Page 12 of Legacy of the Heirs (The Lost Kingdom Saga #2)

Larelle

“ A re you always going to beat me when we race?” Alvan called, finally catching up to Larelle.

She glanced back at him and laughed, slowing her horse.

She recalled their first race to The Bay before they discovered the truth about Riyas’ death.

Yet instead of sand beneath the horses’ hooves now, they rode across pale grass, darkening into emerald and swaying in the light breeze as they reached Garridon’s border.

After crossing the bridge over the last river in Nerida, they would now follow its path until hitting the point at which the river’s curve ran adjacent to Seley in the distance.

The river’s pull to her right felt odd with the dark forest treetops in the distance.

“Mumma is just better than you!” Zarya giggled.

Larelle kissed the back of her daughter’s head, who sat before her, clutching the horse’s mane.

Zarya refused to sit in the carriage and instead insisted on riding with her mother.

Larelle did not mind. She tried to spend as much of her spare time with her daughter as possible, especially as she would see little of her once they reached Garridon’s capital.

Larelle was surprised when she received a letter from Princess Sadira the previous night.

While they intended to journey to Garridon for the engagement ball, she had not anticipated the future queen’s wish for company in the days prior.

I understand if you have other duties, the letter had read.

There is surely plenty more a queen must attend to than providing conversation to a princess new to her realm.

Larelle read between the lines. The princess was lonely, and Larelle knew all too well how it felt to be an outcast in society. She imagined adjusting to royal life was just as difficult, perhaps more so, for someone who knew the crown was their birthright yet had been kept from it.

Larelle opted to be cautious, given the attitude of Sadira’s sister, Soren, towards the other rulers.

Nevertheless, Larelle couldn’t escape an innate sense that Sadira was different.

The Neridian queen trusted her intuition when it came to people and their intentions.

Perhaps that was why Larelle trusted her small circle of friends and why a weight lifted from her shoulders the moment she revealed the prophecy to Lillian, Alvan, and Olden.

The three were calm as she spoke, their expressions neutral.

It was a far easier experience than when the Historian had revealed Novisia’s history to Larelle and the other rulers or when they learned of the prophecy from Elisara and Kazaar.

Of course, the group had many questions surrounding what they should do for their people.

Alvan questioned Keres’ capability to build more weapons; Lillian asked if Vala could harvest more healing water from their stalactites, while Olden remained quiet throughout the entirety of their discussions, gazing glassy-eyed across the dark ocean, the sun having set behind the clouds.

When Alvan asked for his thoughts, Olden’s answer would forever be engrained in Larelle’s memory.

The man she had come to know as a father turned to face her, his eyes bloodshot.

“He’s really dead?”

Lillian had silently risen, with Alvan following; he departed with a comforting squeeze on Larelle’s shoulder.

For the rest of the evening, Larelle and Olden spoke of Riyas, sharing stories interspersed with tears and laughter.

They spoke of Riyas regularly over the years, but there was a sense of closure in that moment after finally discovering the truth behind what they had always questioned.

Larelle felt the effects of the late evening as she yawned and tightened her hold on Zarya.

Alvan smiled and increased his pace until they rode side by side.

She wished Olden were here. He insisted the journey would be too much for him, yet perhaps he merely wished for time alone after the revelations about his son.

With their talk of Riyas, Larelle had not shared the Historian’s warning, which lingered heavily on her mind.

Chewing her lip, she turned the words over until a gentle, fleeting touch on her knee turned her head.

Alvan furrowed his brow, his hazel eyes intent.

She shook her head and glanced pointedly at a sleeping Zarya.

Not even the sound of the guards galloping on either side of them on horseback disturbed her daughter’s slumber.

Alvan was quick to suggest they stop overnight at his settlement in Seley to ensure neither Zarya nor Larelle were too exhausted from the journey.

Larelle was happy to oblige, having little memory of the place bordering both Nerida and Garridon.

Given its historical tendency to change hands over the years, Larelle had rarely visited as a child and never since becoming an adult.

She was intrigued to see the place where Alvan had grown up and learn more about the person she had become so close with.

“Can you remember the last time you visited?” he asked.

“Honestly? No.” She blushed, and he chuckled.

“I am not offended,” he reassured her. “If I, too, am being honest, I hated living in Seley for some time. Perhaps that is why I was so quick to take Riyas up on his offer to train on the ships with him.” Alvan’s features glowed beneath the sun, and Larelle focused on the subtle downturn of his lips and the rise and fall of his chest. He glanced away upon catching her staring and cleared his throat.

She knew little of the events that took his parents, only that a fire had burned his home to cinders, taking them with it.

“Do you miss being here?” she asked. “You have spent so much time in Mera with me.”

He instantly shook his head.

“No,” he said. “Seley is small, and its people are self-sufficient. I do not have a relationship with them like the other lords in our realm. They do not need me to govern them unless a problem arises, which is rarely the case.”

“What problems do you come across?”

“Occasional disputes arise about the price of wood, but I can do little about that. Garridon has always set the trading prices,” he explained. “Other than that, the issues are trivial, like bickering between children.” He laughed.

“There are other children?” Zarya mumbled, still half asleep. Larelle stroked her daughter’s hair, careful to avoid the tiara. Zarya rarely wore it, but as this was their first visit since the coronation, Larelle thought it sensible.

“I’m sure all the children will want to play with you, Zarya,” Alvan said, yet the princess said nothing else, having fallen asleep again.

“She will be up all evening now, no doubt,” said Larelle.

“I’m sure the evening festivities will tire her enough.”

“Festivities?”

“Surely you did not think I would host you in my home without a proper welcome and celebration?” Alvan raised a hand to his chest, feigning hurt. Larelle rolled her eyes.

“You know I do not need such things.”

“You may not need them,” he said as the small, stately home appeared in the distance, “but you deserve them.” Larelle glanced away, rubbing her arm with a frown at the sudden flickering in her chest at Alvan’s words. She switched her focus to the approaching home.

Alvan was right: Seley was a humble, quaint town, which, at a distance, reminded Larelle of the small villages sketched in Zarya’s storybooks.

It was a comforting place, offering slower days than the hustle and bustle in Mera or The Bay.

As they drew closer, the stamps of the two realms were evident.

While some homes were crafted with Nerida’s pale bricks, others were built from wooden beams with thatched roofs, a typical feature of Garridon.

She did not know which she preferred, and despite their stark differences, it worked.

The stately home was equally mismatched like a brick castle and wooden lodge melded together.

Pain bloomed in Larelle’s chest as they drew closer.

She realised its odd architecture was not purposeful but a result of its reconstruction after the fire.

While the ash had been washed from the stone building, the remainders of the tragedy remained where the bricks joined the newer, wooden stature of the home. It was unique, though, and there was beauty in uniqueness.

***

Everything in Alvan’s home was unique, including the hall in which they now sat as they enjoyed the music and laughed alongside the people of Seley.

The hall was like nowhere she had dined before.

The wing was closest to the edge of Garridon’s Hystone Forest, a canopy of trees shielding the revellers in place of a wooden rooftop.

She wondered if they dined here during the colder months or if perhaps they knew of a distant relative to the Nerida royal line who could control the rain and keep it from falling.

Instead of lines and rows of tables, the carved wooden slabs formed a circular shape around a fountain in the centre of the hall.

If one peered into the room from the branches of the trees above, it would appear like the ageing rings in a tree stump.

Sitting this way created a feeling of togetherness, one Larelle wished to emulate back in Mera.

Alvan’s grin was wide as he introduced Larelle to his friends, who embraced him upon his return.

She met Mari and Zedon, a couple he had grown up with as children, Riordan, who owned the tavern on Garridon’s side of Seley, and Nathaniel, who led the few guards on the estate.

Each recited many entertaining stories of their late nights at the tavern together.

As the laughter ebbed, with many turning in for the evening, Larelle kissed her daughter goodnight as Lillian took her to her chambers.

After bidding farewell to his friends, Alvan leaned down from where he stood behind Larelle and offered his arm. “I have somewhere to show you.”