Page 71 of Legacy of the Heirs
Larelle let the thick fabric fall into place to once again protect the room. Tall bookshelves lined the centre and created aisles—a library Larelle never knew existed. Her eye was quickly drawn from the shelves to the magnificently large tapestries lining the opposite wall.
“Mumma, it’s you!” Zarya called, pointing at a tapestry. Larelle tilted her head and saw how the woman could remind Zarya of her mother. However, Larelle was reminded of the painting in her father’s hidden room—a canvas of Goddess Nerida. The tapestry spanned past several aisles of bookshelves. Such a masterpiece would have taken years to create, and Larelle thought of the many hands who had channelled their passion into its weaves. She tried to make sense of the scene it depicted.
It showed nine figures. The woman who looked similar to the Goddess stood hand in hand with two others: a beautiful blonde, and a broad man with dark hair. They formed a circle with the two women opposite: one with dark hair, and another paler than the other. Instead, Larelle focused on the figures behind the women, crafted in faded grey fabric. She could not make out their significance.
“These are some of the oldest we own,” Vivian said. Alvan was quick to drop Zarya’s hand and take the books that towered past the acolyte’s eyeline, placing them on a table that appeared as old as the texts. “There are not many. As you can imagine, there was little time for our ancestors to take books as they fled.”
“But they could take tapestries that large?” asked Alvan. He was right.Vivian fell silent while peering at the multiple tapestries on the wall, seeming to admire the work with glistening eyes and a small smile.
“I suppose I have never questioned what is passed down to us.” She frowned, and her eyes grew vacant.
“Who is she talking to?” asked Zarya, and the acolyte’s head whipped to the young girl.
“She was speaking with me, sweetheart.” Larelle stroked her daughter’s hair. “Are you getting tired?” Zarya backed into Larelle’s skirts as Vivian stared down at her, tilting her head.
“I don’t want to sleep; I think too much when I sleep,” she mumbled into her mother’s skirts.
“You mean you dream too much?” asked Larelle, crouching to face her daughter. Zarya nodded.
“Dreams are a blessing, princess. They could be a gift from the Goddess herself,” Vivian said, but Zarya continued to press further into Larelle’s hold. Larelle frowned. Zarya was never shy.
Drawing the attention away from her daughter, Larelle asked, “Which texts are the oldest?”
Vivian’s gaze lingered on Zarya for a moment longer before turning to the books and pulling one from the bottom of the tower.
“This is a collection of prayers, though they are not specific to Nerida. This is a collection gathered from scholars across Ithyion; it references all the gods. Larelle smiled as she reached for the book.
“Perfect.”
Chapter Forty
Soren
Clouds conversed in thunder above Soren, who slowed her horse into a gallop. It was unusually dark for the late morning as she approached the gaudy golden gates separating Lord Ryon’s estate from the modest farmland that formed most of Stedon. Even as someone who wished to be queen, Soren did not have a taste for exuberant displays of wealth, only exuberant displays of power. The sun had nearly set, with only a faint glow remaining. She had told no one of her plans and rode nonstop from Albyn. She ignored the few men at the gates, who waved for her to slow and announce herself. Instead, she rode straight past them for the large wooden lodge at the top of a slope positioned on the backdrop of Hybrooke forest.
The men still called after Soren as she dismounted, loosening her horse’s reins, so it could wander the gravelled entrance. She scoffed at the carved wooden animals displayed along the veranda and the flaking gold paint around the door. How simple this home had once been before Lord Ryon took it.
As she forced open the double doors to the home and knocked over a servant in the process, a loud voice called from the top of the staircase. “Queen Soren, I assume?”
Soren merely glanced at the poor fellow on the floor before continuing her assessment and scanning the many mounted animal heads lining the staircase. At a glance, she would not have placed Lord Ryon as someone who supported her cause. He did not seem capable of taking a throne, lacking in physical stature, and moving with a gangly walk. When he approached, though, she saw thehunger in his beady eyes and the wrinkles marking the sneer he often kept in place. He bowed and took her hand, placing a kiss on the back of it.
“I did not expect to meet you so suddenly.” Rising, he stepped back and placed his hands behind the back of his luxuriously tailored velvet jacket.
“I am a woman of urgency,” she stated, resting her hand on the pommel of the Garridon sword at her side.
“Are you?” he asked, and Soren narrowed her eyes. “You have been here some time, yet the usurper remains upon your throne.”
Soren whistled low and quiet, and Lord Ryon’s eyes flickered to the wolves stalking out from the trees encircling the property, with Varna leading the pack.
“There is a plan,” she said firmly.
“I do not wish to offend you, my queen. It is merely anobservation.” He dragged out the last word, and though she wished to slap the man for hisobservation, he was the first in Garridon to address Soren by her deserved title. She raised her chin with a triumphant smile, invigorated by it. “Let us sit,” he exclaimed with a clap.
He guided Soren through a wooden archway and into a small sitting room. It was far darker than Antor’s castle, which was difficult to accomplish with all the wood and timber. She took a seat in the high-backed armchair, the fire burning to her right. A view of Stedon appeared out the window behind Lord Ryon’s seat.
“You mentioned a plan,” he said.
Soren rested her elbow on the arm of the chair, struggling to find a comfortable position in her armour.
