The Nemisin Star (54 page)

Torrullin put
his son from him and touched his face with infinite kindness. “May
the Goddess forgive me,” he said from his heart, “and may she look
kindly upon you, my son.”

“Father,
no.”

“Tymall, know
that I love you, always.” Torrullin vanished from the cell.

Like his
father earlier, Tymall’s anguished cry rang out into the deafening
silence that held no listeners.

Helpless fury
set in and he shouted and screamed for his guards, for his father …
anyone.

No one
came.

No one would
come again. Ever.

“I hate you! I
hate you!” he screamed over and over until, at last, he collapsed
from pure emotional exhaustion onto the bed and sobbed pitifully
into the oblivion that finally came.

A temporary
respite only.

May the
Goddess forgive me. I am a prince among demons.

~ Torrullin,
the Ancient Oracles

The Keep

T
orrullin stood in the Throne-room and disliked it
intensely.

Months ago the
singing magic created beauty and inspiration and now he found it
over-compensation. He understood that power and rulership was not
about presentation and appearances; it was about people and
relationships. He would be Vallorin had his Throne stood in a
forest glade and had the seat been a tree stump.

Perhaps he
would be a greater Vallorin there.

With a
muttered curse, he commenced the Q’lin’la Song that would reduce
the vast space back to the original sitting room it was before his
interference. It took but moments and he felt no regret when the
seat stood huge and overbearing in the small space.

Perhaps he
would be a greater father also in a forest glade.

A sound behind
him caused him to turn.

“You have had
enough.”

“Past my sell
by date, Vannis. I want to go.”

“I know how
that feels,” Vannis murmured, and laid a comforting hand on his
grandson’s shoulder. Torrullin reached out to clasp that hand;
trebac shimmered.

“It ends soon,
thank god.”

“You were at
the White Palace,” Vannis stated without inflection and withdrew
his hand, knowing it would not be welcome when Tymall was the topic
in discussion.

“Quilla tell
you?”

“He cares, as
do I. How did it go?”

“As
expected.”

Vannis nodded.
“Ah.”

“He is to
remain there.”

Silence. “He
will eventually starve.”

“He will be
dead before it comes to that.”

Another
silence. “Who is to kill him?”

Torrullin drew
breath and turned; his eyes were like voids. Nothing there, nothing
to reveal, nothing to share. “I killed him.”

“He is dead?”
Vannis stared up at the ceiling as if to sense Tristamil’s
heat.

“No, but he
will be.”

A longer
silence and not a glimmer in Torrullin’s eyes, and Vannis figured
it out. “He is to take his own life.”

No reply.

“And
Tris?”

A flicker.
“This is why I want to go now.”

“Ah. What can
I do?”

Torrullin
turned away. “There is nothing to do anymore. All I ask is that you
leave with the others in the morning.”

“No.”

This time the
question was stark in Torrullin’s eyes.

Vannis smiled.
“I stay beyond the end.”

“I am not
asking,” Torrullin whispered.

“Neither am
I,” Vannis responded.

Two hands met
firmly in mid-air, clasped hard. Trebac sparkled tempestuously.

The deal of
death was done.

In the
courtyard the beauty of the night went unnoticed.

“Has Dalrish
come?” Torrullin asked, standing there.

“Kismet
fetched him as ordered, found him ready to leave. There is a story
there. He is in your study,” Vannis replied, also standing as if
time had no meaning.

“Has he been
told anything?”

“Lowen blurted
it out in her excitement. I think he is sceptical. He reserves
judgement until he meets you.”

Torrullin
managed a smile. “Lowen must be happy.”

Vannis
grinned. “She is a different person. Pretty as a picture with rosy
cheeks and shining eyes.”

“At least
something worked out right.”

“Maybe it is
all
right, son.”

“It feels
wrong, Vannis.”

A sigh, and
Vannis said,, “I spoke with Saska earlier.”

“I sense heavy
intent in there.”

“I was
supposed to convince her to fix your relationship, to lie if need
be.”

“Who
instigated that?”

“Tristamil.”
Torrullin nodded. Vannis continued, “She says you have an
understanding.”

“If you were
trying to find the temptation I could not resist, Vannis, you chose
wrong.”

“I know.” He
did not ask what temptation was the right choice.

“Did you tell
Tris?”

Vannis pinched
his nose. “No.”

A lengthy
silence ensued which neither desired to break. It was only when
Lowen’s laughter pealed out from above that both stirred again. “I
do not want to see him die, Vannis.”

“I understood
that, my boy.”

Torrullin
swung convulsively to his grandfather. “Why must it be like
this?”

There was no
answer and Vannis gave none.

Torrullin
inhaled deeply, straightened and put his mask on once more.

Vannis said,
“Quilla is here with Cat and Mitrill. Skye came too.”

Torrullin
broke from his inaction into a walk. He did not allude to the fact
that Cat knew nothing of his plans, and that she would be hard to
handle when she found out, and Skye’s pain could potentially undo
him.

About to
ascend the stairs, he leaned onto the banister to laugh
mirthlessly. “Ah, well, it needs doing.”

Taking another
breath he began to climb.

Vannis
followed, his mood sombre.

His gaze
sought Tristamil first.

Glancing
aside, lest he reveal what he knew, Torrullin studied the others. A
final interaction. He wondered if that would gift him clarity. He
suspected he would feel only relief.

Kismet, tall,
slender and golden, the new First Elder who wanted nothing more
than to die at his Vallorin’s side, but would heed the request to
take care of that Vallorin’s subjects and family. Kismet, who stood
beside Tristamil, whispering, but by the bulldog expression on the
young man’s face, made no headway. Kismet would cope well under the
new pressures, a stalwart to the entire Valleur nation, one with a
mischievous streak and able to laugh at himself.

Mitrill sat
beside her husband, covertly studying Skye opposite her. He had to
make his peace with his daughter-in-law. On her shoulders rested
the future of the Valleur and she needed to know he revered her for
that. She was indeed a lovely young woman of great depth and
talent. She, too, would be fine in the new order.

His gaze moved
to Skye. Pixie child of his heart, hurt, lost … and strong. She
studied Mitrill frankly and her gaze only occasionally lifted to
Tristamil - the small frown on her forehead gave evidence to her
continuing confusion. She thought it more than the bloodline that
forced altered circumstances, and Torrullin’s heart went out to
her.

Of course, as
he now knew, the bloodline had taken on supreme importance, and
Tristamil’s misguided actions would ensure the Valleur nation’s
future.

Caballa would
tell him it was Mitrill’s true destiny.

He stood in
the shadows of the open door, looking from one to the other. They
were unaware of him and he preferred it. Most tended to act
differently in his presence and, for once, perhaps the only time,
he desired to see them as they truly were, until he realised they
could not be themselves even now.

There were too
many; the masks, like his, were on. There were too many secrets.
Only Lowen was herself, talking animatedly to a tall striking man
that could only be her father.

Torrullin
sensed Vannis retreat to the balcony wall when he realised he was
not entering, and silently thanked him for his tact, and returned
his attention to Lowen.

A young girl
on the verge of womanhood. An honest, forthright soul without
shadows, despite her surreal upbringing. She was a daughter to be
proud of, a soul to share with, and yet she frightened him in a way
he could not fathom. The glimpses of her in the future set his mind
on a path he hoped his body would shy away from … and his soul …
and, yes, his heart. Lowen could well prove his nemesis.

He shifted his
attention to her father. A tall man with a slenderness bordering on
the unhealthy - dome life, no doubt - with long dark hair, a
darkness the Dalrish appeared to share.

He was dressed
in a black knee-length robe, dark pants and boots. About his waist
a set of pistols nestled in twin holsters. A surprise that, and
evidence of the man’s long distrust of others. He was apparently at
ease in present company, for his hands were relaxed in his lap and
he sat on Torrullin’s desk listening to Lowen, his entire being
focused on his daughter. There was a flush on his extremely pale
cheeks and he smiled at her, eyes travelling with dreamlike
astonishment over her lovely and lively features. Startling
intensely blue eyes, like his daughter’s.

Torrullin’s
attention moved to Cat sitting nearby. She was absorbed, fascinated
by her cousin the Crime Lord of Xen III, a man everyone was afraid
of, her eyes never leaving his face, smiling when he smiled. She
was also guarded and tense and it had nothing to do with Dall
Mossen.

She waited for
him, Torrullin, and he wondered if she knew what was to come. He
thought not, for she would be burning his ears by now. Selfish,
possessive Cat, and so alive she could blaze through to his soul.
Somehow he had to find a way to deal with her reaction, finding the
time to explain it to her in private.

Quilla, he
noticed, hovered near Dall Mossen. The birdman tried to get a word
in, but Lowen was not giving him opportunity. He wrung his hands,
smouldering with curiosity, and Torrullin was amused that Quilla
could be thoroughly ignored.

Noticing then
he could not hear clearly, he understood he unconsciously blocked
them out. He was tired of words. Glancing again at Tristamil to
reassure himself, he found Saska had moved to Skye’s side while he
focused on Dalrish.

She sought to
enter into Tristamil and Kismet’s conversation … and she was
looking at him.

Beautiful
Saska, his wife, his beloved.

You skulk in
the shadows, my husband?

Shadows are
all I deserve, wife.

Forgive me,
Torrullin; I did not intend to goad. I know this is a day of
sorrow.

Shadows and
sorrow - how else?

He stepped
into the light of the study and a babble of voices assailed him. He
frowned to reorient senses.

“… you have a
duty …” Kismet.

“… Luvanor,
daddy! Can you believe it?” Lowen in full flight.

“… Kismet,
stop trying to tell me …” Tristamil.

And Saska,
“Tris, please be sensible …” Able to divide her attention.

Vannis entered
behind him, cleared his throat and silence fell.

Dall Mossen
approached immediately. He and Torrullin studied each other. Lowen
drew near. These were the two men she loved and admired most -
would they like each other? She need not have worried; the two
recognised each in the other a kindred spirit. Torrullin held his
hand out for the ritual Valleur greeting and Dall Mossen stepped
into it without hesitation, having been similarly greeted by both
Vannis and Tristamil earlier.

Still clasping
the Xenian’s forearm, Torrullin asked, “How would you prefer to be
addressed?”

“Dalrish will
do. Long has it been denied me.”

Torrullin
smiled. “Dalrish it is.”

“And shall I
call you Lord Vallorin?”

Their hands
parted. “Your daughter calls me Torrullin.”

“Well met,
Torrullin. I admit to anticipating this for some time.”

“As have I; I
knew of you long before Matt and Cat came into our lives.”

“Good things?”
Dalrish grinned.

Torrullin
inclined his head. “I am afraid not.”

Lowen jumped
between the two men, glaring at Torrullin. “My father is not a bad
man!”

Brave, brave
Lowen. Well done, young one. “I am not saying he is, Lowen, but
your father has a reputation …”

“… which he
needed to stay alive,” Dalrish inserted and turned his daughter to
face him. “Thank you for coming to my defence, love, but you must
know what I am.”

“Yes, but
Torrullin mustn’t think badly of you. He mustn’t!”

“You care what
Torrullin thinks?” her father asked, amazed that his slip of a
girl, shy, withdrawn, had learned to trust and like another. She
nodded at him. “Do you think he is an honest man?” Once more she
nodded, eyes wide. “Then he would not judge purely on reputation.”
He smiled and ruffled her hair. “And neither shall I judge him,
hmm? Based on what I have heard I should either be kneeling in
abject repentance of my sins … or running, right?”

Torrullin
laughed and she craned her head around to him. He winked at her and
was rewarded with a brilliant smile. Cat was there to lead Lowen
aside. For a brief moment Torrullin and Cat’s eyes met, held, and
then she walked away. He focused on Dalrish.

“We have much
to discuss, but I am afraid the dawn deadline will catch us and
there are matters I need to attend to before then. We shall talk
later.”

“I look
forward to it,” Dalrish said formally, and retreated.

Torrullin
headed around his desk. Standing behind it, he leaned onto his
hands and looked at Tristamil. “Tris, you are to take your wife to
the Western Isles come morning. Kismet will accompany you.”