate that he was an early baby, as his voracious appetite had put many rolls of pudge on his limbs and adorably round cheeks, and only his length made him appear that he was slightly smaller than the average infant of three months.

  Andon wanted to take him outside, and Veria was busy with the preparations of his first trip out of the house, even if it was just through the garden. It was late fall, verging on winter, though the weather on that particular day didn't suggest it. The sun was bright and high in the cloudless sky, and the air was crisp but free of wind or chill. Still, she wanted Aleon dressed appropriately and bundled thoroughly, so Veria had spent much of the morning obsessing about his clothing and blankets.

  “He looks plenty bundled to me, Veria, and I will be holding him against my chest the whole time,” Andon assured her for the tenth time as they were about to walk out the back door into the garden.

  “Alright,” Veria said nervously. “Just...if there's a wind then—”

  “Pull the blanket up,” Andon cut her off. “Vina, I know. He is going to be fine. We have spent the last three and a half months giving him everything he needs and more. You have done an incredible job, my love. And now he can go outside for a five minute stroll without you worrying yourself sick.” He leaned over and pecked her on the forehead.

  Veria took a deep breath to relax herself. “You're right,” she said. “I just...I'm just so used to worrying about him. All the time. It's going to be hard to stop.”

  “Oh, I'm sure we'll never completely stop worrying about our children,” Andon sighed. “But I think we can stop worrying about every little thing about this one,” he added with a chuckle.

  They stepped outside and Veria drank in the fresh air, letting it fill and invigorate her. They had been outside several times during some of Aleon's naps, which were thankfully getting longer in between feedings, but they hadn't been outside nearly as much as they had been inside, tending to all of his needs.

  They passed the beds and planters, most of which were barren or filled with limp, browning leaves and naked shrubs as autumn had stripped the plants of their greens and blooms. At the end, however, they did have several tapering fir shrubs that stayed green all year, and a bed full of flowers that bloomed in early winter, some of which had jumped ahead and let a few scarlet and snow-white petals peek out of their buds. And everyone knew exactly why Longberme had such a large number of them.

  “Taniscas,” Andon sighed happily as they approached the only colorful area of the back garden. “They don't grow in Esperan. I always forget your mother is named for a flower.”

  “She'd prefer that everyone forgot, I'm sure,” Veria laughed. “She thinks flower names are too delicate. She tried for months to convince me to give Irea some strong name from her family. I'm sure she resents that they got names like Ardenis and Rezmina, and her gypsy mother named her after a paper-thin, tiny little, winter-blooming flower that everyone forgets about.”

  Andon joined her in laughter. “You should pick her a bouquet of them and put them right in the middle of the dining room table.”

  “She'd probably cry,” Veria stated. “My father planted these for her. She hasn't brought them in the house since he died.”

  “About that...Veria,” Andon said slowly, sitting in a bench next to the taniscas.

  She sat next to him with a sigh. “I don't want to be part of you and Strelzar's research.” On top of training with Veria in the little bit of free time they found when not taking care of Aleon, Andon had been trying to help Strelzar figure out how to give back memories. “Even if you figure it out, my father is not here to give me back the memories he took, so its pointless.”

  “It's not that,” Andon shook his head. “We need your help with something else.”

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “We realized exactly what you just said,” Andon stated. “From what we can tell, a person with the memory has to be the one to give it back. Ellory only had mine because he...well, he basically checked my work, so to speak. If we did any clearing, he wanted to check and make sure we didn't pull too much or too little. Anyway, you're right. Without Gordon, it's pointless.”

  “So what have you been working on then?” Veria questioned.

  “We have been going through every single page of records in that house. Looking for any clues. The plain old investigation way. No powers, no skills, just reading. I mean, I have been trying the object imprint that you have been training me in, but, I'm not as good as you are.”

  “Have you found something you need me to look at?”

  “Yes, I think we have.”

  “What is it?”

  “Let's get this little bundle back inside and down for a nap,” Andon suggested. “Then I can show you.”

  They walked back inside and Veria nursed Aleon in the rocking chair in the nursery until he passed out happily with a full tummy, and she moved him to his bassinet. Sneaking out of the room as silently as possible, so as not to wake the baby she had just put down, she made her way to the library, where every adult currently residing at Longberme Estate awaited her.

  “Everyone is working on this?” Veria asked.

  “Well, no, darling,” Andon explained. “Originally it was just Strelzar and I, but Tanisca had to help us find some of Gordon's records and clarify a few things, and then she told Turqa some of the things we had found and he wants to help, as well.”

  “Alright,” Veria sighed, walking to the desk. Midday sun shone in shafts through the windows at the far side of the library, and several lanterns were lit and scattered across the room, giving the interesting effect that portions of the room were dim and shadowed, while some were stabbed with bright white beams from outside or glowed in the warm, orange orbs of radiance emitted by a lantern.

  The desk had two lanterns sitting on it, which made the two journals laid out on its surface easy to read as Veria picked up the one she did not recognize and skimmed through its pages. “My father's?” she murmured as
his energy imprint warmed her fingers and buzzed like a tiny bee in her head.

  “Yes,” Tanisca said behind her. “And the other is mine, as you know. One of the ones you and Strelzar have read, where I kept notes of when I thought my memory, and your memory, had been cleared by Gordon.”

  “This journal is almost entirely a date log,” Veria remarked, holding up her father's large, green-leather journal. “There are no details at all.”

  “No, there aren't details Veria,” Andon said. “That's where you come in.”

  “The dates in his date log indicate either times he took meetings at the castle or times he had business meetings here at Longberme, indicated by the different symbols he used,” Strelzar explained as Veria scanned a page full of dates. “For a solid year, the dates in his log match roughly with the dates in Tanisca's journal of when she thought Lord Gordon had cleared your memories.”

  Veria inhaled slowly, taking in the connection and letting it settle, then blew her exhale out through pursed lips. “He was involved in something...and we were somehow finding out about it?”

  “My best guess is he couldn't lie to us,” Tanisca said. “But he was trying, which gave me the answers, and possibly you, as well.”

  “How? I didn't have any powers until after he died,” Veria said.

  “That's not true, Birdie,” Strelzar said. “You've always had powers, since birth. You just didn't have refined skill. You couldn't control them, but many children go through periods of profound strength in their latent abilities, generally occurring around times of rapid development. As toddlers, for example, or during reproductive maturation.”

  “How old was I in this year in question?” Veria asked, running her fingers down a page of dates.

  “Thirteen,” Turqa answered. “I have located my records as well, and I made many house calls to Longberme for persistent earaches.”

  “Me?” Veria asked, placing a hand to her chest as she turned to face Turqa.

  “Yes,” he nodded. “And many of the dates of my visits are around the dates in each of these journals.”