The Nemisin Star (40 page)

Silence.

Torrullin
nodded.

Kismet stepped
forward and thumped the dais resoundingly. “We are gathered for the
formal recognition of the heir to the Throne! All here attend!”

Caballa
stepped forward and tapped the ebony dais. “His name will now be
spoken! All here attend!”

Torrullin
stared at his son. He took a breath, for a moment recalling how
different he had foreseen this moment. Tymall’s scrying led him to
believe that son would be declared heir, and later he envisioned a
ceremony conducted in a time of peace for Tristamil, with a mighty
celebration afterward to commemorate the event. The former would
now never come to pass, and the latter would take too much time. He
would soon be out of that suddenly scarce commodity. A celebration
at this juncture would be considered bad taste.

He exhaled and
smiled. “I present to you Tristamil!”

Tristamil had
fast become not only liked and loved, but also revered as much as
his father and thus the chamber erupted in spontaneous
applause.

Already
feeling the weight of duty, Tristamil came to stand beside his
father, who gave him the symbolic kiss on the forehead before
embracing him.

The thrice
acknowledgement came then. Kismet thumped the dais so hard it
seemed to shake, and shouted out for the recognition, and Caballa
was not far behind in her strength upon the floor, demanding the
acceptance, both of which the Valleur spoke with one voice, one
thought, one mind and one soul.

“We recognise
Tristamil Valla!”

“Long live the
Vallas!”

“We accept
Tristamil Valla!”

“Long live the
Valleur Throne!”

Skye stared
across the space, stricken.

Lowen clapped
enthusiastically.

Mitrill sat
with her head bowed, her lips moving with the words of
acknowledgement.

Vannis wiped
at a tear and Saska winked.

Torrullin held
one hand proudly on his son’s shoulder.

It was done.
He could move on.

He could
finally move on.

The night,
however, was not done.

It was
tradition for the heir to say a few words and thus silence was
given - and Tristamil moved out from under his father’s hand.
Instead of facing the gathering to make a speech, he faced his
father.

“Thank you, my
Lord and Father,” he said. “Before we disperse this gathering there
is a matter I wish to attend to. May I speak?”

Torrullin stared into his son’s eyes, foreboding settling
over him, but he could not deny his heir and particularly not after
presenting him. “You may speak, son. It is your right, and it is
expected.”
Watch your words; be wary of
your intent.

I have thought and I have acted. My mind is set.
Tristamil turned to the gathering.

“Tris, wait,”
Torrullin said.

“I cannot
afford to wait longer,” Tristamil said. He lifted his voice to the
gathering. “I state here my intention to wed.”

The unbroken
silence from the floor continued.

“I would marry
this night, for the omens are good. This is a sad night, but it is
also an auspicious one. We have spoken of death and loyalty this
night, we have secured the future and now I would we celebrate
life.” Tristamil inhaled and exhaled, and his face was devoid of
expression. “Examine the omens, Valleur, and tell me I am
wrong.”

Torrullin
briefly closed his eyes and Skye paled until she appeared near
death.

Tristamil had,
in fact, checked on the omens before entering the Throne-room, and
he confirmed them with Caballa. The seer studied him strangely, and
he had the feeling she knew exactly why he asked. It did not
matter, for she would not say anything. Personal destiny was always
private. As luck would have it, the omens were spectacular and to
announce and formalise a wedding would be readily accepted … and
perhaps luck had nothing to do with it. Perhaps his life was as
mapped as his father’s. That was a frightening thought.

“Who would you
wed, son?” Torrullin was forced to ask.

Tristamil
glanced at him. He did not reply immediately. “Valleur, are the
omens good?”

The silence
stretched until Caballa said, “The omens agree, my Lord.”

Torrullin
turned to her. “Caballa!”

She was
serene. “My Lord Vallorin, your son is right. We have no right to
deny him.”

Dead
quiet.

Torrullin
repeated, “Who have you chosen as wife?”

“Mitrill.” As
his father stiffened, Tristamil launched into a listing of her
bloodline and spoke eloquently of the Valleur future.

The Elders,
new and old, although amazed by the speed of the request, as well
as over the truth of Mitrill’s lineage, were well pleased. They
asked for confirmation from Torrullin regarding the bloodline, and
he reluctantly gave it. His face was as expressionless as
Tristamil’s had been.

To those
bearing witness, it was clear their Vallorin was unhappy about the
union, but it was also obvious he had not the right to question
bloodline and omens, and as a father he would want his son to be
happy. Young Tristamil had chosen, and he had chosen well.

Saska rose and
made her way to Skye. Tristamil did not look her way at all; the
witnesses had to assume she was no longer in his heart. He wanted
to scream at them, he wanted to shout his love for her to the
heavens, and dared none of that. He had chosen a wife, and denial
now would dishonour Mitrill. He had chosen the shape of the future,
and denial would lose him his father.

He held his
hand out to Mitrill.

She had not
known he planned this for this particular night. In fact, she had
not known he would marry her until he spoke her name on the dais.
None of her surprise reflected on her face as she took her place
beside him.

They smiled
briefly at each other, somewhat strained, for both were aware how
tense it would be afterward. Torrullin would have something to say
and Skye was a spectre able to damage a marriage.

Tristamil
turned her to his father and asked to be married immediately.

His eyes on
the kinfire where their hands touched, Torrullin was silent, and
then he met the grey eyes that were so like to his. “What have you
done?”

“I have found
my wife, father. Would you deny that?”

A number of
voices called out granting permission for this union, saying it was
good to celebrate life amid death, that it was indeed an auspicious
time to meld the separate lines of the Vallas - precisely what
Tristamil counted on.

“You have
played me,” Torrullin said.

“Only because
I love you.”

Caballa
approached. “My Lord Vallorin, this must be.”

Torrullin’s
hands clenched and he forced them open. “I see that, thank you,
Caballa.”

She returned
to her station.

Torrullin
looked upon Mitrill. “Your true name has been spoken before
witnesses. You are Varelie Valla. Before we continue, you have
before you a choice. Remain Mitrill and be honoured as Mitrill, or
assume the name Varelie and become who you were born as, with every
honour also.”

She stared at
him, knowing he sprung it on her. Not out of spite or frustration
exactly, but because he needed her to know he was displeased. She
was not the daughter of Vallorins for nothing, however.

In a clear
voice she said, “I choose both my past and my present. My name is
Mitrill Varelie Valla.”

Resounding
applause erupted from the floor.

“Very well,
thus it will be.” Torrullin raised his voice. “Tristamil and
Mitrill are to be wed forthwith!”

As applause
erupted anew and increased, he embraced his son’s choice of mate
and fiercely gripped Tristamil to him, before letting go. He felt
he had failed this son.

Permission
thus granted, the wedding vows were spoken. Kismet happily did the
honours.

Saska helped
Skye from the chamber as Tristamil kissed his new wife.

Vannis
remained markedly silent throughout the night’s proceedings, his
only reaction when Tristamil was declared heir.

He watched as
Tristamil kissed Mitrill and knew there was something profound
behind that union. Torrullin knew what it was and his grandson was
unhappy. In fact, Torrullin knew far more about the immediate
future than he shared with anyone in this gathering.

As dawn broke,
bright and blue-skied, he watched as the Valleur gradually
dispersed, half-sad, half-joyful, and wondered if there would ever
again be such a gathering. Torrullin, he saw, thought the same
thing.

That pensive
look said it all.

Yes, it was
about to change profoundly.

Mother
Universe chose a path of objectivity. We revere her for that, for
she cannot judge; she simply is. Many say Mother Universe is not as
uninvolved as time would have us believe, for are we not her
children and do we not judge? Are we not subjective in our thoughts
and deeds? This is a debate for our sages ... and still we whisper
of it among ourselves.

~ Ancient
Oracles

Torrke

T
orrullin vanished from the Keep and
no one knew where he was.

After spending
another night alone in their suite, Saska decided it was time to
confront Tristamil. She found him pacing in the Throne-room, deep
in thought. Mitrill was nowhere to be seen. She moved into her
husband’s suite from the Lifesource late the night before.

Tristamil
paused and glanced her way. “Good morning, Saska.”

She moved in
closer. “Are you up for a walk in the valley?”

He studied
her. She seemed as tense and exhausted as he was. “Why not? The
crisp air might grant insight.” He offered his arm and the two of
them strolled into the courtyard.

Vannis watched
them leave from the balcony walk. His face was like thunder.

“I don’t think
you instigated this walk to congratulate me,” Tristamil said as
they wandered along the path from the Dragon doors.

“You hurt
Skye. I’m not about to congratulate you for that.”

His mouth
tightened.

She pulled him
around to face her. “Why?”

“And you would
be referring to?”

“Tris, as far
as I know you never heard of Mitrill until a few days ago, after
the return from Cèlaver. And, suddenly, you are married to
her.”

“Perhaps I
fell in love.”

“Bull. You
hold tight onto calm right now, as if you know you have overstepped
every line. Tris, I know the signs, I have seen it in your father
often over the years. You at least are easier to read; he learned
to mask completely.” She put pressure on his arm. “Tell me
why.”

“It will not
make a difference, Saska.”

“No, it won’t.
You cannot now undo a marriage. But maybe it will help me
understand, and maybe I can then help Skye understand.”

He moved away
from her touch. “How is she?”

“Devastated.
How else would she be? Gods.”

“Why should I
care? She carried a torch for my brother.”

“She was a
young girl between twin brothers. Don’t hold that against her. And,
Tris, she has loved you for a long time. I think you know that now,
and I also know she has your heart.”

He swore and
continued walking.

Saska moved in
beside him. “You are much like your father now, and that is not a
good thing, not for you.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning you
don’t have his capacity for …”

“Contrariness?”

She sighed.
“That is not quite the word, but yes. Your father actually
functions with clearer instinct when his personal life is in
disarray. I don’t think you are like that. You need serenity.”

He said
nothing. She was right.

“Why?”

“Because I
love my father. He needs this.”

She came to a
dead stop. “By all gods, what does that mean?”

Tristamil
stopped as well. “I cannot tell you.”

“You don’t
trust me?”

“Gods, Saska,
you are one of the few I do trust! I just cannot tell you.”

The light went
on inside her head. “This has to do with your father moving onto a
different timeline.”

His mouth hung
open. “He told you?”

“We may be
moving apart, but he trusts me enough to tell me the truth.”

“He did not
tell you everything.”

“You are
probably right. Still, your odd timing has to do with that, doesn’t
it?”

“Yes.”

“Torrullin is
unhappy about it.”

“Very.”

“Brave of you
to go against his wishes.”

“I am an adult
now. I have the right to my choices, and mistakes.”

“Sucks,
doesn’t it?”

He laughed.
“Indeed.”

“Is it Mitrill
in particular, or were you after any Valleur woman?”

“Any Valleur,
until I met Mitrill.”

“Do you love
her?”

He lifted his
face to the valley. His eyes were again as thoughtful as in the
Throne-room. “Love her? I thought I could learn to love her and
then the plague happened. I was with her when she mourned her
father. We shared much we kept hidden for long. You see, she is
Valla, and she could read between the lines, and thus I could tell
her and know I would not be judged. Do I love her? Yes.”

“Does she love
you?”

“I think
so.”

“But?” Saska
frowned.

“I love Skye
despite Mitrill. I think my wife loves another despite me.”

“Who?”

Tristamil
smiled sadly, “My father.”

Saska
gasped.

“Relax. He
does not know and maybe she doesn’t realise either. In any event,
my father would never poach kin.”

“Why do I get
the distinct feeling you are enamoured of the guilt in a kin
relationship?”