Destiny (12 page)

Dorgryl spoke quickly now as he pulled it all together.
Merkhud used Alyssa to bend the young man back to his will. Save her, die yourself. But die he did not. Merkhud had other plans for him. He would live on. But in secrecy. And all the time, the Paladin were gathering around him.

Orlac could not take much more. The story was hopping around and he could not keep up with it. He lurched out of the seat he had been reclining in and angrily stepped to the balcony to bang his fist down on the palish pink stone from which the beautiful palace was crafted.

Who!
he screamed.
Who is Torkyn Gynt?

Dorgryl’s voice was soft again when he spoke; all the swaggering nuances gone from his words as he uttered with no little awe:
He is your brother.

Juno stood in one of the lesser courtyards of the palace, deep in conversation with a tall, dark-skinned man, Adongo the Moruk. Both were watchful, and they whispered their speech, too cautious to use the Link in case Orlac picked up on the magic.

‘He is going to Tallinor,’ Juno said.

Adongo checked over his shoulder yet again for signs of anyone nearby. ‘How do you know?’

‘A parchment arrived. It has the great seal of Tallinor.’ She shrugged. ‘He told me about it.’

The Moruk’s eyes widened. ‘He shares a lot with you.’

She nodded. ‘He does. It baffles me too. He is making preparations to leave.’

‘And?’

‘And he asked me to handpick a servant to go with him.’

‘Me?’

‘Yes. Our child is there. I feel the pull of our bond. Don’t you?’

He nodded. ‘I had to fight the urge to go into Tallinor first. But something forced me to come to the Palace of Cipres first, after leaving Tor.’

‘You did the right thing. You’ve had time to settle in here and be a familiar face. It will serve our purposes.’

Adongo began to pace. ‘How do we know our bonded one is where he goes?’

‘We don’t.’ She dropped her voice even lower. ‘But you can keep a close watch on his movements.’

‘What have you told him?’

‘Only that I have the ideal manservant in mind. You are a Moruk. Your name is Titus and you are well trained. Very discreet.’

Adongo grinned slyly. ‘So discreet he does not even recognise me.’

‘Well, I didn’t either.’ Juno returned the smile. ‘Go, Adongo, please.’

The Moruk nodded a polite bow. It was a traditional gesture of his tribe. ‘I shall be Titus.’

Juno felt relief sweep through her. ‘Good. Now make haste. He suspects nothing.’

Alyssa and Saxon pulled their cloaks tighter about them against the rain, glad to have sensible horses who happily moved alongside one another at a demure walk. It was muddy underfoot and the Kloek was not taking any chances of being thrown.

Queen no longer, he reminded himself, glancing at the petite figure in her deliberately nondescript clothes. She moved from the role of royal back to commoner with ease. Alyssa was never one for vanities and this quality helped her now as she cast away her immediate past and rebuilt yet another identity for herself as a travelling noblewoman, her private bodyguard in tow. He noticed a new shine in those soft grey-green eyes and he hoped it was not for Tor, worried that this splendid and courageous young woman might be about to get her heart broken yet again. He pushed the thought to one side—it was not his business and Alyssa would be quick to remind him of this. She
maintained this journey was necessary because of her passionate need to find her son.

‘I wish I could link with him,’ she suddenly said into their comfortable silence. Her voice sounded just a little too wistful for his liking.

‘With Rubyn?’ He hoped she might agree.

‘I meant Tor,’ she replied, a little self-consciously.

Perhaps it was time to counsel her. ‘Alyssa, it could be unwise —’

He was not allowed to finish his sentence. ‘Don’t, Sax. That he is alive fills my heart to bursting. I feel more fortunate than I deserve. This is about finding Rubyn and bringing our three children together. It is not about Tor and myself. Our affections for one another have nothing to do with this.’

He took a chance. ‘Nevertheless, may I suggest caution.’

She threw him a stern glance of admonishment. ‘No, you may not, Kloek.’ It was a flash of the Queen she briefly had been. ‘You forget he is still my husband but that does not mean I rush back to his bed.’

Alyssa could be fierce when her temper was inflamed. He wished he had not fired it so early in their journey. Now they would travel in an uncomfortable silence.

‘I had forgotten that, your majesty,’ he said, hoping the formality might remind her that he did respect her.

Her pinched expression relaxed. It softened into a ghost of a smile. ‘Call me Alyssa now. Sorry, Saxon. I feel very jumpy. Husbands dying, husbands returning from the dead, sons coming back from the dead, children I didn’t know I had presenting themselves…and perhaps another heart hurt when it should have been avoided.’

‘Gyl?’ he asked gently.

She nodded. ‘He is in much pain.’

‘He has all the raw stuff to make a good King,’ Saxon assured her.

‘But who will guide him? He has no one, and now even I have deserted him.’

‘Gyl will make his own way, I’m sure. He will surprise all of us.’

‘You’re worse than a doting mother,’ she teased.

Saxon shrugged. ‘He will make a fine ruler for Tallinor. Let’s not ignore the fact that Old King Mort’s blood runs in his veins.’

She smiled. ‘Gyl is fortunate that we all place such faith in him.’ She bit her lip. ‘I hope he will look after Lauryn.’

‘King he may be these days, but barring Herek there is no finer soldier in all of Tallinor than Gyl. There is certainly no finer swordsman. She is safer with him than here with us.’

She arched her eyebrows. ‘You were so merciless with him in the practice yards. Always telling him how terrible he was.’

The Kloek spat. ‘No good swelling a young lad’s head with notions of grandeur, Alyssa. You were too soft on the lad. Someone had to be the grouchy man about his life.’

He noticed the wistful expression cross her face once again. Had he said the wrong thing?

‘Yes, I deeply regret withholding the information of his birthright from him but Lorys insisted. He could have achieved so much with Gyl over the years.’

‘What’s done is done. Now,’ he said, deciding to put an end to any grim thoughts, ‘let us see what these sturdy mares can do for us. The Heartwood calls.’

An organised chaos had gripped Tal as it prepared to crown its new King. News of Gyl’s birthright had raced around the realm and was welcomed with great enthusiasm. It was understandable. Gyl was a popular man in the city, especially with the local gentry who had daughters of marriageable age. Being the Under Prime had taken him around the Kingdom several times in his career already and that meant he was a familiar and well-liked face within its far reaching districts. He was someone the realm knew and that immeasurably softened the anxiety of having a new ruler, particularly as they knew him to be a just and courageous man.

The household staff moved like worker bees in their dedication, whilst the head of the household kept up a steady stream of instructions. The palace was stripped, cleaned and refreshed from top to bottom. Everything, from the palace silver to the King’s Guards’ armour, was polished to gleaming. Cook’s team swarmed around the kitchens and whole wings of the castle were reopened, aired and brought back to life. A seemingly unending convoy of carts and wagons brought enormous bunches of herbs and lavenders to restuff beds and strew across the floors of all the guest chambers which would be packed to brimful within a day or two. In fact Gyl had already been advised that his first royal guests were due to arrive by nightfall. Animals were slaughtered, gutted, skinned, plucked, boiled, or hung.

Lauryn felt a little useless amidst the frenzy of industry. She did not know how to go about offering her help because everyone was just too busy—it
seemed rude to interrupt them. And so she found herself this day strolling around the grounds somewhat aimlessly until she noticed Rolynd trying to entice old Drake deeper into one of the tiny courtyards where she could see preparations were underway to bath the King’s hound. There was a team of page-boys ready to do the deed but none were game enough to begin. These days, apart from Alyssa and Gyl, Rolynd was the only other person Drake genuinely liked—everyone else he simply tolerated. But it seemed that not even for Rolynd was the dog going to subject himself to the insufferable humiliation of a bath. Too long in the tooth to be tricked or even bribed, the huge hound sat very still, as if rooted to the ground where he sat, and regarded his enemy.

Lauryn only caught sight of this merry theatre because one of the older pages, who obviously had many other tasks to perform on his list of today’s duties, became impatient and rather bravely approached the dog with a length of rope. Drake, famous for his enormous bark, let rip with one of his best which sent all the other younger pages scuttling backwards, rather swiftly followed by their elder.

Rolynd shook his head and then noticed Lauryn standing nearby, her amusement evident. ‘My lady, may I introduce you to Tallinor’s most stubborn and indeed most grubby royal hound, Drake.’

She laughed. ‘Whom does he belong to?’

Rolynd sighed. ‘King Lorys, may the Light shine upon him. But this dog is exceptionally fond of your mother. She had a genuine way with this beast. He is Gyl’s dog now. They are inseparable, but the King has given very
strict instructions that the hound is to be bathed. It only happens for coronations so I would imagine this is his first—and hopefully last—ever bath.’

Lauryn was now truly amused and walked towards the dog, still laughing. ‘Does he have to?’

‘King’s orders.’

‘Well then, Drake,’ she said, hands on hips, ‘let’s blame the King and not these nice young lads here.’

Rolynd was astounded to see the huge dog stand up and wag his tail at the young woman. She grinned and beckoned him to her and, as if he were her own pup, he came to her call and allowed her to pet and cuddle him.

‘My lady. You have a way with animals just like your mother.’

She smiled. ‘Can I help you in this task?’

‘But you’ll get all wet and muddy.’

‘Oh please, Rolynd. Give me two minutes and I’ll change and you can dismiss the pages. I can do this for Drake without any help.’

With his mouth still open in surprise, Rolynd watched the young woman lift her skirts and run back into the palace. The dog sat down again and eyed them balefully. The palace secretary shook his head.

‘Dismissed boys. Get on with your other duties.’

They did not require a second telling and had dispersed within seconds. Drake growled for good measure as they left.

Rolynd scolded him and was still berating the dog, albeit rather gently, when Lauryn reappeared kitted out in a man’s loose shirt and breeches she had pulled in tight to her waist with a length of leather.

‘I borrowed these old clothes,’ she said gleefully. ‘Come on, Drake. You’ll love us for making you all clean and then I shall comb you until your coat gleams.’

Whether the dog understood her or not he obediently crossed to the horse trough where Lauryn began scooping up water with a large pot and pouring it over him.

It was not a pleasant time for Drake but he submitted to her ministrations with calm and good grace. Even the soaping and the rinsing he accepted with only the slightest show of indignation. Rolynd listened to the constant soft stream of chatter coming from Lauryn as she spoke gently to the dog of how all the itches would be gone and the burrs which poked him as he slept would be combed out. Her tone soothed the secretary as much as the hound, which is probably why he didn’t notice the King strolling into the courtyard.

Gyl stopped with amazement at this scene and then, not wishing to interrupt its progress, he leaned against one of the walls and watched Lauryn. She looked exactly as he remembered his mother when she had lived a more carefree life. Lauryn’s golden hair, which she had unsuccessfully tried to pull into a hurried plait had worked itself loose and now strands, glinting in the midday sun, were hanging down her face which glowed with her efforts. She was altogether lovely. He too admired her gentle talk to the animal and he was reminded of that day when he had first met her. She had found Bryx for him and yet Bryx was not a horse who came to anyone. She obviously spoke the language of animals. And that day she had been covered in mud and now here she was dressed like a man and completely indifferent to the normal vanities of women. As he was
thinking how gorgeous she looked in her simple garb with her hair flying around her, Drake decided he had had enough and stood up to shake himself. He did this with particular care to not only expertly drench the unsuspecting Rolynd but to shower his carer with as much water as possible. Lauryn screamed throughout the ordeal and then began to laugh at Rolynd and then at herself.

Drake trotted off, longing to roll in the dust but Gyl was too fast, knowing precisely what dogs like to do when their coats are damp. He grabbed the hound, laughing as he did so. This was the first moment that either Rolynd or Lauryn had realised the King was present. As one they bowed, looking rather ridiculous in their wet clothes.

When Lauryn stood up, she looked self-conscious. And well you might, the King thought, unable to drag his stare from the now suddenly transparent white shirt which clung to her breasts rather splendidly.

Gyl cleared his throat. ‘I presume this is the fashion where you come from?’

She followed his gaze and then shrieked, horrified at her indiscretion and desperately trying to cover herself. ‘Excuse me, your majesty. I…er…I must change my clothes.’ She did not bother with a bow but fled into the palace, cheeks burning, no longer from her labours but from her sense of humiliation.

Rolynd said nothing but his look told Gyl he should not have embarrassed his mother’s daughter in such a manner. Gyl had far too much respect for the old secretary to ignore the warning in that carefully expressionless face.

‘Sorry, Rolynd. She’s too easy to tease.’

‘No apology due me, your highness, though might I mention that the girl is feeling intensely lonely.’

Gyl considered this. ‘Have I made it worse?’

‘No, sire. I think she just wishes to help and be a part of palace life. She just wants to fit in…like most of us.’

The King nodded. ‘I must make it up to her.’

Later that day, as Lauryn stared out of her window towards the moors to where she imagined Brittelbury might be, wishing desperately she could have gone with Gidyon, she heard a tap on the door. Behind it she found a page with a message from the King requesting her to join him for a ride that afternoon. She assumed it was with a party and grudgingly gave her acceptance. She did not particularly want to see the King again today— her cheeks still burned each time she remembered her nakedness—but at least amongst a group she could avoid him. Also it gave her something to do and meant another few hours of loneliness had been killed.

After the morning’s debacle, Lauryn took care with her preparations. Rolynd had filled her wardrobe with dozens of garments she would probably never wear but he had eased her discomfort with the news that her mother had insisted she have a full range of clothes to wear during her stay at the palace.

At the appropriate hour she presented herself in the main courtyard and was surprised to find herself greeted by a single horse and its handler.

‘Where are the others?’ she said.

‘They’ve gone ahead, my lady,’ he demurred, helping her onto her horse. ‘Her name’s Firefly. She’s really a very gentle beast to ride once you get to know her. I
might add, my lady, she can be just a little feisty for new riders but you’ll soon get her measure.’

‘Thank you. How do I find my way to the rest of the party?’ she asked, seething at the affront of being specifically invited and then left behind.

‘I shall lead you, my lady. It’s not far.’

They headed towards the back of the palace in silence with Lauryn too furious to even make polite small talk. She could see a few soldiers ahead standing around with a couple of horses, but there were no finely dressed men ready for a genteel ride—nor women for that matter. How rude of the King.

‘What is your name?’ she finally said to the man who held the reins.

‘Barkly, my lady.’

‘Well, Barkly, I do not wish to ride this afternoon. Take me back.’ She hated the haughty tone in her voice but it was either that or rage.