Page 73 of Legacy of the Heirs (The Lost Kingdom Saga #2)
Larelle rolled her eyes but smiled at their closeness, particularly after their travels from Mera to Tabheri.
“Do not encourage her!” Larelle scolded, slapping Alvan’s arm as she collected the tray of wine and goblets left by the servants on the side table and carried it to the balcony.
“Mumma!” Zarya shouted, hanging upside down over Alvan’s shoulder. “You should not hit people!” In three long strides, Alvan reached the large pillows on the balcony and lowered Zarya onto them.
“And you”—He pointed at the little girl, who grinned from ear to ear— “should not give your grandpa so much grief.” Larelle hummed in agreement and sat down on the small bench opposite the pillows.
“What is grief?” Zarya asked, and the three adults paused, unsure of how to answer.
Moments like this reminded Larelle that her daughter was growing, and with that growth would come more questions about life and her place within it.
How could Larelle summarise grief? The constant ache in your chest at the simplest reminder of those you have lost?
The pain when you realise you have gone an entire day without thinking of them?
Because grieving grief made you drown in guilt instead.
“I think that is a story for the morning when Mumma is not so tired,” Larelle said. Zarya seemed content with that answer and tipped out a bag of shells Olden gave her.
“On the topic of being tired,” Olden chuckled. “I am going to lie down for a bit.” Larelle reached for his hand and squeezed gently, mouthing ‘thank you’ as he left.
Larelle accepted the goblet of wine Alvan passed to her, from where he sat beside her on the bench. When he wrapped his arm around her shoulder, Larelle leaned into him. He gently kissed her head.
“Do you think children can tell when things are off?” she asked, watching Zarya arrange shells on the balcony floor. The palm trees of the royal gardens swayed in the distance behind Zarya as Alvan sat down next to Larelle on the bench and leaned against the wall behind them.
“Children? No,” Alvan said, taking a sip. “Zarya? Probably. In the time I have known her, I have discovered she has a mature awareness of others.”
Larelle hummed in agreement. “What do I tell her? When we leave?”
“Whatever you think is right for her to hear. Regardless, Olden will take good care of her.” Larelle kept telling herself that.
The group made the simple decision not to hand over Kazaar.
Through her connections, Nyzaia had enlisted the Red Stones to manage the movement of citizens in Myara to Khami; the evacuation would begin by nightfall.
On day two, Larelle, the rulers, and their closest confidants would move to the military camps at the edge of the Ashun desert.
They would meet the general and his army on the sands of Keres at sunrise on day three.
In three days, she may no longer be here.
Larelle revisited the last moment she believed she would die.
We will meet again one da y , Osiris had said.
Larelle hoped to find him on the battlefield so she could pierce a sword through his chest for keeping her from her daughter.
Zarya picked up the shells and shook them in her hands before throwing them across the tiles.
Larelle chuckled to herself as Zarya watched them all, as if confused as to why she had thrown them.
“Do your family have a history of family names in Nerida?” Larelle asked.
“An odd question,” laughed Alvan. Zarya picked up the shells again and threw them once more.
“When I was taken. The creature, Osiris, said Zerpane was an old name. Olden once mentioned they had strong connections to the royal family. It is why Zarya’s eyes are so dark and why her father could wield.”
Alvan smiled softly.
“When this is all over, I will check for you. It would be nice for Zarya to understand where she comes from.” Larelle returned his smile, grateful for how well he understood her.
Shells scattered again when Alvan placed his goblet down and slowly turned to Larelle.
He reached for her cheek, allowing her every opportunity to retreat at his affection. Shells scattered again.
“I said I would always be here,” Alvan murmured, glancing at her lips.
“I mean that.” Larelle’s heart pounded as he traced her lip with his thumb.
He waited, scanning her eyes. She nodded silently, wishing to revisit their first kiss.
Alvan’s stubble grazed her chin as his lips met her in a quiet, tender kiss.
He pulled back, and she immediately mourned the absence of his lips whilst appreciating the respect he had for her daughter nearby. The shells had stopped scattering, and Larelle turned her head, readying to answer Zarya’s question about the kiss and tell her of her happiness.
Zarya sat cross-legged in her dress, resting her hands on her knees with shells in either palm. Her eyes burned into her mother’s.
“Mumma, is someone going to die in the desert?” she asked. Larelle frowned and walked over to her daughter.
“Of course not, sweetheart.” Larelle pulled Zarya into a hug, the shells falling, and looked at Alvan over her head.
“How does she know about the desert?” she whispered.
“Her mature awareness, I suppose.”