remarkable, Graci. But I
don't know of any infant who can solve a riddle.”
Gracielle managed a weak chuckle. “No, of
course,” she replied.
She couldn't help but allow her mind to
wander for a moment. She visualized a beautiful little girl with
tight black ringlets, round porcelain cheeks and vivid blue eyes.
She imagined her playing—happy and carefree—while hordes of people
stood around, anxiously watching; waiting for her to do something
miraculous to save them all from certain doom. She didn't want that
for her baby. She didn't want her to have that kind of pressure.
She forced her thoughts back to the present, stared at the
Advantiere again and attempted to move on.
Unfortunately, the next
line she read did little to calm her. “ Twins must live still to play their parts. Wait!” she gasped.
“ How can that be? It's not possible! I
mean . . . how are they . . . how are they supposed to . . . ?
They're dead!” She looked pleadingly at Ultara. “Have we failed
already?”
Ultara didn't respond right away. She seemed
distant—lost in her thoughts. “Maybe they’ve already played their
part,” she tried.
“No,” Gracielle answered,
“it says that they must live still . ”
Ultara glanced away and began pacing.
“Then maybe it
means the other set of twins,” she muttered.
“What?” Gracielle pressed.
“What other set
of twins?”
Ultara plodded back and forth for several
seconds before responding.
“Nobody, Graci, and I
mean nobody ,
knows about this. It can not leave this room,
understand?”
Gracielle nodded. “You have my word.”
Ultara took a deep breath and explained,
“Thirteen years ago, I gave birth to a son, remember?”
“Yes, of course.”
Everyone knew about Ultara’s son. It had
been a great scandal. It was law among the Trysta people that the
firstborn child of a woman in line to become vritesse had to be
female. They believed that a first-born son was contrary to nature,
and subsequently flawed.
Fortunately, nature itself usually took care
of it. It was quite uncommon for a vritesse heiress to have a son
first. But, if a son was born first, the law dictated that he would
have to be put to death. In fact, it even stated that if twins were
born and one or both were male, both were to be destroyed.
“Darian was so proud,” Ultara continued.
“There was no way he was going to allow anyone to kill his
son!”
Darian, her former entrusted, was a very
handsome, captivating, influential man. He was Chief Ruler of the
Brashnellans—a race of people descended from the Trystas. The
Brashnellans had divided from the Trystas nearly two hundred years
earlier, due coincidentally, to the first-born son laws. With each
passing generation their magical powers diminished; however, their
civilization had continued to prosper and flourish. Over time,
Brashnell had grown to encompass almost one quarter of Lor
Mandela.
Ultara took another deep breath and
continued. “When I gave birth, Atoh, I was alone. There were no
witnesses.”
“Really? Where was Darian?” Gracielle
replied.
“He'd gone to Brashnell to meet with his
father.” She leaned against the wall. Her wavy auburn hair glowed
red under the luminescent letters above. She lowered her voice and
admitted, “The truth is, I gave birth to twins.”
Gracielle's eyes grew wide. “What? How?” she
replied. “I mean, I knew about your son, but what happened to the
other one?”
“ I was young and weak,
Graci. I didn't want to kill my children.”
She seemed almost ashamed of herself.
“A few minutes after the birth, I gathered
as much strength as I could and created a hidden room next to mine
in the palace. I placed my other child—a daughter—in that room and
told Darian that I'd given birth to a son.”
Gracielle could hardly believe what she was
hearing.
“ Brashnellans believe that
a first-born son brings power,” Ultara continued. “I knew Darian
would never allow anyone to harm his son. Turns out I was
don't know of any infant who can solve a riddle.”
Gracielle managed a weak chuckle. “No, of
course,” she replied.
She couldn't help but allow her mind to
wander for a moment. She visualized a beautiful little girl with
tight black ringlets, round porcelain cheeks and vivid blue eyes.
She imagined her playing—happy and carefree—while hordes of people
stood around, anxiously watching; waiting for her to do something
miraculous to save them all from certain doom. She didn't want that
for her baby. She didn't want her to have that kind of pressure.
She forced her thoughts back to the present, stared at the
Advantiere again and attempted to move on.
Unfortunately, the next
line she read did little to calm her. “ Twins must live still to play their parts. Wait!” she gasped.
“ How can that be? It's not possible! I
mean . . . how are they . . . how are they supposed to . . . ?
They're dead!” She looked pleadingly at Ultara. “Have we failed
already?”
Ultara didn't respond right away. She seemed
distant—lost in her thoughts. “Maybe they’ve already played their
part,” she tried.
“No,” Gracielle answered,
“it says that they must live still . ”
Ultara glanced away and began pacing.
“Then maybe it
means the other set of twins,” she muttered.
“What?” Gracielle pressed.
“What other set
of twins?”
Ultara plodded back and forth for several
seconds before responding.
“Nobody, Graci, and I
mean nobody ,
knows about this. It can not leave this room,
understand?”
Gracielle nodded. “You have my word.”
Ultara took a deep breath and explained,
“Thirteen years ago, I gave birth to a son, remember?”
“Yes, of course.”
Everyone knew about Ultara’s son. It had
been a great scandal. It was law among the Trysta people that the
firstborn child of a woman in line to become vritesse had to be
female. They believed that a first-born son was contrary to nature,
and subsequently flawed.
Fortunately, nature itself usually took care
of it. It was quite uncommon for a vritesse heiress to have a son
first. But, if a son was born first, the law dictated that he would
have to be put to death. In fact, it even stated that if twins were
born and one or both were male, both were to be destroyed.
“Darian was so proud,” Ultara continued.
“There was no way he was going to allow anyone to kill his
son!”
Darian, her former entrusted, was a very
handsome, captivating, influential man. He was Chief Ruler of the
Brashnellans—a race of people descended from the Trystas. The
Brashnellans had divided from the Trystas nearly two hundred years
earlier, due coincidentally, to the first-born son laws. With each
passing generation their magical powers diminished; however, their
civilization had continued to prosper and flourish. Over time,
Brashnell had grown to encompass almost one quarter of Lor
Mandela.
Ultara took another deep breath and
continued. “When I gave birth, Atoh, I was alone. There were no
witnesses.”
“Really? Where was Darian?” Gracielle
replied.
“He'd gone to Brashnell to meet with his
father.” She leaned against the wall. Her wavy auburn hair glowed
red under the luminescent letters above. She lowered her voice and
admitted, “The truth is, I gave birth to twins.”
Gracielle's eyes grew wide. “What? How?” she
replied. “I mean, I knew about your son, but what happened to the
other one?”
“ I was young and weak,
Graci. I didn't want to kill my children.”
She seemed almost ashamed of herself.
“A few minutes after the birth, I gathered
as much strength as I could and created a hidden room next to mine
in the palace. I placed my other child—a daughter—in that room and
told Darian that I'd given birth to a son.”
Gracielle could hardly believe what she was
hearing.
“ Brashnellans believe that
a first-born son brings power,” Ultara continued. “I knew Darian
would never allow anyone to harm his son. Turns out I was
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