The Shadow's heir trs-1

by K J Taylor

  “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 disappoi
ntment, 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.

  “Probably someone’s secret treasures,” she remarked to Oeka. “Wonder who stashed it up there?” She paused. “Looks like it’s been there a long time, so I might as well keep it. Maybe I can use it as a jewellery box. Once I get some jewellery, I mean.” She dug the stone out of her pocket and rolled it on her palm, admiring it again. “Bet I can find someone to set this for me. In a ring, maybe, or a necklace or somethin’.” She put it back into the box and closed the lid.

  As she stood up to put it on the shelf over the fireplace, she noticed the scrap of cloth on the floor and bent to pick it up.

  She was about to throw it into the fireplace when she noticed some odd marks on it, and stopped to turn it over, examining it critically.

  “Looks like writin’.”

  The words were charcoal, and badly faded, but she recognised some of the letters, and frowned to herself, suddenly feeling guilty at having pried into someone else’s belongings-even if the original owner was long gone.

  Oeka thrust her beak at the piece of cloth, rasping in her throat.

  “It’s got somethin’ written on it,” Laela explained, showing it to her. “A letter, I’ll bet. Got no idea what it says. Maybe I should show it to Yorath.”

  Oeka stared at her. Laela couldn’t read the griffin’s expression, and looked away awkwardly. “It’s probably not very interesting anyway,” she mumbled, and went to stuff it back into the box.

  As she lifted the lid, she heard the door open behind her. Oeka started up aggressively but backed down a moment later. Laela’s eyes narrowed.

  “If yeh ain’t come to apologise, then yeh can go away,” she said, without turning around.

  Arenadd stepped into her field of vision. “I have, actually.”

  Laela closed the box and turned to face him. “Is that so?” She folded her arms. “Well, that’s good, because the next time yeh insult me or my mother, I’m leavin’. Understand?”

  Arenadd rubbed his forehead. “Yes, perfectly. But listen, you don’t-”

  “Yeah, I’m a half-breed,” Laela interrupted. “I think we all know that by now. But I thought it didn’t make a difference to you.”

  “It doesn’t, Laela. Honestly.”

  “Well, that ain’t the way it looks to me right now,” said Laela. She took a deep breath, to stop herself from outright shouting at him, but it only half-worked. “How dare you go sneerin’ at my mother like that?” she snarled. “Yeah, she was a Southerner, an’ I get that you don’t like ’em, but that doesn’t give yeh any right to be like that about it.”

  Arenadd winced. “I know. I’m sorry. I was. . I shouldn’t have joked about it like that. I was embarrassed.”

  “Why, because the ambassador thought I was yer daughter?” Laela hesitated. “I. . I’m not, am I?”

  “No,” said Arenadd. “I can’t father children; you know that. And I’d never-”

  “Never go with a Southern woman,” said Laela, more sharply than she meant to.

  “I would never rape a woman,” Arenadd said in icy tones. “No matter who that woman was.”

  Laela relaxed slightly. “I’m sorry. I’d never think about yeh like that. I swear.”

  “I know.” Arenadd hesitated. “Laela, I was embarrassed because Vander isn’t the only one who thinks you’re my daughter.”

  Laela frowned. “He ain’t?”

  “Half the Eyrie thinks it,” Arenadd said baldly. “Haven’t you been listening? It’s everybody’s favourite piece of gossip.”

  “Is it?” Laela didn’t know whether to be amused or horrified.

  “Trust me; I make a point of listening to what people are saying,” said Arenadd. “But it’s an explanation that makes sense to people. Where did the King find this strange girl who looks like him, and how did she get to such a powerful position so quickly? Obviously, it’s because she’s his secret child. His secret half-breed child, which is why he won’t admit it to anyone.”

  Laela’s heart sank. “Gods, I’m sorry. They must be sayin’ awful things about yeh.”

  “They are,” said Arenadd. He smiled slightly. “You’ve made me quite unpopular.”

  All of Laela’s anger toward him vanished and was replaced by embarrassment and a strange feeling of shame. “Should I just go, then?”

  “No!” Arenadd shook himself. “No. I need you here.”

  “Why?”

  He hesitated, just for a moment, and then smiled-genuinely, this time, and put his good hand on her shoulder. “Where would I be without my chief advisor?”

  In the end, Laela didn’t show the letter to Yorath. On the evening after their argument, Arenadd sent her a brief message, to the effect that the negotiations with Vander were done and that he and Laela would be leaving with him in four days.

  When she went to visit Yorath that night, all she could talk about was Amoran.

  “Isn’t it amazin’?” she exclaimed, bright-eyed. “We’re goin’ all the way over the sea! Half the people I knew when I was a girl thought Amoran was just a legend-it’s that far away an’ whatnot. An’ I get t’go there! An’ I’ll stay in the Emperor’s palace, an’ meet all his officials, an’ they’ll give me gifts an’ show me all sorts of amazin’ things, I just know it! I can’t hardly wait!” She stopped herself with an effort and looked at Yorath. “Ain’t yeh excited?”

  He smiled uneasily. “I’m excited for ye, Laela.”

  Laela took his hand. “But yeh get to see it, too, don’t forget.”

  “I’m not coming, Laela.”

  All her excitement drained out of her. “What? What d’yeh mean yeh ain’t comin’? The King said-”

  “He asked me to come,” said Yorath. “But I said I’d prefer not to, an’ he said it was fine an’ if I felt that way, he’d teach you your lessons himself.”

  “But why don’t yeh want t’come?” said Laela. “Yorath, I’m gonna be away for a year an’ all-how can yeh want t’just stay home?”

  “I want t’come, Laela,” Yorath said unhappily. “I do, an’ I’ll miss ye something terrible, I know. But I can’t go away for a year, even if I’m paid well for it. My dad needs me to look after him. He’s not well, Laela.”

  A quick memory of her own father flashed into her mind. “Well,” she mumbled. “If that’s how it is, then I guess yeh’d better stay.”

  “Please, don’t be angry with me, Laela,” said Yorath.

  She smiled and caressed his hair. “I ain’t, yeh daft bugger. I looked after my dad when he was sick, too, an’ I know what it’s like. I’d never want t’make yeh leave him.”

  Yorath smiled back, with more than a little relief. “It wasn’t easy for me to decide. I don’t know how I’ll cope without ye for so long.”

  “As long as yer waitin’ for me when I get back, I’ll be happy,” said Laela. She moved closer to him, her hand still on the back of his head. “Have a little somethin’ to remember me by, why don’t yeh? I got time.”

  Yorath was more than happy to oblige, and they fell back onto his bed, pulling at each other’s clothes.

  Laela loved it; she’d loved it more every time. Yorath’s touch helped dull the pain of knowing they would have to part, and she thrust the knowledge aside and lost herself in his body yet again.

  Four days later, she and Arenadd were ready to leave. Laela had long since packed, and wait
ed while the King got his affairs in order-appointing different people to take up his various duties, giving orders for what they should do if certain things came up, and so on and so forth. Laela had to go with him and listen while he did all of that; it was incredibly boring most of the time, but she went along dutifully, and learnt a fair bit about the things a ruler had to do. A lot of it was surprisingly mundane.

  On the last morning before they were due to leave, Arenadd and Laela took some time for a final lesson in the audience chamber. That was mostly because Laela had asked for it; she was bored to death of talking to an endless list of officials and wanted to spend more time with Oeka and learn about her.

  “Tell me about magic,” she told Arenadd. “I want t’know how they use it an’ that.”

  Arenadd paced back and forth, idly flourishing his sickle. “I can’t tell you too much, I’m afraid; griffins don’t like to talk about magic. Not to humans. It’s almost their religion.”

  “What can yeh tell me?”

  He threw the sickle upward with a quick flick of his wrist and caught it easily by the handle. “Every griffin has its own power, as I think you already know by now, but they aren’t born knowing how to use it. As far as I know, each griffin discovers his or her particular gift when they’re at least ten years old-in other words, when they’re big enough and strong enough to deal with the strain of using it. Magic takes a lot out of them, you see. It taps directly into their life-force. Using too much can put them in a coma for days, or even kill them.”