The Shadow's heir

Vander looked her up and down, then looked at Arenadd. “So this is the famous Laela,” he said. “Forgive me, Sire, but I was not prepared. .” He glanced at Laela again. “I did not know that you had a daughter.”

Laela and Arenadd both stopped and looked at each other.

For Laela, it was as if Vander’s remark had lifted a veil. She looked at Arenadd’s face as if for the first time, taking in the angular features, the long, curly hair. . features she knew she had, too-features that had made her look so sharp and odd, and not how a woman was supposed to look.

No, she thought. That’s just stupid. There’s no way. Yer real father’s dead. An’ Arenadd wouldn’t. . he’d never. .

No. She shook herself, pushing away the unwelcome thought. Arenadd was her friend, and he was a good man; she believed it with all her heart. He would never rape a woman, not even a Southern woman. Never.

Arenadd laughed humourlessly. “You’re mistaken, my Lord. I don’t have any children. Laela here was born in the South, anyway.”

Vander looked at Laela again. “Forgive me-” He stopped abruptly, and his expression changed. “Ah. I see. Of course. Forgive me; I did not mean to imply that you would ever father a. .” He trailed off.

Arenadd glanced at Laela, his look suddenly embarrassed and defensive. He tried to shrug it off with another laugh. “Well, let’s hope not, my lord. I mean, could you imagine? The Shadow That Walks-with a Southerner?” He grimaced as if the very idea was disgusting.

Laela actually took a step back. She froze, staring at him as if she could hardly believe what he’d said.

Arenadd looked at her. “Laela? What’s the matter?”

She could feel her shoulders trembling as she straightened up. “I was born because a Northerner raped my mother,” she said, in a voice like ice cracking. “One of your people, Sire. She was barely older’n me, an’ she never did nothin’ to anybody. It happened in the war. So it was your fault.”

Arenadd’s face fell. “I didn’t mean-”

Laela couldn’t stand it a moment longer. She turned and strode out of the room.

18

The Box

Oeka darted ahead into their chamber and lay down peacefully on the bed, apparently oblivious to her human’s emotions.

Laela stomped over to the fireplace and almost threw herself into a chair. She buried her face in her hands and did her best not to shout exactly what she was thinking.

Up until now, she’d never really thought about the full meaning of living with Arenadd and becoming a Northerner through and through. She’d thought about how accepting that side of her heritage was a betrayal of Gryphus, and her foster father, in a way.

But she had never thought about how it would also be a betrayal of her mother.

Bran had often talked about her, and even if he never said what her name was or gave any details about her life and where she came from, his stories had built a picture in Laela’s mind-and that was a picture of a woman who was brave and strong and kind-hearted. A woman Bran had loved, and whom Laela had come to love in a way as well. But when Laela had come to the North and accepted Arenadd’s offer to become one of his people, she’d forgotten about that woman.

Now the King’s casual remark had suddenly brought the full meaning of that home to her. It had also revealed something she hadn’t realised or thought about, but which caused her pain now.

He doesn’t care about her, she thought. What happened to her. She was just a Southerner. An’ he does look down on me because I’m a half-breed.

That realisation, that Arenadd did, after all, think she was inferior because she was a half-breed when she had thought he was the only one who didn’t, slammed into her like a physical blow. With a sinking heart, she realised that she couldn’t put it behind her. She never would be able to, no matter how long she lived.

She stood up and walked toward the fireplace. The weather outside was cold, and there was a fire burning. She stared into the flames, and took a deep, shuddering breath. “I’m sorry, Mum,” she mumbled. “I ain’t forgotten about yeh. .”

The silence that followed felt accusing. Laela snarled and smashed her fist into the copper panel that framed the fireplace.

As the noise died away, she caught a strange, faint rattling sound.

Curiosity dulled her anger slightly. She banged on the copper again, and listened. The rattle came again. After several more blows and some careful listening, she had an idea.

“Something on the other side,” she said aloud.

The fire made it too hot to investigate, so she put it out with the jug of water from the night-stand and waited a while before thrusting an arm up into the space just above the fireplace. There was a little ridge there, where two copper sheets joined together. Thinking the noise might have come from a loose rivet, Laela felt around it. Her fingers closed around a small metal box, and her heart skipped a beat.

She brought the box out into the light and examined it with fascination. It was covered in soot, but when Laela rubbed it, silver showed through. She cleaned it with her sleeve and found vine-and-leaf designs all over it.

“Well, ain’t this nice?” she said aloud, forgetting her bad temper for a moment while she turned it over in her fingers.

Oeka came over to investigate. She sniffed at the box when Laela held it out to her, and gave her an inquiring look.

Laela smiled and tapped the lid. “Let’s see if there’s anything inside.”

It took her a few moments to figure out how to undo the clasp, but the lid came up without any trouble, and she looked inside. To her disappointment, all she saw was a scrap of grubby cloth.

“That’s it?” she said, pulling it out. “What’s this-oooh!”

Underneath the cloth there were several other things, and the one she had just noticed was a jewel. Grinning, Laela picked it out. It was about the size of a grape, and the fact that it was black only made her more excited. She’d never seen a black gemstone before, and the thought crossed her mind that this one could be very rare.

She stuffed the stone in her pocket and sat down to investigate the other contents of the box. No other gems, unfortunately, but she did find a lock of hair wrapped with a piece of thread, and the withered remains of a flower or two.

“Probably someone’s secret treasures,” she remarked to Oeka. “Wonder who stashed it up there?” She paused. “Looks like it’s been there a long time, so I might as well keep it. Maybe I can use it as a jewellery box. Once I get some jewellery, I mean.” She dug the stone out of her pocket and rolled it on her palm, admiring it again. “Bet I can find someone to set this for me. In a ring, maybe, or a necklace or somethin’.” She put it back into the box and closed the lid.

As she stood up to put it on the shelf over the fireplace, she noticed the scrap of cloth on the floor and bent to pick it up.

She was about to throw it into the fireplace when she noticed some odd marks on it, and stopped to turn it over, examining it critically.

“Looks like writin’.”

The words were charcoal, and badly faded, but she recognised some of the letters, and frowned to herself, suddenly feeling guilty at having pried into someone else’s belongings-even if the original owner was long gone.

Oeka thrust her beak at the piece of cloth, rasping in her throat.

“It’s got somethin’ written on it,” Laela explained, showing it to her. “A letter, I’ll bet. Got no idea what it says. Maybe I should show it to Yorath.”

Oeka stared at her. Laela couldn’t read the griffin’s expression, and looked away awkwardly. “It’s probably