The Shadow's Heir (The Risen Sun)

by K J Taylor

  Laela glanced at Vander, and at Oeka. She was unreadable, and he looked ever so slightly pleased. “Yeah,” she said at last. “I mean, yes. I’ll do it.”

  • • •

  Laela was committed to her dangerous game now, and she prepared to play it all the way to the end. Once she and the Emperor had made their agreement, she went to see the other Northerners and bluntly told them that the alliance was settled and she herself would be getting married in Arenadd’s place.

  Most of them looked surprised, and some, Duach in particular, were impressed.

  “I don’t believe it,” he said. “How? How did ye talk him into it?”

  Laela shrugged. “It didn’t have t’be the King. The Emperor was willin’ to accept an alternative.”

  “Why ye, though?” said Duach. “Why not one of us?” Despite the objection, he didn’t sound offended.

  Laela fidgeted—now came the tough part. “Er . . . well, it’s ’cause . . . I’m kind of a . . . in the right place.”

  Duach put his head on one side. “What place is that, then?”

  “The Emperor wanted a Taranisäii,” said Laela. “Any Taranisäii.” That at least was true. “I asked what about me, an’ . . . well, he said yes.” There. She hadn’t lied.

  Duach’s expression cleared, and he cackled. “Hah! Knew it. Yer a real chip off the old block, aren’t ye?”

  Laela smiled sadly. “Looks like it.”

  “He’s happy with a bastard, then?” Duach asked, quite bluntly.

  “So he says.” Laela glared.

  “Good!” said Duach. “That’s perfect. When’s the wedding?”

  “Tomorrow at noon, but I want you an’ Penllyn t’stay here. I ain’t takin’ a risk.”

  “Of course.” Duach smiled knowingly at her. “None of us would, and especially not ye of all people.” He looked serious. “I’ve been unkind to ye, but I know ye well enough to know that nobody’s more loyal to the King than yerself.”

  Unexpected shame took hold of her. “Thanks,” she mumbled, and left, unable to make herself stay any longer.

  When she got back to her rooms, she found herself greeted by two people. One was Telise, and the other was none other than Inva. She looked tired and worn, and there were bruises showing on her face and arms, but when she saw Laela, she all but ran to her. All her former reserve gone, she just about threw herself down at Laela’s feet and stayed there, pressing her forehead into the ground.

  “Inva!” Laela gaped, and then grinned. “C’mon, get up. Nobody kneels to a half-breed!”

  Inva got up at once, looking slightly embarrassed, but she still bowed her head. “Thank you,” she said, hands clasped in front of her. “Thank you a hundred times. Xanathus bless you for what you have done.”

  “Hey.” Laela reached out and touched her on the shoulder. “It’s all right.”

  Telise gasped in horror. Laela ignored her.

  Inva looked up, clearly bewildered. “You . . . you saved me. I don’t understand. What did I do . . . ?”

  “You were innocent,” said Laela. “I got yeh into trouble, so don’t thank me. I just made up for what I did wrong.”

  “But I allowed you to go into danger,” said Inva, looking horrified. “You nearly died, and I did nothing to stop it.”

  “Are yeh daft?” Laela exclaimed. “What happened happened in the Temple, an’ you weren’t allowed in—yeh told me so yerself!”

  “But it was my responsibility to guide you and make certain that you were well cared for,” said Inva.

  “An’ yeh did a great job,” said Laela. “Honestly. I ain’t never been looked after so well. Now stop arguin’. You’re safe again, an’ we’ve got a weddin’ to get ready for.”

  Inva hesitated, and then, for the first time since Laela had met her, she smiled. “Of course, my lady. I will be happy to help.”

  27

  Sun Wedding

  On the night before her wedding, Laela went to visit Arenadd one last time.

  He was still comatose, still pale and ghastly with sweat, and the bandage wrapped around his chest was still stained with blood. His breathing was so slight she could scarcely see it. He looked like a man on his death-bed. Worse, he looked like a man who was already dead. The grey in his hair looked even more pronounced than before.

  Laela reached down to touch his forehead and pulled her hand away. He was burning hot. He’d never felt like that before. She had touched him plenty of times when he was well, and he had always been cold. For him, coldness was a sign of health . . . or strength, at least.

  She sighed and sank into a chair by his bedside. “What am I gonna do with you?”

  The question went far deeper than it seemed. What was she going to do?

  Since the incident in the Temple, she had pushed the vision she had had out of her head. There had been too much to do, too many other things to worry about. But now she let herself think it over, reliving it in her head as well as she could.

  Had it been real? Had she really seen what she had thought, or was it just a hallucination that had nearly killed her?

  But she already knew the truth. The vision had been real; it had to be. With it and her dream, she had now seen Gryphus twice, and both times it had felt completely real. Both times he had told her things she couldn’t possibly have known. And if the dream had been vivid, the vision in the Temple had been twice as real. She could have imagined Bran easily, but she couldn’t have imagined her mother. Not like that, not so perfectly that the woman she saw looked like her.

  And the other thing she couldn’t ignore was that she had seen Gryphus at two different times and in two different ways, but that both times he had told her almost exactly the same thing: that she was the Risen Sun, and she had the power to . . . to . . .

  “To kill you,” she whispered, eyes turning to Arenadd, lying there helpless.

  She stared at him, watching his chest rise and fall ever so slightly, and tried to make herself accept what she knew must be the truth: that he had killed her mother and all the rest of her family as well.

  It was easy enough to believe. They had been Southerners, and who else was he most famous for killing? She had seen him kill now, and she had begun to understand what he was capable of.

  She remembered the ghosts, and the wounds that had been on them. Their throats had been slit, cut clear across by something very sharp. Identical wounds to those she had seen on the pirates. Wounds that fitted the blade of Arenadd’s cherished sickle—the same one he had used in all their lessons when he had taught her how to fight.

  Laela felt sick. Arenadd Taranisäii, her best friend, the one she had trusted her whole life to, the one she was doing everything for, the one she had hugged and sympathised with . . . Arenadd Taranisäii had murdered her entire family. He had made her an orphan and stolen the life she could have had forever. He had nearly killed her, while she was in the cradle.

  “That’s what Gryphus wants,” she said to herself, so quietly she barely heard it. “He wants me to take revenge. To—to kill him.”

  She stood up, moving to stand over Arenadd, and glanced quickly at the door. Nobody was around. Skandar was up on deck, enjoying some fresh air, and Duach and Penllyn were staying away to give her some time alone.

  She looked back at Arenadd. She was unarmed, and there were no weapons in the room, but she could manage without one. He was so weak that she could probably suffocate him with a pillow or strangle him. Nobody would ever know it had been her; they would assume he had simply passed away in his sleep.

  She didn’t move.

  Arenadd’s face twitched, and he mumbled something inaudible.

  All of a sudden, Laela wanted to laugh. Here she was, after everything he had done, pretending to be his daughter. And the thing was, the odd thing was, that
in his own way he had almost been like a father to her. He had protected her, given her a home, given her everything she needed. He had been a friend, had watched over her, had taught her everything he knew. And when trouble came, that awful day in the Temple, he had willingly gone into danger in order to try to save her, and had nearly sacrificed his own life in the process.

  Laela slumped back into her chair and put her hands over her face. This was impossible; it all was. She was no murderer, and Arenadd was . . .

  . . . was all she had. If she killed him now, she would not just be killing her family’s murderer but also the only one left in the world who cared about her as a father would. Without him, she would be alone in the world again.

  And the South would lose the enemy who had become its greatest protector.

  When she realised that, Laela knew there was no way she could kill him.

  She got up and stalked out of the room.

  • • •

  Laela got married the next day, without having met her prospective husband beforehand, in the very same Temple where she had nearly died.

  She spent the morning in her rooms with Telise and Inva, both of whom worked to prepare her for the ceremony. If she’d thought they had pampered her before, that was nothing compared to now. After a light breakfast, the two of them spent literally the entire morning up until noon bathing, massaging, painting, filing, combing, brushing, anointing, and decorating the bride-to-be, before they helped her climb into the most elaborate outfit she had ever seen in her life. It started with a skimpy two-piece thing not unlike what she had worn on the first day, but over the top of that went entire layers of veils, scarves, and bits of jewellery covered in tiny gold bells.

  She was half-convinced that she wouldn’t even be able to walk underneath all of it, but when she was finally allowed to stand up, she found that the outfit was surprisingly light.

  As she prepared to leave, Oeka came to join her, having spent the morning with her own attendant plus a second, who had been called in especially. Her coat nearly shone, but it was barely noticeable under the jewel-encrusted headdress and the tassels that hung from her wings. Even her beak and talons had been coated in gold leaf.

  She said nothing but walked by Laela’s side as they set out into the palace with the four slaves forming a retinue around them. When they left the palace, they found themselves joining a procession, which moved off the moment they had taken a place halfway along, moving at a sedate pace along the sandy street, where dozens of people had gathered to watch.

  Shaded by palm leaves, which Inva and Telise held over her head, Laela looked ahead. At least a hundred people were in the procession behind and in front of her. Guards, nobles, griffins—and servants to attend to most of them. Decorated poles swayed overhead.

  At the very front, she could catch a glimpse of an entire phalanx of griffins swaggering along side by side, all headdressed and bursting with complete, arrogant self-confidence.

  No sign of her future husband, though, as far as she could see. She walked along obediently, forced to keep a slow pace by the rest of the procession and the ridiculous sandals she had to wear.

  It took a painfully long time to reach the Temple—not that she wanted to see it again in a hurry. When the entrance finally loomed above her, her stomach twisted. She didn’t know what to expect when she entered, and was very relieved when it turned out to be nothing more terrifying than the same long, stone room, only now festooned in flowers. People and griffins lined the room, leaving a passage down the centre to the altar, where Laela’s intended waited for her.

  She walked forward, with Oeka. The rest of the procession had fallen away, and only Inva and one of Oeka’s attendants were left, walking silently in the rear.

  And there he was, waiting for her under the gaze of Xanathus’ golden statue. The Amorani Empire’s youngest Prince, whose name she didn’t even know, but who would be her husband by the time she left the Temple.

  Laela wasn’t sure what she had expected him to be like, but she knew for certain it hadn’t been this. Part of her had thought he would be bald, like his father, and she had definitely thought he would be much older than her. She was wrong.

  The Prince didn’t look more than a year away from her in age, and he had a full head of thick, dark hair. A diamond stud twinkled on one side of his nose, and the smile he greeted her with was nearly as brilliant. All in all, he was . . .

  The damned best-looking man I ever saw! Laela thought, almost frantically.

  The Prince held out a hand to her. “Welcome, my beautiful flower of Cymria.”

  Laela fought and lost a battle with a big goofy grin. “I’m honoured to meet you, Prince,” she said, taking the hand.

  His grip was delicate, but strong. “I welcome you in Xanathus’ name.” He spoke Cymrian, and his voice was rich and wonderful to listen to. “Come, stand beside me.”

  Laela joined him, oblivious as Oeka greeted the Prince’s own partner. “I’m Laela,” she said in an undertone.

  “And I am Akhane,” said the Prince, with another dazzling smile. “You are far more beautiful than I ever expected.”

  The two griffins parted, standing face-to-face in front of their partners but far enough back to make them easily visible to the onlookers. The Emperor was there, too, standing beside the statue of Xanathus with his eldest wife.

  From where she stood, Laela could see that the other Northerners were there, too. They had been allowed to stand right at the front of the Temple, on her left-hand side. They wore their own ceremonial outfits, but their griffins must have insisted on receiving the same kind of pampering as Oeka. They blended in with the Amorani griffins quite well.

  With everyone in place, Zaerhi let out a piercing screech from somewhere behind the statue.

  Silence fell, and as everyone settled down, a priest appeared from behind the altar as if by magic. He was bald and gold-painted, like Ocax, but as Laela and Akhane turned to face him over the altar, she saw that he was a much older man—probably the head priest for this Temple.

  The ceremony began.

  It was in Amorani for the most part, and other parts were in griffish, but Laela quickly lost track of it anyway. At certain points, she was prompted to repeat something the priest had said, and she dutifully obeyed, but most of the time all she did was stand there in a kind of daze. She kept stealing glances at the Prince, and he returned every one of them, bright-eyed and smiling.

  Laela’s head spun. This ain’t right! she thought, over and over. Princes aren’t this handsome outside of stories. Or this . . . sweet.

  She had agreed to get married for the sake of duty. She had never once expected that she would be getting the man of her—damn it, of any girl’s dreams into the bargain. But here he was anyway, in the flesh, and she couldn’t help but feel some regret that she wasn’t going to live with him. Maybe he could come back with her to the North anyway, if she talked him into it . . .

  She realised quickly enough how silly that idea was. If he came back with her, then sooner or later he would probably realise she had been lying about her parentage. And he wouldn’t want to leave his homeland just for her sake.

  But with that in mind, Laela dropped her former determination with regard to the wedding night. She wouldn’t get to keep this spellbinding man, but damn it all, she was going to sleep with him come what may—even if that did mean spending the rest of her life disappointed by every other man she met.

  She gave his hand a squeeze and thrilled when he squeezed back.

  The ceremony ended when the Prince anointed Laela’s forehead with oil, announced something in Amorani, and leaned in to kiss her. She returned the kiss eagerly, and the crowd cheered.

  And that was it. She was married.

  • • •

  Another procession took Laela back to the palace, but this ti
me she walked to the front by her new husband’s side. Another feast had been laid out in the hall. A huge main table had been set up, and she sat at the head of it by the Prince’s side, where dish after exotic dish was laid out for her to try. She ate plenty, even when she didn’t recognise the food, which was most of the time. Everything was delicious.

  The Prince stayed by her, and so did every bit of the charm he had showed in the Temple. He kept his attention on her, pointed out the best foods, and talked almost only to her. Small talk for the moment, nothing very serious, but Laela drank in every word. She felt like she was in paradise.

  Oeka, meanwhile, looked to have had good luck, too. The Prince’s partner was a big, dark brown male griffin, and he and Oeka were eating the carcasses provided—in between making playful darts and hops toward each other. Even Laela knew enough by now to recognise griffish flirting when she saw it.

  The feasting went on well into the afternoon, and featured several performances by dancers and musicians, and even a pair of entertainers, who juggled a handful of razor-sharp knives between them. Laela enjoyed herself immensely.

  When the celebrations finally began to quiet down, Prince Akhane stood up—signalling that it was time for him and his bride to leave. Laela went with him quite happily, and the two griffins followed at a relaxed distance. They went, not back to Laela’s rooms, but to another, much larger chamber that she quickly realised must belong to the Prince. The vaulted ceiling was painted with a beautiful mural of suns and clouds, and the walls were lined with bookshelves recessed into the stone itself. The large, silk-covered bed had netting draped over it to keep out mosquitoes, but that only served to make it look more exotic and exciting.

  The Prince courteously ushered her to a low table surrounded by cushions. “Please do sit with me. I hope my room is to your liking.”