Read Online The Shadow's Heir (The Risen Sun) by K. J. Taylor - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: K. J. Taylor
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scratched his beard. “I’m forty next week. I know I don’t look it. Laela, let me explain . . .”
“Explain!” said Laela. “Yer the King! Yeh rule the North—what in Gryphus’ name were yeh doin’ runnin’ about the streets in the middle of the night? An’ what do yeh want with me? An’ why—”
He waved her into silence. “I sneak out, all right? I go out into the city sometimes. To listen to my people. To have some time to myself. They don’t know I do it, and I’d prefer it if you didn’t tell anyone about it.”
“Then why did yeh bring me here?” said Laela.
“I already told you: because you need help. I can give you a place to live—I can protect you.”
“But why?” said Laela. “Why d’yeh care?”
Arenadd’s eyes were suddenly cold. “I didn’t have to save you, you know. I could have left you to die. I can take you back out into the city and leave you there if that’s what you’d prefer.”
Laela backed away. “I’m sorry,” she blurted. “I’m just . . . well, thanks. I don’t . . .”
It was too much. So much had already happened to her, so many terrors, and now this. Now she was seeing
him
. The Dark Lord. The most feared and hated man in Cymria, the most . . .
“Listen,” said Arenadd. “It’s been a long day, and you’re obviously tired. I’ll arrange a room for you, and you can get some rest.”
“I—” Laela hesitated, not knowing what to say or do.
Arenadd came toward her and touched her on the shoulder. “There’s no need to be afraid of me.” She recoiled from him, and he withdrew immediately. “I’m a powerful friend to have, Laela,” he said abruptly. “Think about that.”
Laela managed to nod.
“Then come with me.”
• • •
T he rest of the night passed in a kind of haze. Laela let herself be ushered out of the King’s bedroom and into the Eyrie proper, where a couple of servants were unceremoniously woken up and ordered to prepare a room for her. The room in question turned out to be a surprisingly large and well-furnished one—in fact, it looked more decorated than the King’s own. The servants efficiently dusted off the furniture and put fresh linen on the bed, and Laela was left on her own to stare at her new quarters in wonder.
The King had somehow managed to vanish without her noticing, so she shut the door behind her and sat down on the bed to rest and try to think. But her mind refused to take in everything that had happened.
I’m living with the Dark Lord.
She thought of the deceptively young-looking but appallingly scarred man she had met, trying to reconcile that image with the spectre of the one Southerners called the Dark Lord. The man who had single-handedly started the civil war in the South. The man who had massacred hundreds of Southerners, who had personally killed the pregnant Eyrie Mistress of Malvern, who had sold his soul to the evil Night God and been given vile powers, who . . .
Gryphus help her, she was
living
with him. She had met him face-to-face, had
touched
him in sympathy, had . . .
It was all too much to take in. But at least, she thought, she was safe now.
Maybe.
• • •
I n his own room, Arenadd was hardly less agitated than his unwilling guest.
He paced back and forth in front of the fire, his brow furrowed. His heavy leather boots made no sound on the rug.
For a long time now he’d suspected . . . no, had
known
. . . well, everyone knew, didn’t they? Saeddryn certainly did. He knew what she’d been whispering behind his back. Everyone was, after all, and who could blame them? Time was turning him eccentric.
“Night God help me, what am I doing?” he mumbled aloud. “She’s terrified of me. Why would she want to be here?”
But something about her,
something
, had compelled him to help her. Perhaps it had been just her dire situation. Or perhaps it was her courage.
He smiled to himself. Not many people would have dared to
“Explain!” said Laela. “Yer the King! Yeh rule the North—what in Gryphus’ name were yeh doin’ runnin’ about the streets in the middle of the night? An’ what do yeh want with me? An’ why—”
He waved her into silence. “I sneak out, all right? I go out into the city sometimes. To listen to my people. To have some time to myself. They don’t know I do it, and I’d prefer it if you didn’t tell anyone about it.”
“Then why did yeh bring me here?” said Laela.
“I already told you: because you need help. I can give you a place to live—I can protect you.”
“But why?” said Laela. “Why d’yeh care?”
Arenadd’s eyes were suddenly cold. “I didn’t have to save you, you know. I could have left you to die. I can take you back out into the city and leave you there if that’s what you’d prefer.”
Laela backed away. “I’m sorry,” she blurted. “I’m just . . . well, thanks. I don’t . . .”
It was too much. So much had already happened to her, so many terrors, and now this. Now she was seeing
him
. The Dark Lord. The most feared and hated man in Cymria, the most . . .
“Listen,” said Arenadd. “It’s been a long day, and you’re obviously tired. I’ll arrange a room for you, and you can get some rest.”
“I—” Laela hesitated, not knowing what to say or do.
Arenadd came toward her and touched her on the shoulder. “There’s no need to be afraid of me.” She recoiled from him, and he withdrew immediately. “I’m a powerful friend to have, Laela,” he said abruptly. “Think about that.”
Laela managed to nod.
“Then come with me.”
• • •
T he rest of the night passed in a kind of haze. Laela let herself be ushered out of the King’s bedroom and into the Eyrie proper, where a couple of servants were unceremoniously woken up and ordered to prepare a room for her. The room in question turned out to be a surprisingly large and well-furnished one—in fact, it looked more decorated than the King’s own. The servants efficiently dusted off the furniture and put fresh linen on the bed, and Laela was left on her own to stare at her new quarters in wonder.
The King had somehow managed to vanish without her noticing, so she shut the door behind her and sat down on the bed to rest and try to think. But her mind refused to take in everything that had happened.
I’m living with the Dark Lord.
She thought of the deceptively young-looking but appallingly scarred man she had met, trying to reconcile that image with the spectre of the one Southerners called the Dark Lord. The man who had single-handedly started the civil war in the South. The man who had massacred hundreds of Southerners, who had personally killed the pregnant Eyrie Mistress of Malvern, who had sold his soul to the evil Night God and been given vile powers, who . . .
Gryphus help her, she was
living
with him. She had met him face-to-face, had
touched
him in sympathy, had . . .
It was all too much to take in. But at least, she thought, she was safe now.
Maybe.
• • •
I n his own room, Arenadd was hardly less agitated than his unwilling guest.
He paced back and forth in front of the fire, his brow furrowed. His heavy leather boots made no sound on the rug.
For a long time now he’d suspected . . . no, had
known
. . . well, everyone knew, didn’t they? Saeddryn certainly did. He knew what she’d been whispering behind his back. Everyone was, after all, and who could blame them? Time was turning him eccentric.
“Night God help me, what am I doing?” he mumbled aloud. “She’s terrified of me. Why would she want to be here?”
But something about her,
something
, had compelled him to help her. Perhaps it had been just her dire situation. Or perhaps it was her courage.
He smiled to himself. Not many people would have dared to
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