“Mama!” he cried, flinging his arms about my neck. I held him tightly, murmuring of how much I’d missed him, and how I never wanted to leave him again.
“But where’s Da?” he asked. I knelt before him and held his hand, smoothing back his hair that was brown and soft like his father’s.
“Leran,” I began, “I’m so sorry, but Da will not be coming home.” Understanding dawned in Leran’s gray eyes, Lormac’s eyes, as he looked from me to the sad faces of the yellow-clad warriors, and he wrenched free of my grasp. “Leran, please, let me explain.”
“You lied!” he shouted back. “You promised he would come back! This is your fault!” He ran from me then, the little boy that had asked me to be his mother, who begged to sleep in my arms, all the while hurling curses at me that no child should know. Lukka moved to follow, claiming she would punish him for speaking that way, but I implored her to let it go.
“Leave him be,” I told her. “He has lost his father and has every right to mourn. I’ll not take that from him.”
I didn’t see Leran again that day or the next. That time was filled with me putting Tingu’s affairs in order; while I was Lady of Tingu, I was also Queen of Parthalan and would reside at Teg’urnan. I placed Balthus as Leran’s regent and signed a proclamation confirming Leran’s right to rule when he came of age. While I had no suspicion’s concerning Balthus, I also had no guarantee that he would live long enough to see Leran grown. I vowed to personally destroy anyone who tried to stand between Leran and his birthright.
What I did not do was return the Sala. It was mine, given to me by my mate, and I would be damned if I was going to give up the one part of Lormac that was left to me.
Lormac...
Two days had passed before I could bring myself to enter his chambers (I suppose they were my chambers, too), and half of the next before I made my way up the winding passageway to the Seat. While I would have denied it if anyone had thought to ask, I held a desperate hope in my heart that Lormac’s spirit was somehow within the Seat, that even if I couldn’t touch him I would be able to feel his presence, perhaps even talk to him again... But no. His stone was cold and dark, taking on that same opaque layer of the stones that represented his ancestors. Only Leran’s remained bright and warm to the touch.
As I stood there staring at the lifeless stone, I felt as if my last shred of sanity had been taken from me. I turned away, only to have my gaze land upon the smooth indentation in the floor where I had once lain in Lormac’s arms. I stumbled down the passageway, my vision blurred with hot tears, and climbed onto his bed, pausing only to draw the curtains shut before I willed sleep to claim me.
“Asherah?”
My lids protested, but at last I won and opened my eyes and was greeted by the bleary vision of Harek perched on the edge of the bed. Lormac’s bed. “Yes?”
“You’ve been in here for three days,” he said softly. “I worried you were trying to starve yourself.”
I looked past him to the platters laden with food; I suppose the fruit did look a bit mushy. “I went to the Seat, and…and I have been sleeping since.” I did not mention that in my dreams Lormac was alive and hale, that I could touch him and kiss him and talk to him, that every time my body tried to wake me I refused and dove deeper into my dreamstate.
“Where do dreams come from?” I asked. “Are they gifts from the gods? Are they our ancestors trying to guide us? Or are they the disjointed ramblings of a weary mind? More, can one reenter a dream?”
“I don’t know,” he said, “perhaps Sarfek would.”
“Sarfek,” I said slowly, “I will need to speak with him.” My mind reeled with my upcoming conversation with the magic handler, imagining that he would give me some sort of spell or potion to reenter my dream of Lormac, and I would never truly be apart from him…
“I’m sorry.”
“What?” I had forgotten Harek’s presence. But there he was, a solid, real man, not the dream I was chasing.
“About Lormac. Asherah, I never wished for you to be in pain.” He looked as if he genuinely mourned my fallen mate. I had always assumed that Harek disliked Lormac, for many reasons, but Harek must have also held a measure of respect for Lormac. After all, my mate was a warrior, like Harek.
“Thank you,” I said softly, and then I grasped his hand. “But we will go on. You are now my strength, Harek. We will go on.”
I left Tingu the next day, after a private meeting with a child I loved, who hated me with every fiber of his being. Leran glared at me as I showed him documents proclaiming that Balthus would be his regent until he came of age, others that certified his bloodline lest anyone raise doubts concerning his parentage. While Tingu would never want for wealth, I still established a stipend for Leran’s personal use, and left instructions that Leran was to have no need unmet, that as long as I lived he had not only the legion of Tingu but also the Queen of Parthalan as his ally.
“I am regent only when you are in Parthalan, my lady?” Balthus clarified.
“Yes,” I replied, “while I am in residence I will act as Lady of Tingu.”
“I don’t want you here,” Leran spat. “If Da can’t be here, neither can you.”
Others moved to reprimand him, but I waved them away and knelt before Leran. “I won’t come back unless you invite me,” I said. I almost promised him, but I had broken my last. I did not think he would accept another.
“I won’t.”
“I know.” I tried to take his hand, but he snatched it away. “I am going now, Leran. I will heed your wishes, and I will not return without your consent. But please know that I love you as if you truly were my son. I understand why you hate me, and I don’t blame you. If you ever have need of anything, be it big or small, send for me and you will have it.”
I stood and walked toward the door; now that Leran’s care was established, my business in Tingu was ended. I walked quickly, for I didn’t think I could bear another of Leran’s outbursts, when I felt a tiny hand in mine.
“Da would see you to your horse,” Leran said, staring straight ahead.
And so Leran, Lord of Tingu, escorted me to my horse with all of the respect and formality his father would have afforded the Queen of Parthalan. He went so far as to accept the reins from the handler, and guided my mount to its place at the front of the procession. Leran was nothing if not brave as he stood before the assembled warriors of Tingu who granted us passage through the Gate. As the ancient structure creaked open, I again knelt before the boy.
“I would bring him back, if I could,” I said softly. “With Da gone, you are now the one I love most in this world.” A single tear rolled down his brave little face, and as I moved to wipe his cheek he knocked my hand away. I assumed I’d angered him, but he caught me in a fierce embrace.
“Mama,” he whispered, and that was all. Then he released me, and I rode away from the only home I had ever known to make a new one in a place far, far from Tingu.
I am Asherah the Ruthless, Queen of Parthalan, Lady of Tingu. I wield more power than Sahlgren ever did, more than any monarch in memory.
I would give it all away to be in Lormac’s arms again.
Epilogue
Alluria smiled as she looked across the field; though he was naught but a dark speck on the horizon, she would know her mate anywhere. Of late, Caol’nir only spent mornings tending to the grain, returning to her side shortly after midday. He claimed that since their sons now helped in the fields there was less work what with three pairs of hands, but as Alluria stroked her large belly she knew the truth. The time drew near for their child to be born, and Caol’nir wanted to be by her side.
It would be their fifth child, and Alluria still didn’t know if she carried a boy or a girl. With their first she had known from the quickening it was a boy, and lo and behold, Tor entered the world. She remembered Caol’nir’s father’s face when he first held his namesake, how his eyes were misty and his voice soft as he cooed over the baby, nothing like the stern
manner of the Prelate.
Then she was heavy with the next, a boy named Fiornacht before he was born, and she was just as certain that the next two were to be girls. She knew that Caol’nir had assumed she guessed at the gender of the first two, but after Nessa was born he took her a little more seriously, and when she proclaimed that the fourth was also a girl he was not surprised when they welcomed little Brida.
Therefore, it was unsettling that Alluria could not see her fifth child. As with the first four, she could only see them in her dreams but she had seen them clearly, as if they were already in her arms, and had known everything about them. For instance, she had known that Tor would grow to be taller that his father, with Fiornacht’s height only slightly less, and how Brida would crave sweets while Nessa liked sour and bitter foods. And that they all would look like their father, for Solon’s blood was indeed strong.
Alluria looked toward the mill where her sons toiled away, and caught sight of them returning home for the midday meal. Except for that extra hand’s breadth of height had by Tor, they could have been twins, both with thick, sandy hair and leaf green eyes. When they stood with Caol’nir, there was no question as to who had fathered them. It was the same with the girls, for while they had their mother’s delicate limbs and features they also bore Caol’nir’s blond hair and green eyes. Alluria would frequently lament that while she had done all the work of bearing the children, none looked like their mother.
This one will be different, she thought, feeling her child move. While the dreams had not been as vivid with this one, certainly not vivid enough to determine a gender, she saw shining chestnut hair and deep blue eyes that she had previously only seen in a mirror. She thought that meant she would bear her third daughter, but was reticent to declare as such.
Caol’nir at last reached his mate, streaked with sweat and dust from the field. He tried to keep his filthy hands from her, but she cared not for the dirt as she wrapped her arms around him. He kissed her temple as her encircled her shoulders with one arm, his other hand coming to rest on her belly.
“Beloved, this child will look like me, of that I’m certain,” she declared. Caol’nir laughed; he knew that she wanted a child to take after her, and while it did amuse him that all of their children had taken after him, he didn’t see how it made a difference.
“A girl as lovely as you?” he inquired. “We will have young men beating a path to our door from all directions.”
“I did not say girl,” Alluria pointed out. “But this child will have my eyes, and my coloring, and be talented with magic, and perhaps even work with herbs.”
“A blessing,” Caol’nir murmured. They reached the small open area before their cottage, their home that began as a simple one-roomed structure housing only Caol’nir and Alluria. Once Tor was born, it retained its cozy feel, but as he and Fiornacht grew it became cramped, so Caol’nir added extra rooms, and enlarged the hearth where Alluria baked her delicious bread. After the girls came along Caol’nir added a second story, and when Alluria pointed out that he added more sleeping chambers than they had children to sleep in them he caught her in his arms, murmuring that they already had four beautiful children, why not add a few more?
Alluria smiled as she remembered that day two winters past, and covered Caol’nir’s hand with her own. Their time together had not dampened her love for him in the slightest, and, in truth, she would bear a hundred of his children and love them all with the same abandon as she loved her mate. But this one, the one she carried now, was different somehow; yes, this one was special, and would take after her.
“Beloved,” Caol’nir murmured, rousing her from her thoughts, “look.” She followed his gaze skyward and saw a hawk gently skimming overhead. The mates watched him for a moment, observing how its dark feathers shone in the sunlight. It hung, seemingly suspended over the field until it suddenly darted to the ground. It reappeared in a moment, sailing away with its quarry.
“Well?” Caol’nir asked. “What does a bird of prey on the wind bode for our child?” Alluria took both of his hands and kissed them, then placed them atop her belly.
“It means our child is destined for great things.”
###
The story continues in…
The Virgin Queen
The Chronicles of Parthalan, Book Two
Get it here!
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Afterword
Thank you for reading Heir to the Sun. I hope you enjoyed visiting Parthalan as much as I enjoyed writing about it.
The sequel, The Virgin Queen, is available now. You can get your copy here: http://amzn.to/2jUPfxA
The third Chronicle of Parthalan, Rise of the Deva’shi, is available here: http://amzn.to/2krwOns
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Thank you, and happy reading!
Acknowledgements
A wise person once said “it takes a village”, and nowhere is that more true than in the production of this book. Truly, Heir to the Sun was our labor of love.
Where to begin, where to begin… How about with our senior editor, Trisha Wooldridge; without her, this book would be much quieter. All kidding aside, Trisha is one of those rare editors that will force you to kill your darlings, all for the greater good of the story. Add that to the innumerable other ways she’s helped me over the years, and she is nigh on priceless.
Jenn Carson, who is responsible for the print edition’s beautiful formatting (not the ebook; those errors are mine alone). She is an excellent editor, artist, and friend.
Veronica Jones, who created the amazing cover art. It’s the most beautiful cover ever and I can’t believe it’s mine! Either I’m really good at describing characters or she can see into my brain. I’m betting on the latter.
I have a gaggle of friends who are always there for me, even though we’re separated by distance, commitments, and the elusive yet deadly creature called the day job. Amy, for being the real life Amy Poehler (Yeah, I know Amy Poehler is a real person. Just go with it.) and getting my nerdy jokes. Ann, for pursuing your dreams and giving me the courage to pursue my own. April, for being a constant show of support. Eleanor, for always knowing just when to text me, and always making my day. Without you guys, I’d probably go nuts.
Then there’s the Wonder Twins, Ember and Robby. I’m really doing all of this for you, so neither of you ever feel trapped in a meaningless corporate job. Follow your dreams! What the heck else is the point, really?
And Robb, always Robb. Love you, baby.
About the Author
Jennifer Allis Provost is a native New Englander who lives in a sprawling colonial along with her beautiful and precocious twins, a dog that thinks she's a kangaroo, a parrot, a junkyard cat, and a wonderful husband who never forgets to buy ice cream. As a child, she read anything and everything she could get her hands on, including a set of encyclopedias, but fantasy was always her favorite. She spends her days drinking vast amounts of coffee, arguing with her computer, and avoiding any and all domestic behavior.
Find her on the web here: http://authorjenniferallisprovost.com/
Friend her on Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/jennallis
Follow her on Twitter: @parthalan
Other books by Jennifer Allis Provost:
The Copper Legacy, a four book urban fantasy:
Copper Girl
Copper Ravens
Copper Veins
Copper Princess
A duology based in the Copper world:
Redepmtion
Salvation
Gallowglass, an urban fan
tasy set in Scotland and New York:
Gallowglass
The Gallowglass’s Bride
Blood of the Gallowglass
The Chronicles of Parthalan, a six volume epic fantasy:
Heir to the Sun
The Virgin Queen
Rise of the Deva’shi
Golem
Elfsong
Blood Prince
Changes, a contemporary romance:
Changing Teams
Changing Scenes
Changing Fate
Changing Dates
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