Destiny by Fiona McIntosh Page B

and quiet. He looked around it with even more dismay than the Prime had. He felt the glance of his mother and looked down where she knelt.
    Knelt! Light! He bent, hardly able to string any coherent thoughts together.
    ‘You knew? Kept this from me?’
    She struggled against the terror of perhaps even losing him.
    ‘We wanted to tell you. He was taken before we could.’ It sounded pathetic even to her ears.
    He felt rage stirring. His father, the King. How many occasions could that man have taken him in his arms and called him son. Gyl, always so in control, felt himself losing his composure. Whether it was by luck or fate, his eyes, searching the room, locked onto the steady grey-green eyes of Lauryn. They snapped him out of his rising temper as he recalled her words. He had heard them; had felt a strange uplifting sensation at hearing her say how nice it would be to see his smile. He did not feel like smiling now but there was something disarming about this woman. A calm countenance washed over him as he stared at those eyes now and she nodded softly towards him. It was an apology for her presumptuousness earlier.
    Gyl was suddenly aware that everyone was still kneeling, still waiting. ‘Stand, Mother, please I beg you,’ he whispered.
    Alyssa’s eyes now looked up into his and imploredhim. ‘You must accept it first. Affirm your sovereignty, son.’
    Gyl immediately looked towards Saxon, whose gaze had also surreptitiously lifted towards his. The Kloek nodded slowly at him.
    Now the Throne Room was so devoid of noise the silence itself began to overwhelm the young man whose heart was pounding. He must say something. Everyone awaited his words. He would deal with sorrow and disbelief later. Now it was time to fulfil his destiny.
    He did not even clear his throat. His voice was steady and strong, as a sovereign’s should be, and he was grateful in that defining few moments that his mind suddenly worked with clarity and the words which came out were well chosen and regal.
    ‘I would ask the King’s Mother to stand beside me as I accept the mantle to rule this realm. I bid all of you—loyal citizens of Tallinor—raise yourselves to your feet and affirm with your new Sovereign the commencement of a new era for our Kingdom.’ Gyl found his smile, directed it at Lauryn; it was radiant with pride and a sense of destiny.
    ‘The glory of Tallinor!’ he called strongly towards his new subjects.
    And they echoed it with the same power and pride. ‘The glory of Tallinor! Hail, King Gyl of Tallinor.’

6
A New Guest in the Palace
    Orlac stood before the gates of the Ciprean palace and marvelled at its grace. He could hear the soldiers gathering in the main courtyard, their superiors barking orders. Word had spread furiously of his frightening arrival but he felt in no hurry and instead was taking great joy in admiring the spires of the palace, his head turned upwards away from the frightened glances of the men.
    Finally a man confronted him from behind the gates. Orlac presumed this must be the most senior officer and he lowered his eyes to look upon this person now.
    ‘Who are you?’ the man demanded, no courtesies given.
    So be it. ‘I am Orlac.’
    It meant nothing to the man, though fear was written across his face. Orlac imagined he must be wondering when he too would begin to bleed.
    ‘Depart now and you leave with your life,’ the soldier said, not so confidently.
    ‘Otherwise?’ Orlac asked. He sounded genuinely inquisitive, though there was no spark of goodwill in his expression. Perhaps there was no ‘otherwise’. The man blinked, confused. He was rescued by another, far older man who stepped into view now and answered for him.
    ‘Or, we will be forced to kill you,’ the new man calmly said.
    Orlac stopped himself sneering, summoned the Colours and felt Dorgryl shiver in anticipation of what he might do. Orlac hated the thing inside and promised himself he would learn how to destroy it, but in the