Gene of Isis

‘I don’t know what to think, and that is why I need to see my father.’ I awaited his approval.

‘You know that we are expected for dinner with the rest of the wedding party. We wouldn’t want to offend our host, Lord Rochester—’

‘I never spend long in Father’s presence, so this shan’t take long, I assure you.’

‘Very well,’ and he rang the bell to alert the driver to a detour.

Devere insisted that I let him accompany me to see Lord Suffolk.

‘My father is hardly going to harm me when he knows you await me in a carriage downstairs.’ I preferred him to stay put.

‘Are you going to use your talents to get the information you desire?’ Devere whispered before I stepped out of the carriage.

‘My father has perfected a way to block me out when he needs to.’ The fact made me smile as his method was childish, but effective. ‘I’m hoping he might just tell me the truth for a change.’

I knew I was being seriously optimistic, but I scaled the stairs full of purpose nonetheless. Needless to say my father was surprised to see me.

‘Shouldn’t you be halfway to France by now?’ He motioned me to take the seat opposite, but when I declined, he stood. ‘Is there a problem?’

‘I saw something that I hope is not as malign as it appeared to be.’

‘Are we talking about the real world, or one of your visions?’ Father was looking uncomfortable already.

‘A little of both, I’m afraid.’

I saw his light-body dull, but he did not become angry. Instead, he leant his arm on the mantelpiece and hung his head like a man fed up. ‘I cannot carry this any more, and I am weary of trying to hide the truth from you.’ He looked at me as if he feared something terrible: much the same look Lord Hamilton had given me the night before he’d been killed. ‘It is my fault that you are the way you are.’

Was he speaking about my pigheadedness? No. My father was referring to my psychic ability—surely he was not psychic himself? ‘How can you have been responsible for my talents?’

Father sat down in his chair, wearied by the memory. This time when he invited me to sit in the chair opposite, I obliged. ‘When I was told that your mother was from an ancient line of Elven princesses, naturally I took the information to be an old family myth of some kind. For the Elven bloodline can be traced back to the Albigensian Crusade. In the language of old Provence a female elf was an albi, and Albi was the name given to the main Cathar centre of resistance in Languedoc. It is said that many of these ancient bloodline of kings fled the bloody crusade the church was waging against the Cathars and settled in Scotland.’

That seemed to explain my mother’s dying words to me. No wonder my being committed to an asylum at the age of eight had affected her so adversely, for in all probability she felt responsible for my incarceration.

‘Nevertheless,’ Father continued, ‘I was in love with her and her father made it plain that if I was to marry her, then I had to join the ancient order that protected the royal bloodline of the family.’

‘What name does the order go by?’ I didn’t want that detail omitted.

‘By many different names,’ he grouched, not liking to be interrupted, and I decided to press the matter later. ‘Their members are to be found among the rich, famous and powerful who secretly oppose church rule. Being no fan of the church myself, I joined gladly. I went to their meetings, studied their doctrine and commenced my initiation phase…the first of which took place on my wedding night. Before I lay with your mother,’ his voice became very uneasy and it wasn’t that he was embarrassed, more frightened, ‘the men of the family performed a rite and then fed me a glowing liquid, which to this day I cannot identify. The next thing I knew, your mother was pregnant with you.’ He shrugged.

‘We didn’t spend all these centuries creating Miss Granville so that you could abscond with her.’ I remembered the claim of the gentlemen who had threatened Lord Hamilton and it sent shivers down my spine. I had been bred, after all. ‘What do they want with me?’

‘They only wish the bloodline to be sustained and prosper. I don’t know why. I quit the order soon after the drinking incident.’ Father was growing weary of the subject already. He hated the supernatural and now I was beginning to see why.

‘And how is Mr Devere involved in all this?’

Father shook his head. ‘I don’t know that he knows any more than you do. All I know is that when he made his proposal, I received a visit from some of your mother’s long-quiet brethren, who advised me to condone the marriage to Devere and condemn the proposal of Lord Hereford.’

‘They threatened Lord Hereford directly,’ I informed my father. ‘I even suspect they may have had him murdered.’

‘I wasn’t going to say I warned you,’ Father said gently, smiling at the fact that I was aware of my stalkers before he had confessed. He obviously didn’t think murder was beyond consideration. ‘You know that you’ll never prove it, Ashlee. You are an intelligent woman…so go travel, and live a long and happy life with your new husband.’

I looked at him, shocked. He’d never referred to me as intelligent before.

He knew why I was shocked. ‘Any impression I gave you to the contrary was just my own guilt speaking. I feared your power. I feared that your power would cause you pain and anguish, and it very often has. I made some bad decisions—’

‘And some good ones,’ I cut in, wanting to reassure him. ‘I love what I am, and I would not have it otherwise. You were not to know.’ I found myself hugging him and comforting him like a small child.

‘I never wanted any harm to befall you.’ He trembled as he spoke.

‘No harm has ever befallen me.’ I imposed on him lightly, rubbing his back to calm him. ‘If it did, I feel quite certain it would not be your fault.’ I held him at arm’s length, rather teary-eyed myself. ‘I am my own creation. You can admire me, but you cannot claim responsibility for my destiny. Only I have that privilege.’