Revenge (27 page)

Saxon followed. It meant he would have to wait longer still for a glimpse of Cloot, but if he was able to foil this man’s murderous intentions and save the
Queen’s life, she might listen to his request to reclaim the falcon.

He may yet be able to get away from here with Cloot and himself in one piece.

They were welcomed by the head of the aviary, Hume, who immediately launched into a lengthy apology for the absence of his new man. Tor paid no attention. He could see two men on the rise of a hill, with three birds. All were falcons; two of them of similar size, the third much bigger. It could be Cloot, but from this distance he could not tell.

He cast and felt something give in the usual blankness. His heart leapt…but his concentration was interrupted as Sylven and her man stepped up next to him and he had to give them his attention.

‘Tor, this is Master Hume, head of our royal aviary. He has agreed to take us through the entire complex so you can search for your falcon. Right now, he wishes to give us a demonstration of his newest birds. He thinks I will enjoy them. Do you mind?’

‘Not at all, your majesty,’ Tor replied. ‘Please—I would be fascinated to watch them myself.’

The keeper bowed again and signalled. They watched the first bird launched into the air. It flew beautifully and then, at a single command, it returned to the handler’s thick glove.

Hume looked at his Queen. ‘Your majesty, this next bird is the one I’m excited about. He is very special.’

Once again he gave the command. The handler pulled the hood off the bird’s head and threw the falcon into the air. It lifted off with strength, its wings beating powerfully.

‘Ah,’ he heard the Queen say, ‘this one is majestic.’

‘I’m glad you like him, your highness,’ Hume replied, bowing again.

The falcon dived and swooped elegantly.

Tor instantly recognised the familiar flight. It was Cloot.

Tears welled in his eyes as he cast to his friend.
Cloot, you old rogue. There you are at last.

The falcon faltered in the air.

‘Oh, what’s happened there?’ Sylven asked.

Hume cleared his throat with embarrassment. ‘Ahem…he is a little feisty, your majesty. We are training him still.’

The link was strong now; the falcon was reciprocating the bond.

Cloot. Don’t come back to the handler. Stay up there,
Tor said.

Tor?
came the deep and gentle voice, almost too frightened to ask.

Tor began to run towards Cloot. He could hear the Queen calling to him but he cared only for the falcon above.

‘Cloot!’ he screamed aloud now, so all could hear. ‘Fly, you beautiful falcon. Fly away.’

The handlers were incensed by this stranger yelling at their bird. Hume caught up with him.
‘Physic Gynt, sir. My falcon is nervous enough without you frightening it.’

‘He’s not nervous, fool—and he’s not your falcon either. He’s mine!’ Tor snarled. He surprised himself with the visceral emotion in his voice.

‘Tor?’ It was Sylven. She looked alarmed. ‘Are you not well?’

‘Never been happier, Sylven,’ he said, ignoring protocol. ‘That’s my falcon up there.’ His grin was fierce.

The handlers called out as Cloot climbed even higher into the sky. ‘He’s not returning, Master Hume. He’s not responding at all.’

‘This is terrible. That bird cost us a fortune,’ Hume said, glaring at Tor but unable to say too much; after all, the man was a guest of the Queen.

‘You won’t catch him now,’ Tor said with glee. He snatched at the hood which dangled from the handler’s hand. ‘Is this what you use to keep him quiet?’ he asked.

The man nodded dumbly. The hood was fashioned from leather and studded with the same midnight archalyt which had prevented Tor using his powers to save Locky from the Maiden’s Kiss.

‘Can I keep this?’ he asked the Queen but was already pushing it into his pocket without waiting for her answer.

‘Now, let me prove this is my falcon. You men—give your call, summon him.’

They tried again and again but Cloot continued to circle higher and higher above.

When they shook their heads in failure, Tor made his move. ‘Watch this,’ he said.

He reopened the link and felt it lock freely onto Cloot.

I’ve been shipwrecked, almost drowned, captured as a slave and now I’m having to play royal paramour…all to find you.

There was a long pause. Tor wondered if Cloot was changed in some way, if he had lost his ability to speak. But then he heard the voice again.
Well, don’t you just have all the fun.

Tor laughed, surprising his audience. As far as they could see, all he was doing was staring at the bird; he made no attempt to sign or call out to it.

Cloot, show them we belong to one another. I have to prove it. Fly to me now.

The voices around him intensified their enquiries but Tor turned and put his finger to his lips to hush them and they fell silent. Looking up, they watched the superb falcon turn on itself into what seemed an impossible stoop, then drop like a stone from the sky.

‘It will never pull out of that,’ one of the handlers said.

‘He is the most amazing flyer I’ve encountered in my time,’ Hume said, his voice filled with awe.

Cloot was racing towards them at a reckless speed.

‘Step back, your majesty,’ Tor warned. Everyone else followed his advice too.

In a matter of seconds, the falcon slowed from its breathtaking speed, turned its body and put its bright
yellow claws out to land. Tor needed no protection as Cloot alighted on his outstretched arm; his prayers were answered. Cloot flapped his wings once and turned to stare at his handler. Tor burst into laughter once again at the accusation in those piercing yellow eyes.

Thanks for finally turning up,
Cloot said, the familiar sarcasm thrilling Tor.

Tor kissed the side of the sharp beak; behind him he heard the others make noises of revulsion.
We shall never be apart again, old friend.

Cloot grunted in his head.
Don’t make wild promises, Torkyn Gynt.
He ruffled his feathers and stared balefully as the Queen approached.

I love you, Cloot,
Tor said, then closed the link and smiled serenely at her majesty.

Sylven’s hand was on her hip. ‘Well, well, well. I suppose I have to give you this prized falcon then?’

‘He is mine, your majesty, and you did promise.’

‘Yes, I did, Tor. He is yours.’

‘What about him,’ he said, motioning towards Hume.

‘He does as he’s told,’ she replied.

She dismissed the men, who left looking disgruntled. Hume looked murderous.

Tor surprised her by dropping to one knee, his head bowed. ‘Thank you, Queen Sylven, for your generosity. You will never know how much Cloot means to me or how precious it is to have him back.’

There was such tenderness in his words, so much vulnerability, that she wanted to reach out and touch
his thick dark hair. Here was the little boy in front of her now; a few moments ago he had been all swaggering arrogance, now he showed such humility. She loved these different aspects of him and she wanted to hug herself that she had this man with her in her bed. Yet, at the same time, she felt very alone. She sensed that the euphoria of having found her soulmate would be short-lived.

Instead of saying all that was running through her mind, she touched his shoulder. ‘Come, Tor. Let us celebrate with that picnic you promised me.’

He looked up at her and her heart skipped a beat at the sight of those bright blue eyes; a colour she swore she had never seen on a person before and never would again. Torkyn Gynt was as beautiful as the gods they painted in the murals on the walls of her palaces. Yet he was real. Her very own god. She let him take her arm and lead her back towards their chosen picnic spot.

Cloot, we shall meet later. I have to spend some time with her majesty now. I shall speak with you tonight. Head for safety and freedom high in those trees for now.

Cloot took off towards the trees. There was much to say but it could wait just a little while longer. Tor was obviously in a prickly situation.

Sylven felt compelled to ask the question that was brewing in her mind. ‘Does this mean you will leave me now?’

Tor was startled by the direct question; it stopped him in his tracks. He looked searchingly at her. ‘I must.’

‘You have your falcon again. Why can’t we enjoy more time together?’ The Queen hated to hear the plea in her voice.

‘Because I have found what I came here for. And now I must return.’

‘To her?’ she snapped, despising the jealousy which grabbed at her throat. She was Queen; she could command him to stay. She could have him thrown back in chains and kept her prisoner if she so desired. What was wrong with her? She sounded like a child of twelve summers.

‘Alyssa?’ he asked and then shook his head. He spoke gently, ‘No, Sylven, not to Alyssa. I am not permitted to be with her. You know this.’

He could scarcely believe it but the Queen was crying. Her party were waiting for them at the picnic spot but this needed delicate handling. He guided her behind a convenient tree and took her into his arms and hugged her. For all her poise and strength, all her power as the ruler of a mighty realm, she was weeping for the love of a man—the one thing she had assured him she did not need. She had a harem full of men, all awaiting her pleasure. She could use them as she wished and cast them aside, as he fully expected she did.

‘Sylven, hush, please. This is not right. You know I must go. I have explained—’

‘You have explained nothing!’ she snarled at him, pulling herself roughly from his embrace. ‘You talk about your destiny but it means nothing to me. I don’t understand any of it because you have not told
me anything. You walk into my life, bed me, take my heart and then you think you can just walk away.’

Tor looked at her with incomprehension. He repeated in his mind what she had just said and couldn’t help but echo the words, ‘Take my heart?’; he spoke softly but she heard. She pushed him and turned away, still weeping.

Tor’s voice was almost a whisper. ‘What can I tell you that will make it easier?’

‘Why?’

‘Why what, your majesty?’

‘Why can you not love me? Be with me?’ She was trembling with anger now.

Tor gave her the full respect she deserved, by speaking only the truth. ‘Because I do not love you, Sylven. I love another. I cannot give my heart to any other woman as long as she is alive.’

‘Then I shall have her killed,’ the Queen said, petulance spilling into her passion for him.

‘You will not win my love that way. You will never win it. Alyssa and I are destined for one another. I will never marry another woman. She will never marry another man or call him hers.’

When he needed to convince himself that his path would never cross hers again, he had tried to believe that Alyssa might build a new life without him. And yet now, with the thought of the children coming back and Cloot safe, he knew deep down that he wished she might never have another man in her life. Tor wanted her to suffer the pain he suffered every day in being apart from her. Because it was only
through the pain that he could keep her love alive in his mind. And, in turn, her pain would keep him real, even though she thought him dead.

‘Really?’ the Queen said. ‘She shall never take another? Perhaps you should read this, Tor.’ She pulled out a parchment scroll from her deep pocket. ‘I received it only this morning. It has come by way of the city palace with the carts which came in last night. It was written several weeks ago, I fear. The deed is done.’

She held it out to him, full of defiance. Was there also satisfaction in her expression?

He took the parchment. The situation felt suddenly dangerous and he wished he had just led her straight to the picnic and lied to her. Lied that he would stay, lied that he loved her and then he and Cloot could have escaped.

‘Read it,’ she commanded.

He did.

His royal highness King Lorys of Tallinor announces his marriage to Alyssandra Qyn of Mallee Marsh, to take place at the Royal Chapel of Tal in a private ceremony. The King hopes her royal highness the Queen of Cipres will join with the people of Tallinor in…

Tor could not read any further. The scroll was dated before the last moon. Alyssa was married to the man who had ordered his execution. She was Queen of Tallinor.

Tor felt as though he could no longer breathe. He crushed the parchment between his fingers and then
he was on his knees, his emotions writhing agonisingly through his body. He began to moan.

It was a sound which tore at Sylven. Despite her anger and her terror of losing him, she kneeled beside him and held him as he whispered Alyssa’s name repeatedly.

Cloot arrived overhead. The link broke open in Tor’s head and he heard his Paladin. It was a voice of command now; no longer gentle.
Tor!

She’s gone, Cloot. Alyssa is gone,
he moaned.

Gone? Dead, you mean?

She might as well be. She is married to the King.

There was silence for a moment and then Cloot was back in his head, strong and convincing.
Get up! Do you forget who you are? Do you forget you are the One? This very Land depends upon you; thousands of innocents don’t yet know it but they depend on you for their lives. Stand up!

Tor reluctantly pulled himself to his feet and took several deep breaths.

Sylven stood as well, still holding his arm, wishing she could take back all she had said and done. The pain on his face, in his trembling body, was too much for her to bear. She loved this man. He was the father of the child now growing inside her; a sister for Sarel, a second Princess for Cipres. Sylven wanted Tor as her Regent. What a dashing and brilliant royal couple they would make, if only he could be encouraged to forget this wench in Tallinor. She corrected herself—this Queen in Tallinor.

Sylven had taken the wrong approach and her anger had led her
down a dangerous path. She must repair the damage now, bring him back to her side and gently show him that this Alyssandra Qyn was now in his past.