But it would not be like riding Emerald. There would be little bond between him and a drowa, Gilwyn knew, and no sense of kinship, either. It was a long and dangerous road to Liiria, and he would be friendless. As he considered how alone he’d be, he realised that he was leaving everyone he cared about behind, not just White-Eye but all the Jadori he had come to love, and even the Seekers, so many of whom had given their lives defending the city. He began to wonder about the soundness of his plan. The prospects terrified him, but he was determined. Soon, he would leave Jador. And he would have to tell everyone that he was leaving, and endure their pleas to stay.
‘I want to stay,’ he sighed. Then he frowned. ‘But I can’t.’
He was a fool to try; they would all say so. But before he told anyone else, there was one man in particular he needed to see. Gilwyn pulled himself away from the balcony’s pretty view, mustered his courage, and left his palace chambers.
At the rear of the Jadori palace, overlooking the western mountains, stood a vibrant garden of lush plants and winding stone pathways. Because it was hidden from the rest of the city, the garden had always been remarkably peaceful, and the dead ruler Kahan Kadar had often opened the garden to his Jadori people, so that they might enjoy its green tranquility. Large enough to accommodate a mass of people, the garden remained a favourite place for lovers and playing children, though it was not nearly so crowded these days, when the deaths of so many had thinned Jador’s population. Yet the flowers still bloomed and the fountain still bubbled, and the many mosaics still caught the starlight in magical ways, just waiting for someone — anyone — to admire them.
Lorn admired beauty everywhere he found it. These days, things that cost nothing were all that was left to him, and he surprised himself by not minding at all. Lorn loved the palace garden, and tonight sat under the darkening sky with a pipe in his mouth, happily puffing while Eiriann bounced Poppy on her knee and her father Garthel slept in a nearby chair. He had spent the day at work digging wells — which were always needed in arid Jador — and his back ached from the effort. There was always work to be done, it seemed, but the lack of leisure did not bother Lorn. In Jador, he was no longer a king and did not pretend to be. He was just another Seeker, waiting for a chance to knock on Grimhold’s door.
He took a deep pull from his pipe then let the smoke dribble slowly from his nostrils. Except for the four of them, the garden seemed empty. The view of the mountains mesmerised Lorn. He knew the mountains hid Grimhold, and that Grimhold hid the hope of Poppy’s salvation, but he was powerless to change what Minikin had told him, and so could only hope that time would soften the mistress’ heart to his daughter’s plight.
Yet she is fine, thought Lorn as he looked at his daughter. A few yards away, Poppy crawled happily along the grass, feeling her way toward Eiriann. She is happy here.
Eiriann laughed and tickled the child’s nose, bringing delighted squeals from Poppy. Eiriann looked like a child herself, wholly contented now. She was happy here, too. Lorn watched her and grinned.
Because she has a child now.
They loved each other, he and Eiriann. Lorn had confessed it, finally, and Eiriann had received the news with pleasure. He was many years older than she, but the same boundless faith that had brought her to Jador had made her forget his age and see only the good in him. There was very little good in him, Lorn knew, but somehow Eiriann always found it. He was glad they were building a life for themselves in Jador, and that Poppy had a mother again. Eiriann could never really replace Rinka, of course, nor would she try. She had told Lorn that his precious wife should be a happy memory for him, no matter how long she lay dead.
Good fortune has found me, mused Lorn. True, he had lost a kingdom, but he had saved his daughter and that was enough.
For now.
Lorn’s thoughts turned suddenly to Gilwyn Toms. Like everyone, he had heard about Gilwyn’s return, and had learned the bad news about the girl named White-Eye. He knew also that Gilwyn was very fond of White-Eye and that her blindness would be a blow to him. In the short time that he’d been in the palace, Lorn had come to respect the boy.
No, Lorn corrected himself. Not a boy. A man.
Only a man could be regent of Jador. Lorn considered this as he puffed on his pipe. Gilwyn had impressed him. He had also been kind to them, generous enough to let them stay in the palace. Lorn laughed, supposing his defunct title was at least good for something.
A cry from Poppy roused Lorn from his ramblings. He sat up and watched as Eiriann lifted her into the air.
‘She’s dirty,’ declared Eiriann. ‘I’ll go change her.’
Lorn nodded, not wanting to wake Garthel. The baby’s cries did that instead.
‘What?’ croaked Garthel, his eyes fluttering open.
‘I’m going inside, Father,’ said Eiriann.
The old man coughed. ‘I’ll go with you.’
Lorn groaned unhappily. He wanted to stay, but not alone. ‘Sit, Garthel,’ he bade. ‘Sleep some more.’
‘Old men sleep ten minutes a day,’ Garthel quipped, ‘and I’ve just had mine.’
‘Stay if you want,’ said Eiriann to them both. She was about to say more when something behind Lorn caught her eye. ‘Look.’
Lorn turned and saw Gilwyn Toms approaching, unmistakable from his ungainly walk. He gave them each a smile, yet his expression seemed harried. Eiriann lowered her eyes a bit, an act of respect that made Gilwyn uncomfortable.
‘Good evening, Master Toms,’ she said. ‘We were just going inside. .’
‘Wait, please,’ said Gilwyn. He looked at Lorn. ‘Can we talk a moment?’
Lorn nodded, enough of a gesture to dismiss Eiriann and her father, both of whom said polite goodbyes before departing. Gilwyn grimaced at their dismissal, which made Lorn grin. He was not at all used to giving orders, this young regent.
‘I was hoping you’d come,’ said Lorn. He pointed toward Garthel’s chair. ‘Sit.’
Gilwyn took the simple chair, pulling it closer to Lorn’s own so that they faced each other. The muscles of his young face drooped with fatigue.
‘You don’t look good at all,’ Lorn remarked. ‘I heard about your girl White-Eye. I am sorry.’ He waited for Gilwyn to settle back. ‘What happened?’
‘To White-Eye? It’s a long story,’ said Gilwyn. He shifted as though he was hiding something. ‘I’m not sure I can explain it. It’s about the Akari.’
Lorn nodded slightly, encouraging him to continue. He knew very little about the Akari, only what others had told him. It was the Akari that made magic possible here. Gilwyn searched for the right words.
‘You already know about Baron Glass and his armour,’ he said. ‘There’s an Akari in the armour named Kahldris.’
‘A spirit,’ said Lorn. ‘Yes?’
‘That’s right. He inhabits the armour. He’s the one that gives the wearer of the armour strength. I don’t know much about him, really. Minikin won’t talk much about him.’
‘Your friend, the Bronze Knight. He went after this Kahldris.’
‘He must have failed.’ Gilwyn shook his head. ‘Ah, maybe I shouldn’t say that. I don’t know what’s happened to Lukien. But this Kahldris creature, he was the one that attacked White-Eye. He reached her somehow, bewitched her, made her think I was in trouble. He drove her out into the sun. When she finally broke from his spell she was. .’