The Shadow's Heir

by K J Taylor

  Arenadd’s forehead wrinkled. “‘Again,’ my lord?”

  Vander smiled. “You do not remember me? Disappointing, considering that I saved your life, Arren.”

  Arenadd went cold all over with shock. “I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about, my lord,” he said, keeping his face carefully blank.

  Vander ignored him. “When we last met, you were only a boy,” he said. “It was in Eagleholm, before the war. I was there to treat with Lady Riona. A long time ago by now, but I remember you well. And I remember you,” he added, looking at Skandar. “I saw you fight in the arena. Darkheart, they called you.”

  Skandar blinked lazily at him.

  Vander, however, was still looking at Arenadd. “Forgive me, Sire,” he said. “But if I saw you today as I saw you then, I never would have dreamed that one day you would be a King.” He paused. “But I would have easily accepted that you had the strength and the will.”

  Arenadd didn’t know what to say.

  Fortunately, Vander took his silence as modesty. “My masters always taught me to be truthful, Sire. You could have fled that night—taken your escape while your enemies did not know you had broken free of your prison. But you returned. Ymazu told me everything. You stayed to free another prisoner.” He looked at Skandar again. “And I see that he was grateful.”

  Arenadd shivered internally. Dear gods, he was there. He knew me . . . knew Arren.

  “Ancient history, my lord,” he said airily. “Right now I’m more interested in the here and now.”

  “Understood, Sire,” said Vander. “I apologise if my idle reminiscences were not appropriate.”

  Arenadd longed to ask him more, but he knew he couldn’t. “Thank you for . . . what you did for me back then, my lord.”

  Vander smiled. “I considered it a parting gift to the masters of Eagleholm. But I doubt they even thought of it after they had suffered your own. Now.” He leaned forward. “We have talked long enough, and I am tired. Perhaps we should speak again, this evening, or perhaps tomorrow.”

  “Agreed,” said Arenadd.

  • • •

  Saeddryn was not amused. “Amoran? Ye’re goin’ to Amoran?”

  Arenadd folded his arms. “A courtesy visit to the Emperor. I’m sure the Kingdom will be fine in your capable hands.”

  She took a deep breath. “I see. An’ ye didn’t think it would be a good idea t’say somethin’ to us beforehand?”

  “Actually, I’m pretty sure I mentioned it more than once,” Arenadd said calmly. “In fact, if I recall, I said something about it last week.”

  “Well, yes, but I didn’t think that was anythin’ more than idle speculation . . .” Saeddryn trailed off, eyeing the other councillors. None of them looked about to support her, so she shifted her gaze to Laela, who had begun attending council sessions.

  Laela noticed the thinly concealed hatred in Saeddryn’s expression, but she only raised her chin and looked back smugly.

  The High Priestess looked away. “An’ ye’ll be away for a year.”

  “At the very least.”

  The councillors looked uncomfortable.

  “A year, Sire?” said Lord Iorwerth. “Without ye?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  The tough commander straightened up. “No, Sire. We can’t let ye go. Not that far. Not for that long.”

  “I agree,” said Torc, from beside his wife. “Too far, too dangerous.”

  Arenadd raised his eyebrow. “I don’t know what I’ll tell the ambassador, then. He came a very long way to negotiate this visit.”

  “Sire,” said Iorwerth. “Think of this.” He rubbed his head. “Ye are what’s stopping the South from invading us again. Fear of ye. With ye gone for a year . . . what would we do if they came back? Without our protector . . .”

  Arenadd cast an amused glance at Laela. “I think the Master of Wisdom can help us here.”

  Laela stepped forward, aware of all the eyes on her. Oeka came with her, to stand by her side, and Laela put a hand on her head. The griffin didn’t object, and Laela felt warm confidence fill her from end to end.

  “No offence to yeh, Lords an’ Ladies, but yeh ain’t been in the South,” she said. “I have. I seen what’s goin’ on there, an’ let me tell yeh, there ain’t no invasion comin’. Not now, not for ten years. South’s in turmoil. In the place where I grew up, we had a new Eyrie Master every other spring. Griffiners over there’re too busy fightin’ each other t’even think about comin’ up here.”

  Arenadd nodded as if that settled it. “Well said, Lady Laela. Now.” He turned his attention back to the council. “The South is in no condition to fight us, and even if they were, I doubt they’d ever dare set foot on my soil again. And how would they even know I was away? We’re miles away from them, we have no communications with them—there’s no way they’d ever find out. And besides,” he added wickedly, “I hope you’re not implying that you don’t think you could fight them off if they ever came sniffing around our borders.”

  The King’s jab had the right effect; Saeddryn looked irritated, and several of the griffins hissed at the insult.

  Iorwerth’s partner, the scarred Kaanee, spoke out. “Then we have no argument against your plan, Kraeai kran ae,” he rasped. “But if you are right, why do you care so much about Amoran? Those griffins are small and strange, and the humans are not of your kind.”

  This was Arenadd’s moment. He stepped forward, his face suddenly full of rage. “What in the Night God’s name is wrong with you?” he demanded. “We’re Northerners, aren’t we? Didn’t we fight to give our people back their homes? Didn’t we stand up against the enemy to set our brothers and sisters free? Didn’t I come into this city, alone, and fight to protect you all—didn’t I lead the slaves back to the North? Have you forgotten that?”

  Iorwerth’s fists clenched. “I would never forget that, Sire. Never.”

  “Well then, remember this,” Arenadd snarled. “Remember that there are still Northerners living in slavery. And they’re out there.” He pointed a thin finger eastward. “They’re in Amoran, building giant statues of the Day God. Cleaning his temples. Serving his worshippers.” Arenadd wiped a hand over his forehead. “You think I care about military benefits? Trade agreements? No. I care about our people, and unless I make an agreement with the Emperor, and please him enough to make him want to repay me, then there’s no way I can bring those people home.” He paused. “That’s my duty. It’s always been my duty, ever since the Night God handed it down to me. And if I never do anything else while I’m King, I’ll fulfil that duty to the very last.”

  Silence followed the King’s speech. The councillors glanced at each other.

  Laela almost gaped at her protector. She’d thought she knew him better than anyone else aside from Skandar, but she’d never imagined that he could be so eloquent, or so passionate.

  For the first time, she began to see why so many people had been prepared to follow him—and still did.

  Finally, Saeddryn spoke out. “Sire,” she said. “I apologise. I was too hasty. If going to Amoran is what it’ll take to bring the rest of our people home, then so be it. I’m sure we can look after the Kingdom while ye’re gone.”

  “Agreed,” said Iorwerth.

  “I agree as well,” Torc said solemnly. He touched his neck. “I haven’t forgotten what slavery is like, and I never will. And I’ll never forget who it was that set me free. Go to Amoran, Sire. Bring our brothers and sisters home.”

  Arenadd smiled with his eyes. “I will, Lord Torc. I promise.”

  “There’s only one other thing left to decide,” Saeddryn cut in. “An’ that’s who ye’re going to leave in charge of the council while ye’re away.”

  Arenadd stroked his beard. “You mean who’s going to sit on the throne in my place, Saeddryn?”

  “If ye want to put it that way, Sire, then yes.”

  “You, of course,” said Arenadd. “Who else would I leave in charge but the elde
st member of my family?”

  Saeddryn’s expression was inscrutable. “Who indeed, Sire.”

  Laela, watching closely as Arenadd had told her to, had the odd feeling that there were other meanings and other words hidden behind what had just been said. But just what that was she couldn’t tell.

  “She’s happy about bein’ left in charge,” she observed to Arenadd afterward, as they were leaving together.

  Arenadd walked slowly, still limping slightly from his injury. “Of course she is. You know, she never forgave me for coming back.”

  Laela kept pace, with Oeka close behind. “Comin’ back how?”

  Skandar hadn’t bothered to come to the meeting, but Arenadd glanced over his shoulder as if expecting to see the giant griffin behind him. “Oh, well, when we stormed Malvern, after the fighting was more or less over, I . . . well, it’s a long story, but I was out of it for a few days afterward. They took me for dead, and Saeddryn took charge. She would have been happy about that; after all, she always saw it as her revolution, and she didn’t much like it when I took charge. Anyway, I came back to my senses and walked in on her just as she was telling everyone how I would’ve wanted them to demolish the city and go back to living in huts. I put a stop to it quick smart, but I’ll never forget the look on her face when I walked into the room.” He paused. “Now I’ll give her a taste of ruling here while I’m gone, and we’ll see how well she enjoys it. Not too much, I hope.”

  “Yeh really think yeh can trust her?” said Laela, recalling Saeddryn’s hostile expression.

  “Of course I do,” said Arenadd. “She might be a bad-tempered old stick, but she’s still my cousin. And besides, I’ll have Iorwerth keeping an eye on her. Now that’s a man you can trust to the ends of the earth.” He put a peculiar emphasis on that last part.

  “Well, yeh got ’em t’let yeh go, anyway,” said Laela.

  “Oh, I’d have gone even if they hadn’t ‘let’ me,” said Arenadd. “They might be the highest officials in the land, but I’m still the King, and I have the final say in everything we discuss. All they can hope to do is talk me out of it. Now—”

  “Yeah?”

  “I’m on my way to have lunch with the ambassador,” said Arenadd. “As my advisor, you should definitely meet him, so would you care to come with me?”

  Laela glanced at Oeka. The griffin had perked up and was looking as interested as her partner. “’Course I’ll come!” said Laela. She grinned. “I never met an Amorani before. Do they really have hair all over their faces?”

  Arenadd choked on a laugh. “I don’t know about the rest of his people,” he said, recovering his dignity, “but Lord Vander’s got a lot less hair on his face than I do. I’d love to know how he keeps his moustache so neat even when he’s travelling . . . I should ask him what his secret is.”

  Laela hid a giggle and did her best to keep close to Oeka and look important as they entered the dining hall.

  When she saw the Amorani ambassador for the first time, she was almost disappointed. He was short and slight, and aside from his brown skin, he could easily have passed himself off as a Northerner, with his dark hair and eyes.

  Aside from the moustache Arenadd had admired, his face was hairless, and lined. Laela thought he looked shrewd but not unfriendly.

  “My lord.” Arenadd nodded.

  The ambassador stepped forward, speaking in Northern. Arenadd replied, glancing at Laela.

  “Very well, then,” said Vander, using Cymrian this time. He looked at Laela with an interested expression. “I am Lord Vander, of Amoran,” he said, holding out a hand. “And your own name?”

  Laela hesitated for a moment, but then linked fingers with him and tugged, as Arenadd had taught her. She bowed her head briefly. “I’m Lae—Lady Laela,” she corrected, adding with pride, “Master of Wisdom.”

  Vander looked her up and down, then looked at Arenadd. “So this is the famous Laela,” he said. “Forgive me, Sire, but I was not prepared . . .” He glanced at Laela again. “I did not know that you had a daughter.”

  Laela and Arenadd both stopped and looked at each other.

  For Laela, it was as if Vander’s remark had lifted a veil. She looked at Arenadd’s face as if for the first time, taking in the angular features, the long, curly hair . . . features she knew she had, too—features that had made her look so sharp and odd, and not how a woman was supposed to look.

  No, she thought. That’s just stupid. There’s no way. Yer real father’s dead. An’ Arenadd wouldn’t . . . he’d never . . .

  No. She shook herself, pushing away the unwelcome thought. Arenadd was her friend, and he was a good man; she believed it with all her heart. He would never rape a woman, not even a Southern woman. Never.

  Arenadd laughed humourlessly. “You’re mistaken, my Lord. I don’t have any children. Laela here was born in the South, anyway.”

  Vander looked at Laela again. “Forgive me—” He stopped abruptly, and his expression changed. “Ah. I see. Of course. Forgive me; I did not mean to imply that you would ever father a . . .” He trailed off.

  Arenadd glanced at Laela, his look suddenly embarrassed and defensive. He tried to shrug it off with another laugh. “Well, let’s hope not, my lord. I mean, could you imagine? The Shadow That Walks—with a Southerner?” He grimaced as if the very idea was disgusting.

  Laela actually took a step back. She froze, staring at him as if she could hardly believe what he’d said.

  Arenadd looked at her. “Laela? What’s the matter?”

  She could feel her shoulders trembling as she straightened up. “I was born because a Northerner raped my mother,” she said, in a voice like ice cracking. “One of your people, Sire. She was barely older’n me, an’ she never did nothin’ to anybody. It happened in the war. So it was your fault.”

  Arenadd’s face fell. “I didn’t mean—”

  Laela couldn’t stand it a moment longer. She turned and strode out of the room.

  18

  The Box

  Oeka darted ahead into their chamber and lay down peacefully on the bed, apparently oblivious to her human’s emotions.

  Laela stomped over to the fireplace and almost threw herself into a chair. She buried her face in her hands and did her best not to shout exactly what she was thinking.

  Up until now, she’d never really thought about the full meaning of living with Arenadd and becoming a Northerner through and through. She’d thought about how accepting that side of her heritage was a betrayal of Gryphus, and her foster father, in a way.

  But she had never thought about how it would also be a betrayal of her mother.

  Bran had often talked about her, and even if he never said what her name was or gave any details about her life and where she came from, his stories had built a picture in Laela’s mind—and that was a picture of a woman who was brave and strong and kind-hearted. A woman Bran had loved, and whom Laela had come to love in a way as well. But when Laela had come to the North and accepted Arenadd’s offer to become one of his people, she’d forgotten about that woman.

  Now the King’s casual remark had suddenly brought the full meaning of that home to her. It had also revealed something she hadn’t realised or thought about, but which caused her pain now.

  He doesn’t care about her, she thought. What happened to her. She was just a Southerner. An’ he does look down on me because I’m a half-breed.

  That realisation, that Arenadd did, after all, think she was inferior because she was a half-breed when she had thought he was the only one who didn’t, slammed into her like a physical blow. With a sinking heart, she realised that she couldn’t put it behind her. She never would be able to, no matter how long she lived.

  She stood up and walked toward the fireplace. The weather outside was cold, and there was a fire burning. She stared into the flames, and took a deep, shuddering breath. “I’m sorry, Mum,” she mumbled. “I ain’t forgotten about yeh . . .”

  The silence that followed felt
accusing. Laela snarled and smashed her fist into the copper panel that framed the fireplace.

  As the noise died away, she caught a strange, faint rattling sound.

  Curiosity dulled her anger slightly. She banged on the copper again, and listened. The rattle came again. After several more blows and some careful listening, she had an idea.

  “Something on the other side,” she said aloud.

  The fire made it too hot to investigate, so she put it out with the jug of water from the night-stand and waited a while before thrusting an arm up into the space just above the fireplace. There was a little ridge there, where two copper sheets joined together. Thinking the noise might have come from a loose rivet, Laela felt around it. Her fingers closed around a small metal box, and her heart skipped a beat.

  She brought the box out into the light and examined it with fascination. It was covered in soot, but when Laela rubbed it, silver showed through. She cleaned it with her sleeve and found vine-and-leaf designs all over it.

  “Well, ain’t this nice?” she said aloud, forgetting her bad temper for a moment while she turned it over in her fingers.

  Oeka came over to investigate. She sniffed at the box when Laela held it out to her, and gave her an inquiring look.

  Laela smiled and tapped the lid. “Let’s see if there’s anything inside.”

  It took her a few moments to figure out how to undo the clasp, but the lid came up without any trouble, and she looked inside. To her disappointment, all she saw was a scrap of grubby cloth.

  “That’s it?” she said, pulling it out. “What’s this—oooh!”

  Underneath the cloth there were several other things, and the one she had just noticed was a jewel. Grinning, Laela picked it out. It was about the size of a grape, and the fact that it was black only made her more excited. She’d never seen a black gemstone before, and the thought crossed her mind that this one could be very rare.

  She stuffed the stone in her pocket and sat down to investigate the other contents of the box. No other gems, unfortunately, but she did find a lock of hair wrapped with a piece of thread, and the withered remains of a flower or two.