Page 68 of Legacy of the Heirs (The Lost Kingdom Saga #2)

Larelle

D o the tiles look faded? Larelle assessed the tiles at her feet and paced the bright pattern.

Pacing usually eased her mind, yet that morning, it only aided her rising fear.

She rubbed her face with her hands and forced herself to stop.

They are fine. They are fine. The steps out of the palace called to her, offering a reprieve to after pacing from the moment the sun rose past the canyons.

She had left the ball relatively early the night prior.

Alvan had not arrived in Keres with Zarya or Olden as intended, and Larelle had not received word of their delay.

It left her uneasy. The chiffon of her gown was light as she raised it, navigating down the several steps before taking a seat outside the palace.

The bangles on her wrist, which Nyzaia had given her, jangled as she bounced her knees.

Last night, she had tried to distract her mind to keep the panic from consuming her.

Instead, she watched Kazaar and Elisara leave together, wondering what the Historian would think when he learned of their tie.

Larelle chewed her lip; she was certain Elisara could handle herself.

Larelle had watched as Caellum and Sadira seemed to forget the world around them; they danced all night until Sadira left him standing on the dancefloor alone. Farid and Nyzaia acted strangely, too, though she could not decipher why.

Larelle focused on everyone else to ignore not just the fear that something had happened but the fear that she might not tuck Zarya in again or reveal to Alvan her wish to kiss him.

Her head lifted suddenly from where she had been resting her sleep-filled eyes on her palms. Horses.

She heard horses—more than just a few. Time stilled as she stood, listening intently to every creak or sound in the palace courtyard.

Birds appeared to chirp louder, and every droplet of water splashed in the rising rhythm of her heart.

The gates pushed opened and she readied the smile on her face, only for it to fall short as Soren rode through, flanked by her wolves, with three on either side.

Larelle’s eyes tugged on the smallest with its tongue dangling from its jowls.

It locked eyes with Larelle before glancing at its owner.

Larelle let out a sigh that she was certain the gods would hear.

“Expecting someone else?” Soren asked, jumping from her horse and dangling the reins for a servant to pick up. Larelle said nothing. “Who is managing battle tactics? I need to know where to send the soldiers.” She pushed past Larelle and began the steps.

“Nyzaia and Caellum.”

“Not Vala’s commander?” Soren asked. Larelle shook her head; he was too focused on working with Elisara to unlock any power that could help.

“Fantastic,” Soren exclaimed with sarcasm. “Where would I find them?” Larelle turned to face her, already drained from a conversation with someone other than the person she desperately wished to see.

“The guard quarters are over there.” Larelle gestured to the door to the left of the palace. “I am certain one of them will tell you.” Soren nodded, and Larelle frowned at her nature, having expected more hostility. “What delayed you?”

Soren strode backward, her eyes gravitating to the courtyard entrance.

“We crossed paths with Nerida’s army, and it made sense to journey with them.” Soren tilted her head back quickly in a gesture. “Ask him why we are late.”

Larelle spun, the courtyard a blur as her eyes immediately found his eyes, the hazel warmth that had become her home.

Alvan grinned, the satchel hanging on his side lopsided as he pulled his crooked shirt that sat tight against his chest under his deep blue jacket.

He had kept the stubble that had been growing out since her rescue.

Larelle ran down the steps, begging her feet to already be planted firmly in front of him.

Larelle beamed for the first time in what felt like forever, a smile so big it could only be erased by one thing, and it was.

Alvan caught Larelle in his arms as she lunged for him, wrapping her hands around his neck as his hands met her waist. Alvan took that smile and tucked it away for safekeeping as his lips met hers so that no one would ever take her joy again.

Larelle melted into his touch, tasting the salty air on his lips, a reminder of home.

He gently caressed her back in a way nobody had in years.

Larelle reluctantly pulled back for breath.

“Hi,” he breathed, holding her tight against him as she stood on her tiptoes.

“Hi,” she murmured, and then her smile faltered. “I was worried.”

Alvan loosened his grip to lower Larelle, but his hands rested on the chiffon against her waist as she slid both palms onto his chest.

“ Someone was too sleepy to make the entire journey and insisted she see every bread market in the Neutral City.” Alvan rolled his eyes.

“You delayed preparations for a war because Zarya wanted to visit a new bread market?” Larelle slapped his chest, and Alvan grinned.

“No. I delayed a war because an adorable princess wanted to visit a new bread market.”

“You spoil her,” Larelle chastised.

“I’ll spoil you just as much if you allow it.” Larelle blushed at his lopsided smile.

“Mumma! Why is bread only good at home?” Zarya’s tiny voice called, appearing through the gates with Olden.

Olden shuffled with his hands on Zarya’s shoulders, who tore pieces of bread off a brown loaf.

He gave Larelle a gentle, knowing smile, which she returned.

Since their conversation about Riyas and her father’s involvement in his death, Olden was content to enjoy his days overlooking the ocean.

He seemed distant, though, like he was finally at rest. He was adamant not to attend the Garridon ball, nor Mera, and she was surprised he had agreed to come all this way to Keres but was pleased Zarya had company.

Larelle scooped Zarya into her arms and spun.

“Hello, sweetheart,” said Larelle while Zarya slapped her back.

“Why are you holding me so tight?” Zarya complained. Gods, she is growing up too quickly. Larelle set her down and knelt before her.

“I dare not risk dropping you or your bread!” she exclaimed, swiping the torn piece from her hand and eating it. Larelle made a face. She’s right. Orlo’s is far better.

“For someone who does not like it, explain why that’s your second loaf,” Alvan said, crossing his arms. Larelle took the loaf from her.

“Zarya! You cannot eat two loaves of bread for breakfast.”

Zarya crossed her arms and pouted. “Fine, can I have it for lunch?”

Larelle refrained from laughing and nodded. A leather-clad figure strode behind Zarya, and Larelle glanced up to meet Kazaar’s eye. He gave a brief wave of his hand, and Larelle held up a finger, signalling her wish to talk.

“Alvan, if you take Zarya into the palace, a guard should be able to escort her to our rooms,” Larelle said, guiding Zarya towards Alvan.

“Will you be joining us in… our rooms?” he asked hesitantly . Larelle nodded and glanced in Kazaar’s direction.

“I will after. I’m going to tell him,” she whispered. Alvan mouthed a silent ‘Oh,’ realising what she referred to before backing away with Zarya and Olden.

“Good luck,” Alvan said. He guided Zarya up the large steps and held her hand to aid her. She already wished to be beside him again. Kazaar approached Larelle.

“She’s sweet, the princess,” he said with a genuine smile. Larelle tilted her head; she did not think she had ever seen him smile properly. She recalled his early departure with Elisara last night and hid her own smile at her assumptions. “What did you wish to talk to me about?”

Larelle clasped her hands and straightened, meeting Kazaar’s eye for one last sign to prove her wrong, but only warmth burned in his gaze.

“I wanted to ensure I had not offended you yesterday by suggesting you have kept some dark power a hidden secret.”

Kazaar frowned. “It would take significantly more to offend me, Larelle.”

She nodded and took a deep breath. “I do not know if you heard the added lines to the prophecy I added when we called upon the gods.” Kazaar shook his head.

“It was all such a blur.” Larelle swallowed.

When she said this, she could never take it back, but she saw Kazaar’s devotion to Elisara and trusted that a man dedicated to protecting the kingdom was not someone who harnessed the power to end it.

The Historian’s warning rang through her mind again.

Larelle’s heartbeat quickened, and her mouth dried as she contemplated whether to trust her head or gut.

“The Historian visited me not long before we all gathered in Garridon,” she said, and Kazaar raised his eyebrows.

“He recited several lines from a history book, two of which were from the prophecy. The remaining two were ‘Watch for the dark one that will bring suffering to all: the rise of old power, the Kingdom will fall.’” Kazaar tilted his head.

She needed to be more direct. “He also said that there was something dark about you, and you could not be trusted.” Larelle finished, allowing him a moment to process.

“He never did like me, and I always wondered why. Did he elaborate?” Kazaar asked.

“He said he could detect power, and you have a lot more than you allow us to believe. He sensed it when we were all in the city and saw darkness around you and Elisara.” Something must have resonated, as Larelle noted the moment he glanced away.

“Is there some truth to that?” She asked, beginning to doubt her trust in him. Kazaar shook his head.

“No, not the darkness. I am as oblivious to that as all of you are, including that which seems to seep from me when I am with Elisara. But the power…”

“You need not tell me if you wish to tell Elisara first.”

Kazaar rubbed the back of his neck with a sigh.

“No, she is aware. She said it was my decision if or when I told anyone else.” Kazaar peered around the courtyard, but nobody lingered except the two guards stationed by the gates.

Larelle bit her tongue upon learning that, yet again, he and Elisara had kept something from the others.

“I can wield all four elements,” he said, his jaw tense.

Larelle raised her eyebrows. She had not expected that to come from his mouth.

“I would appreciate it if you did not tell anyone else until I am ready. My goal is to see if I can share that power with Elisara, hoping doing so could unlock whatever other power lies within us.”

Larelle considered his words; it made sense to keep this from her and the others so as not to raise their hopes.

At least Kazaar was acting honestly now by choosing to tell her.

It eased her worry somewhat that she had been right to reveal the Historian’s warning.

An uncomfortable feeling settled on Larelle, though, when she realised she, too, kept a secret from the others on his behalf.

Yet she had kept the Historian’s words to herself and those closest to her until now.

Larelle nodded, understanding Kazaar’s reasoning.

“I must go; I need every second with Elisara to find a way to win this war.” Kazaar bid her farewell, and Larelle watched him leave, two lines repeating in her mind.

The power to awaken that of old lore lies in the soul of those with all four. She wondered when Kazaar first realised he could access all four powers, whether it coincided with the creature’s return or whether Kazaar had unknowingly awoken a different old lore that none of them would yet face.