Lost Heir (Blood Weaver Trilogy #2)

Chapter 8

8

T he cool marble of the Eastern palace echoed underfoot as we navigated its opulent corridors, the somberness of the morning's events pressing heavily upon my shoulders. As we approached my chambers, the sight of Selene poised with a mixture of patience and anxiety momentarily lifted my spirits. Her quick steps towards me and the concern etched across her features were a stark reminder of the world we’d left behind and the intricate dance of court life we now faced.

“Where were you?” Her voice carried a blend of relief and worry, a testament to the bond we shared.

“My mother summoned me,” I explained, the words tinged with a resignation that came from navigating the expectations of royalty. “It wasn't something I could refuse.” I shifted the topic, hoping to ease her concern. “Did you manage to have breakfast?”

She nodded, a small gesture that belied her underlying unease. “Yes, one of your court ladies was kind enough to bring something from the kitchens.”

“Good. If you need anything, just tell me—” I was about to offer further reassurance when she interrupted, her voice a soft confession of her inner turmoil.

“Leila,” she began, her use of my claimed name pulling me into a moment of intimacy amidst the grandeur that surrounded us, “I feel useless here.”

Her words struck a chord, although the notion that she could view herself as anything less than essential was unfathomable to me. “What do you mean?” I asked, genuinely puzzled by her admission.

Selene's sigh was encumbered with the weight of unspoken fears and uncertainties. “I thought by coming here, I could be of some help to you,” she explained, her gaze dropping. “But now, I feel like I'm more of a burden than an asset.”

The earnestness in her voice prompted me to dispel the shadow of doubt that had crept into her heart. Grasping her hand, I sought to infuse my words with the strength of our shared past, our struggles, and our triumphs. “Selene, look at me,” I urged, waiting until her eyes met mine before continuing. “You could never be a burden. You've been my anchor, my confidante, and my friend through everything. That you would even think such a thing couldn't be further from the truth.”

In the grand scheme of the palace, where every glance held a story and every whisper a potential for intrigue, the simplicity of our connection—a bond forged not in the gilded halls of power, but in the raw truth of our experiences—was my solace. As the Eastern palace loomed around us, a solid demonstration of the life into which I was born, it was Selene's presence that reminded me of the person I had become and the strength that lay in true companionship.

Her contemplation hovered between us like the early morning fog. “But …” I ventured further, the words trailing off into the space between us, laden with an unspoken promise. “If you wish to return to the Luminar Sea, I will escort you there myself. Don’t feel pressured to stay by my side.”

Selene's response, a gentle nod accompanied by a soft, “I’ll think about it,” resonated with a gravity that hadn't been present in our previous conversations. It was a subtle shift, yet a profound one, marking the first time she’d entertained the notion of leaving. The silence that followed was poignant, filled with the unsaid fears of separation that neither of us wanted to voice.

Retreating a step, I sought to lighten the mood and brush away the somber cloud that had settled over us. “Perhaps a walk in the gardens? The weather is perfect—”

Her grin cut through my suggestion, bright yet secretive. “I just returned from there. I saw Marcellus,” she confided, her voice a whisper, a conspiratorial thread meant just for us.

Surprise flitted across my face, momentarily unguarded before I composed myself. “He was here?” The thought puzzled me; I had only just parted ways with him. “How did he—”

She waved off my confusion with an easy shrug. “It was earlier this morning. He happened to be passing by the Eastern palace. But don't worry, I kept my distance. I just hoped to see him again.”

A relieved sigh escaped me and a tension I hadn't realized I was holding dissipated. “Thank the goddess,” I murmured. “We must be careful, Selene. Any hint of you and Marcellus could stir a storm we're ill-prepared to weather.”

Her laughter, light and seemingly carefree, did little to ease the knot of worry in my stomach. “I promise, Leila. I'll tread lightly.”

Her promise hung in the air, fragile and fraught with naivety. I couldn't shake the feeling that Selene grossly underestimated the depth of the court's intrigue and my mother's reach within these walls. The thought of her learning the harsh realities of palace life pained me. I wanted to protect her from the shadows that danced behind the gilded facade.

“Leila?” Her voice, pulling me back from the edge of my spiraling thoughts, was a lifeline.

The worry that clouded my thoughts began to dissipate as I forced a smile, though its brightness failed to reach my eyes. “Oh, sorry,” I offered, a weak attempt to mask the undercurrent of concern that had momentarily seized me.

Selene, ever understanding, brushed off my lapse with a gentle, “It's fine. What do you plan to do now?” Her next question hung in the air, a simple inquiry loaded with the weight of newfound freedom.

The prospect of rest beckoned me, a siren’s call to the weary. “I think I'm going to try to sleep for a bit,” I confessed, the adjustment to palace life's rigorous schedule still a hurdle. “I don’t remember the last time I woke up this early.”

Her response, a soft murmur of contemplation, revealed the depth of her own adjustment. “I haven’t had this much free time in years,” she admitted, her gaze drifting. The shadows of her past, of days spent within the perfumed confines of Lomewood's pleasure house, played across her face—a stark contrast to the freedom that now lay before her.

Moved by her admission, I sought to offer comfort through familiarity. “Is there anything you'd like to do?” I asked, remembering the solace she once found in the strokes of a brush. “You enjoyed painting. We could arrange for some canvas and paints, if you'd like.”

Her wish, however, was simpler, more primal. “Honestly, I just want to roam the grounds and breathe some fresh air. Is that okay?” she asked, her voice a whisper of longing.

Laughter broke from me, a light moment in the gravity of our conversation. “You don't have to ask, Selene. Feel free to explore. Just stay within the Eastern palace grounds, for your safety.”

Her acknowledgment was swift, her steps carrying her past me with a promise to return. “Will do! I'll wake you for lunch,” she called over her shoulder, her figure receding down the hallway with a freedom that seemed to buoy her spirit.

I lingered a moment longer and watched her disappear around the corner before retreating into the sanctuary of my room. The promise of rest, however fleeting, was a balm to the soul, a necessary pause in the whirlwind of palace life and the complexities it entailed.

The tranquility of the Eastern palace gardens offered little solace to the tumult within me. Viktor, ever the silent guardian, kept his distance, allowing me the semblance of solitude as I roamed the gardens after lunch. The aftermath of the previous night with Ronan lingered as a tempest of emotions and sensations that refused to be stilled. His touch, his breath against my skin, had imprinted on me in a way that solitude and daylight could not erase. I roamed aimlessly, the vibrant hues of the flowers and the soft whisper of the breeze through the leaves doing little to distract me from replaying torrid memories of last night.

Restlessness consumed me, a fervent desire to escape the confines of my own thoughts. “I need to do something to keep my mind busy,” I whispered to no one, a plea for distraction. It was then, in my aimless wandering, that I knelt before a bush adorned with roses. As I reached out, captivated by their perfection, I plucked one, only to be met with the sting of a thorn. The sharp pain was a jolt, pulling me momentarily from my reverie. I sucked on the wounded finger, the taste of iron a grounding sensation.

It was this small, inconsequential moment that sparked a realization. “The infirmary!” The word burst from me like a revelation, a beacon of purpose cutting through the fog of uncertainty.

Viktor, ever attentive, closed the distance with a few strides, concern etching his features. “Is everything okay, Your Highness? Are you hurt?” His voice, laced with worry, brought a smile to my lips despite the unrest.

I nodded, reassured by his concern. “Yes, yes, I’m fine. I just remembered I haven’t visited the infirmary since I returned.” The thought of engaging in something familiar, something as grounding as healing, was incredibly appealing. “Who is the resident healer now?” I inquired.

“Old Man Reeves still holds the position,” he informed me, his tone carrying a note of respect for the long-serving healer. “He's been tending to the palace since your father was a child.”

The information was a comfort, a link to a past that felt both distant and intimately close. With newfound determination, I decided then that the infirmary would be my refuge, a place to channel my tumultuous emotions into something meaningful, a way to reconnect with the part of me that found solace in healing others.

Exiting the lush tranquility of the garden, a figure clothed in the deep hues of royalty halted my departure. My father, clad in robes that shimmered with threads of royal blue and silver, cut an imposing yet graceful image as he approached. With a simple gesture, he dismissed his aides, ensuring our meeting would be a private affair.

His presence, both commanding and warm, enveloped me as he drew near, his smile a beacon of genuine joy. Once he reached me, he pulled me into an embrace which was one of unguarded affection—the complete opposite of my mother’s touch. It wasn’t that my mother didn’t love me. No, I believed she did. But she was cold and calculative, and always put my brother’s wellbeing before anyone else’s.

“Oh, Lyanna, you have no idea how glad I am to see you again! Your disappearance was the toughest challenge I’ve ever endured,” he confessed, his voice imbued with a mixture of relief and lingering worry. As he stepped back, his hands found my upper arms and he squeezed them gently to convey both concern and reassurance. The look in his eyes was pure fatherly love, a mirror to the affection I’d missed and a reminder of the stark differences in the way my parents expressed their care.

Where my mother’s affections were measured and often overshadowed by her ambitions for my brother, my father’s warmth was immediate and all-encompassing.

“I missed you too, Father,” I managed, my smile struggling to mask the whirlwind of emotions his presence stirred. “You were missed at breakfast. Is everything okay?”

He nodded, a gesture of dismissal to any underlying concerns, and released my arms. “All is well. Just wanted to have a chat with young Ronan. It’s been many years since I last saw him. He is all grown up now. Your generation aren’t children anymore. It saddens me that I couldn’t watch you grow into the woman you are today,” he lamented, his touch tender as he brushed a stray lock of hair from my face.

The moment was a poignant reminder of the years we’d lost and the time that slipped through our fingers like grains of sand, leaving behind a longing for what could have been.

“You must tell me all about your journeys these last ten years. I want to hear all about it!” he encouraged, his voice a blend of eagerness and affection. His arm linked with mine in a gesture of camaraderie and paternal interest as he gently prodded into the life I had carved out for myself beyond the palace walls. As we meandered through the verdant paths of the garden, my father's curiosity about my past decade unwound like the trails beneath our feet. “I heard from Caelan that you made quite a name for yourself as a healer in the Central Plains. Is this true?”

“Yes. I delved into the realm of medicine and herbs during my time away. A local healer, wise in the ways of traditional remedies, took me under their wing, then guided me until I felt confident enough to establish my own clinic.”

His follow-up question pierced the comfortable veil of our conversation, hinting at a deeper knowledge of my struggles. “Interesting. And how were you able to afford your own clinic? From what Caelan told me, you and Sir Edric faced some financial hardships after the first year of being away.”

Caught off-guard by his pointed inquiry, I hesitated, wary of revealing too much. The complexities of my survival were a tapestry woven with threads of desperation and resilience. Opting for a measured response, I offered, “I sought out challenges that were beyond the scope of ordinary healers. High-risk cases became my specialty, my ... expertise. I must confess, my blood played a crucial role in many of those cases.” The admission tasted bitter, a reminder of the burdensome reliance on my unique heritage to navigate those perilous waters.

His reaction, however, was not one of judgment but of understanding. A comforting pat on my hand accompanied his reassurance. “No, no, you needn’t be ashamed. You were doing your best to survive.” His words, imbued with empathy, offered forgiveness I hadn't realized I needed—a recognition of the choices made, not in pursuit of glory, but simply to endure.

I cleared my throat. “Um … Father, how is Ronan?” I asked since he had brought him up. Flashes of last night invaded my thoughts, and I flushed red at the memories.

“He’s doing well. While he’s not a prisoner, I don’t want him roaming the grounds, so I suggested he stay in the Northern palace until the banquet when his father arrives.”

I pressed my lips together to keep from laughing. Ronan was definitely not sequestering himself in the Northern palace, if last night was any indication.

“Do try to avoid going near the Northern palace, Lyanna,” my father said. “I don’t wish for rumors of the two of you to circulate. It’s best if you keep your distance.”

I stopped walking, making him halt as well. I peered up at my father and asked the question that had been nagging me since my arrival. “You know, don’t you?”

He frowned. “Know what, dear?”

“About the prophecy,” I continued. “About the Crimson Clan needing to sacrifice me to resurrect the fox demon.”

My father sighed. “Yes. Yes, I know,” he muttered. “I didn’t intend to keep it from you, but I thought it was best if we kept it quiet. To keep you safe. I just never thought that when we refused, the Crimson Clan would align with Keldara to invade us.”

I bit my lip to keep from talking. Ronan didn’t want me to tell anyone about what hardships the Crimson Clan was enduring, even though I knew if I told my father, he might be willing to help.

My father spun me to face him, gripping my upper arms as he looked down at me. “You are the first female blood mage since the moon goddess. I will not let them take you away, Lyanna. You are too valuable—”

“But Mother would,” I cut him off.

He furrowed his brows and nodded. “Yes. She would. But I won’t let her. We lost ten years because of this. I won’t lose any more. You have my word, Lyanna. No harm will come to you.”