The Lady of Toryn Anthology (Lady of Toryn trilogy) (63 page)

“Maybe I wouldn’t have even been born,” Ashlyn said,
feeling more depressed by the moment. “Gosh, Vargo, I know it sounds stupid,
but I wish I’d gotten to know my dad better while he was alive. I wasted so
much time thinking he was a jerk for turning Toryn into a tourist trap, but I
never considered that he was a lot like me when he was younger.”

“How?”

“He had dreams, and he didn’t want to be Lord of
Toryn. And I think it’s pretty incredible that he fell in love so easily, like there
wasn’t anything to be scared of. Don’t you ever wonder what that would be
like?” She glanced over at Vargo, and was surprised to see that he was staring
straight at her, his brilliant green eyes eyes darkening.

“No,” he said. “I don’t.”

Ashlyn flushed, and looked away. There was a bench
beside the path, just a few steps away, and she moved to sit down, cursing her
own stupidity for asking such a painfully obvious question.

Vargo didn’t sit down, instead turning away, folding
his arms across his chest. The sunlight glinted off his spiky auburn hair,
making the stark white of his shirt stand out against the red backdrop of
Cosmea’s cliffs and mountains.

“Do you think your dad ever loved your mom?” he
asked, and his voice was so soft that Ashlyn almost missed it.

Tearing her attention away from Vargo, she thought
back to when she was a child. Her mother had died when she was almost six,
shortly after Restlyn had come to live with them. Restlyn’s arrival in Toryn
and Susyn’s death had happened within a few weeks of each other. Ashlyn had
always assumed that her father’s raging grief had been a result of Susyn’s
death, but now that she considered it, she couldn’t remember a time when her
father had ever really been happy. His personality had darkened considerably
after Restlyn came into the picture. Was that because G had died?

“I don’t think so,” Ashlyn muttered. “All these
years, I thought he did…but I only saw what I wanted to see. He was never happy
with my mom. She must have died a little inside every day, loving him
hopelessly but never getting anything back.” She covered her mouth with one
hand, trying not to cry.

“She chose that life for herself,” Vargo said. “Who
knows, maybe if she’d removed herself from the equation, she would have gone on
to find love with someone else. Maybe your dad would have returned to Cosmea
after all. But once he married your mom, once he got caught up in the lie, they
both gave up any chance of true happiness.”

“I guess,” Ashlyn responded. A flash of anger flared
inside her, unbidden, and she looked up at Vargo. “I’m sure she tried, but she
couldn’t force him to love her. You can’t force love.”

“No, you can’t.”

Ashlyn felt a chill run through her as the sun
disappeared behind the clouds, plunging them into shadow. Vargo turned towards
her, and for an eternal moment his gaze was locked on hers, his eyes sparking
with emotion.

Without speaking, he walked to her and held out his
hand, pulling her to her feet when she threaded her fingers through his.

He tucked a jagged strand of hair behind her ear,
his hand resting easily against her neck, the other hand still holding hers
tightly. He was so close that she could have stood on tiptoe and touched noses
with him. Ashlyn waited silently, unsure of what he was doing or how to respond.

Vargo sighed, and leaned his forehead against hers,
his breath warm on her skin. Ashlyn felt the familiar electricity of his touch,
and didn’t fight it, closing her eyes as warmth rushed over her.

“I’m sorry, Ash,” Vargo whispered.

She was so entranced by his spell that his words
hardly registered. “Sorry…for what?” she murmured.

His hand moved, tipping her chin up as he drew back.
Ashlyn opened her eyes and found herself sucked into his emerald gaze, helpless
to fight it.

“For trying to force you to love me,” he said.

Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, and Ashlyn
opened her mouth to reassure him that it was fine, he hadn’t forced her into
anything, he’d saved her life and she considered him one of her best friends-
but he cut off that line of thought when he leaned down and kissed her.

Their first kiss, weeks ago at the inn at Industry,
had felt like a sweet deception, wonderful while it lasted but ultimately
insincere. The second time Vargo kissed her, Ashlyn had been reeling from
Drake’s rejection, and she’d poured her frustration and agony into that kiss.
Vargo had bore it admirably, pulling her close to him but never pushing for
more than she was ready to give. She had felt protected…and soothed, somehow.

This kiss felt like goodbye.

The stubble of his unshaved jaw scraped against her
cheeks as his mouth moved over hers, his hands cupping her face gently,
reverently. Ashlyn felt wetness against her eyelids, and wondered briefly if
the rain had started in earnest before she realized that those were tears. But
she wasn’t crying.

When they broke apart, she didn’t open her eyes,
simply tried to catch her breath as Vargo leaned his forehead against hers once
more. His breathing was ragged.

After a moment, he released her, leaving Ashlyn
standing there, cold and alone. She lowered her chin, wiping Vargo’s tears from
her cheeks with a hand, and tried to collect her thoughts. The clouds finally
opened up and it began to drizzle- seemingly appropriate weather for the mood.

When she looked up, he was already halfway back to
the inn, his stride deliberate, his head down.

Ashlyn sat down on the bench again, not trusting her
shaky legs to hold her up any longer. He was leaving, she knew. Something about
her father’s story had struck a chord within him, and he was no longer willing
to wait around for her to realize that she loved him.

She
did
love
him, but not in that way- not in the way he wanted. It wouldn’t be enough for
him, eventually. He would live like her mother had, dying inside every day,
hoping against hope that something would change between them.

He deserved better than that, and Ashlyn did, too.

She sniffled, pushing her wet hair out of her face,
and stood, resuming her trek on the well-worn path as she tucked her father’s
journals underneath her shirt.

The path curved around behind the market, taking her
in the opposite direction from Vargo.

Chapter
Five

In
the Grey Hour

Ashlyn’s father made an appearance in her dreams
that night.

In this particular dream, she was seated on the edge
of Na Michico, looking down at the waves crashing below and swinging her feet
carelessly.

“Still the daredevil, I see,” Lord Li said, sitting
down beside her.

Ashlyn, far from being surprised at his presence,
surveyed his appearance critically. His dark hair was smoothed into a low
ponytail, all traces of silver gone from the raven locks. He wore a simple
white tunic and was barefoot. She found herself smiling at the tan lines on his
feet from his sandals. He’d always eschewed socks and worn his sandals with
bare feet.

“I get it from you, you know,” she replied.

“I would have preferred you inherited your mother’s
docile spirit,” he said with a sigh, shaking his head.

Ashlyn frowned, sticking her feet out in front of
her and wiggling her toes. “So are you just a figment of my imagination, or are
you haunting my dreams from beyond the grave?” she asked. “Should I be creeped
out?”

“Should you?” He leaned back on his hands and
offered a smile.

 
“I don’t
know.” The wind whipped at her hair, bringing with it the sweet scent of cherry
blossoms. Ashlyn closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. “Cherry blossoms always
remind me of Toryn- of you,” she said.

“They were your mother’s favorite. After her
passing, I tried to keep them in the house whenever possible.”

Ashlyn cracked an eye open. “Why?” She regarded him
with a grumpy one-eyed stare. “You didn’t love her.”

“I cared for her deeply,” he said, wounded. “She was
a worthy companion and a wonderful mother.”

“Worthy? How? She was pathetic enough to agree to go
along with your…your lies. Weak enough to agree to a fake marriage in exchange
for any part of you she could get her hands on. A stronger woman wouldn’t
settle for anything less than your heart.”

“I left my heart in Cosmea,” he said slowly, sadly.
“I would not have been able to gift it to Susyn, had I wished to.”

“Then it’s as much your fault as hers. Why’d you do
it, Dad? Was it really that big a deal to produce an heir? You selected Devlyn
easily enough. A fake marriage seems like a lot of effort with very little
pay-off.”

“I will admit that you were somewhat more spirited
than I would have wished in the Elder Heir.” Lord Li grinned, looking younger
and more carefree than she could ever remember seeing him. “But I suppose I
should have expected no less from a Li.”

Ashlyn scoffed. “Did you forget? I’m not a Li. I’m
illegitimate.”

“You are my daughter,” he said firmly. “We share the
same blood. You were born a Li and you will remain a Li. The legalities change
nothing.”

“Tell that to the Toryn people.” She groaned
suddenly and slapped a hand to her forehead. “No,
don’t
tell them that. I forgot, you know all about living a lie,
don’t you?”

“It was not easy,” he admitted, surprising her. “I
would not advise it- especially not for you, Ashlyn. I would hate to see your
spirit broken by the burden of deception.”

“You haven’t given me much of a choice, Dad,” she
said, exasperated.

 
“You always
have a choice.”

His words echoed in Ashlyn’s ears as she opened her
eyes, staring unseeing into the darkness of her room at the inn.

At length, she sat up, wearily smoothing down her
hair as she swung her legs over the side of the bed. She reached under her
pillow and pulled out Drake’s letter, brushing her fingers across the folded
square of paper as if seeking comfort from the creased pages.

She didn’t know what these dreams about her dad
meant, and she wasn’t entirely sure that she wasn’t just conjuring up her
memories of Lord Li so she could have an imaginary friend to bounce her
thoughts off of. It was ridiculous. No way was her dad’s ghost visiting her
dreams to make small talk.

The corridor was shadowed and silent when she opened
her bedroom door. The only light in the hall was coming from a small candle set
into the wall by a doorway. Ashlyn stared dully at the door, remembering that
Vargo had been staying there and recalling one particular morning when he’d
walked out with his short buttoned lopsidedly. She’d grinned and pointed it out
to him, then fixed it herself when he had feigned ignorance.

Her throat tightened. Vargo had become an exceptional
friend to her since the beginning of this adventure- the closest friend she’d
ever had, in fact. And now he was gone.

She padded down the hallway and pushed open the door
to his room, surprised to see that the room had not been cleaned yet. The curtains
had been left open overnight. In the faint light of early morning, she could
see that the bed was unmade and several crumpled up papers littered the floor
around the wastebasket. Perhaps Vargo hadn’t even bothered to check out when
he’d departed. Ashlyn lit the lamp beside the bed and sat down on the rumpled
sheets, feeling lonelier than ever as she looked around the empty room.

Drake’s letter was in her hands, offering small
comfort. Vargo was her best friend, but he was gone. Drake was the man she loved,
who had finally admitted he loved her in return, but his letter said he was
leaving Toryn- and she had no idea when she’d see him again.

She had no one to talk to, no one to lean on. The
worst of it was that all of it had turned out to be a lie. Her upbringing, her
birthright, and everything she’d fought for belonged to someone else. This was
so much worse than when Kou had deceived her into believing that he was her
brother, born of an extramarital affair, because this time Ashlyn was the
illegitimate child, and her only options were to walk away from it all, leaving
the pagoda to crumble under the wrath of the Toryn people, or lie to everyone
she loved to save her kingdom.

She’d never felt so completely lost in her entire
life. For once, the cause of her troubles was nothing she had brought on
herself, and that made her predicament more frightening. At least when Kou had
been the bad guy, she’d had someone to aspire to beat the crap out of. This
time it was all politics and deception, and Ashlyn had never been very good at
any of that.

Ashlyn drew her legs up onto the bed, curling them
up beside her as she leaned against Vargo’s pillow. She trailed her fingers
across the scar where her clan tattoo used to be. What had gone through her
father’s head when he’d held down his infant daughter and allowed the artist to
permanently mark her skin with the sign of the house of Li? Had his mind
wandered to his older daughter, wondering what she was doing…wishing she was
there instead?

With that thought, Ashlyn shook her head, suddenly
disgusted with her own self-pity. It was a terrible situation, but she wasn’t
making it any better by torturing herself like this.