75.

Grace listened, utterly numb, as Falken and Melia told a tale—her tale—describing how for centuries they had, in secret, kept watch over the heirs of the lost kingdom of Malachor. At some point Lirith must have come from the throne room, although Grace didn’t see when. All at once she was simply aware that Lirith was there, eyes shining as she gazed at Grace.

“I don’t understand, Falken,” Beltan said when at last the bard paused in his telling. “All the old stories I’ve ever heard say that the royal line of Malachor was completely wiped out when Malachor fell, that no heirs survived.”

“You’re right, Beltan,” Falken said, gazing at his black-gloved hand. “That is what the stories say. That’s what I wanted the stories to say when I wrote them down seven centuries ago.”

His words seemed important, but Grace’s brain was too dull to comprehend what the bard was saying.

“I think maybe I understand,” Travis said. “One member of the royal line of Malachor did survive, only you and Melia didn’t want anyone to know about it.”

Falken’s wolfish visage was haggard, as if the centuries suddenly weighed heavy upon him. “It was the king and queen’s only child, their infant son. With a knife I cut him crying from her womb where she lay dead—only a day after the king himself was slain.”

Lirith moved closer. “You were afraid those who had murdered the king and queen would kill their child as well.”

“But how did it all happen?” Aryn said, blue eyes questioning. “The stories say that Malachor fell, but they never really say how. Only that you—”

Melia cast a sharp glance at the young baroness, and Aryn hastily bit her tongue. However, Grace knew what she had been about to say.

That you were the reason the kingdom fell.

“No, my lady, that is not a tale I will tell today.” The bard looked up, and his wolfish visage brightened. “Nor does it matter, not now. Not when you’ve come back to us, Ralena.”

At last Grace managed to find her voice. “Why do you keep calling me Ralena?”

Melia smiled. “Because it’s your name, dear. At least, it’s the name your parents gave you.”

These words were like a blow to the center of Grace’s chest. “My parents? You knew them?”

“Yes, dear, quite well in fact.” Melia sighed. “They were so young, so bright—sometimes around them I felt as if I were still only a thousand years old.”

Durge’s eyes bulged, and even Grace felt a mad impulse to laugh. But the feeling passed as sorrow filled Melia’s gaze.

“What happened?” she whispered.

It was Falken who answered. “Raiff and Anilena—your parents, Grace—were married young. Too young, Melia and I both thought at the time, but I believe they felt some urgency in the matter. You see, Anilena was at the time the sole living heir to Malachor—the direct descendant of the last king and queen. Her parents had died young, her mother while giving birth to her, and her father while out boar hunting only a year after.”

Melia touched Falken’s arm. “He let the beast take him, Falken. You know it’s true. He could not bear to live without his beloved.”

The bard laid his hand over hers. “It fell to Melia and me to raise Anilena as best we could. It was not the first time, over the centuries, we had seen a child of the line of Malachor to adulthood, but never had we raised one from such a tender age, and so Anilena was special to us.

“Of course, we did have help. Gevriel Warden dwelled with us, along with his two sons. Gevriel was of the family of wardens who had served the kings of Malachor, for the line endured after the kingdom fell. Always there was at least one warden to keep watch over the current heir. At the time when Anilena was a child, we were all living in southern Calavan, in a small manor near the banks of the River Goldwine.”

“It was so beautiful there,” Melia said quietly. “I shall never forget the light on the river at sunset.”

Grace forced herself to breathe. “Did she … did Anilena know who she was?”

“Not at first, dear,” Melia said. “We wanted her to grow up as any child might. She did know her parents had died, and she thought of us as her aunt and uncle. Then, on her eighteenth birthday, we gave her the necklace you wear now, and we told her the truth. At first she was angry, but in a short time she was able to accept the burden that had been placed upon her.” Melia reached out and touched Grace’s hand. “Ever were the women of your line strong, dear.”

Grace had to resist the urge to pull back.

“And don’t forget willful,” Falken added. “Not a month after we told her of her heritage, Anilena ran off and married Raiff, the elder of Gevriel Warden’s two sons. In truth, I’m surprised it took that long before the two lines were united. Regardless, Anilena loved him, and it seemed she was determined to produce an heir as soon as possible. In case something dire happened.”

“And it did,” Durge said in a grim voice.

Now it was Falken who seemed to lose his tongue.

“Black knights,” Melia said. “It was four years later. Anilena and Raiff were so happy together, and happy with their daughter Ralena—with you, Grace. Then one day, Falken and I took a short journey to Gendarra, to pay a visit to our old friend Tome, who was there at the time. We took you with us, for Tome had never seen you, and Raiff and Anilena had promised him they would let you visit him. You were just three winters old. To be certain we were safe, Anilena and Raiff sent Merric Warden with us—he was Gevriel’s other son, and Raiff’s young brother.”

“As it turned out,” Falken said, “we weren’t the ones who needed protection. After visiting Tome, we returned to the manor and found it burned. There were few left alive, but we discovered Gevriel in the wreckage, although he was gravely wounded. He told us what had happened, how a band of knights in black armor had ridden up to the manor on black horses. Without even stopping to speak, the knights had attacked and set the manor afire. They slew Raiff while he tried to protect Anilena. She took up his sword, but they …”

Falken squeezed his eyes shut, then opened them again. “They murdered Anilena where she stood. Then, without another word, the knights turned and rode away as quickly as they had come. Gevriel told us these things, then he died as well in Merric’s arms.”

Grace listened to these words in horror. In the space of a few minutes Falken and Melia had given her the parents she had never known, then as quickly had taken them away again.

“Who?” she finally managed to say. “Who were they? The black knights who killed my parents?”

“I’m afraid we were never sure,” Melia said.

Falken gazed at her, eyes fierce. “I am. It was the Pale King who sent them. Only Fellring ever had the power to harm Berash, and only one of Ulther’s heirs could wield the sword were it ever reforged. He wanted to make certain that never happened. And we know now he was stirring again at the time, preparing to break the Rune Gate as he nearly did last Midwinter.”

Melia looked at the bard but said nothing.

“That’s a dark tale, Falken,” Beltan said. He looked at Grace, his usually jovial face somber. “And I’m sorry you lost your parents. I know what that’s like. But this still doesn’t explain how Grace ended up on Travis’s world.”

“That was my doing,” Melia said.

Travis gaped. “You mean you have the power to send people between worlds?”

The amber-eyed lady smoothed her robe. “Not precisely. I had a little help in the matter.”

Falken folded his arms and raised an eyebrow.

“Oh, very well, so I had a great deal of help. But the New Gods owed me—I had saved up quite a few favors over the millennia.”

“So you and the other New Gods sent Grace to Earth,” Travis said.

Now it was Grace’s turn to stare. “Why?”

“To keep you safe, dear. Wherever they came from, the black knights had one goal in mind: to slay the heirs of Malachor. You were all that was left, and we knew it was only a matter of time before the knights discovered you were alive. Desperate measures were called for.”

Vani moved closer, leather creaking. “So you knew of this other world, this Earth, even as the Mournish did. I thought only the sorcerers of Morindu knew of the place that could be reached across the void—the morndari told them of it long ago, and that was why they built the gate artifacts.”

Melia patted Vani’s cheek—a gesture which seemed to shock the assassin.

“Don’t completely underestimate us, dear. Foolish and petty as we can be, we immortals do know a thing or two. We first became aware of the other world more than a millennium ago, when we aided the Old Gods in binding Mohg beyond the circle of Eldh. We glimpsed—if only for a moment—a world beyond what we knew.”

Travis gazed at Melia, his gray eyes thoughtful. “So the New Gods were able to open a gate to Earth.”

“It was not quite so easy as you make it sound. It took nearly all of us working in concert to do it—an alliance which I fear will never occur again. And even so, I do not think we would have succeeded if there had not been something working to open the way from the other side.”

Now Grace was completely lost. “What do you mean? What could have been working from the other side?”

However, before bard or lady could speak, Travis did. “It was this, wasn’t it?” He drew something out of his pocket: a gray-green Stone. Sinfathisar.

Falken nodded. “We believe so. Now, at least—for at the time we didn’t know the Stone of Twilight was on Earth. But its magic acted like a beacon for the power of the New Gods, drawing it to your Earth and opening a gate.”

“That’s why you came to Castle City, Grace,” Travis said. “And that’s why the people from the orphanage found you there. It was because Jack Graystone had Sinfathisar. And I suppose that’s how the ironhearts and wraithlings ended up in Castle City last autumn. They were drawn there by the very thing they were seeking.” He tightened his fingers around the Stone.

“We can’t be sure,” Falken said. “But it makes sense. We know the Pale King had the Great Stone Gelthisar. It must be that its power was great enough for him to send some of his servants to your world. And just like Grace, they all ended up near the place where Sinfathisar was being kept.”

Grace’s eyes were hot, and she felt tears filling them. At last she knew she had not been abandoned as a child. They had loved her, and they had been trying to protect her. So why did she feel so lonely she couldn’t bear it?

“Why?” she whispered. “Why did you let me go there alone? Why did you send me …?”

Why did you send me there, to the orphanage, to the shadow? she wanted to ask, but the words stuck in her throat.

Melia hesitated, then she took both of Grace’s hands in her own. “We didn’t send you alone, Grace. At least, we didn’t want to. Merric Warden held you as we opened the gateway. He was to go with you, to watch over you. But … something went wrong.”

Grace shook her head, beyond words now. Melia tightened her grip.

“You were so small, so fragile. You were wearing a dress Anilena had made for you, and Falken had placed the necklace around your neck, for he had found it on Anilena. Then, even as Merric went through the gate, we all sensed it: a presence on the other side. What it was—or who—we still do not know. But it was great, and powerful. And it was evil. I watched as Merric cried out in agony. I could see the other side of the gate—the mountain where they must have found you. With his last effort, Merric heaved your tiny body forward. I saw you fall, tumbling to the grass, crying. Then Merric screamed again, and he was torn apart by something none of us could see. After that the gate closed, and we could not open it again.”

Now Melia released her hands. “I’m so sorry, Ralena. I’m so sorry we left you alone. We wanted to protect you, and I fear it was the opposite that happened. Please … can you ever find a way to forgive us?”

Grace tried to speak but could not. Instead a low moan escaped her as she shook her head. Pain hazed Melia’s visage, and the lady stepped back. No, she misunderstood. Desperate, Grace reached for words, found them, put them together.

“There’s nothing to forgive. You did everything you could for me. And I’m alive.”

And broken. But she did not speak those words aloud. That was not Melia’s fault, nor Falken’s. They had devoted their lives to protecting her family. If it were not for them, Grace never would have been born in the first place.

Falken was grinning now. “It doesn’t matter what happened, Grace. You’re well, and you’re here. That’s all that counts. And one day Malachor will shine again under your rule.”

These words were like a slap. However, before Grace could speak, Melia clapped her hands.

“Oh, Ralena! I had thought I would never see you again. Then, that day we came to Calavere last winter, and I saw you standing there—I thought my heart would shatter with joy.”

Falken’s eyes nearly popped out of his head. “What? You mean, all this time, you knew Grace was Ralena?”

Melia smiled sweetly. “Of course, dear.”

The bard’s face turned a fascinating and completely unnatural shade of purple. “And you never thought it important to share this little fact with me?”

Melia rolled her eyes. “Well, I didn’t think it would take you so long to figure it out. I recognized her at once—even if she did see fit to keep her necklace hidden. Only a child as lovely as Ralena could grow into a woman as beautiful as Grace. Besides, I imagine no one on any world has eyes quite like hers. They haven’t changed a bit, dear.”

Falken looked ready to explode, but before the bard could speak Durge stepped forward. His lined face was sober as always, but there was a light in his brown eyes Grace had never glimpsed before. It was certainly pride. It might also have been joy.

“I knew it,” he said softly. “You are indeed a queen. Of men, if not of fairies.” Then, to her astonishment, Durge knelt on the floor before her and bowed his head.

As if that were not enough, a moment later Falken followed suit, then Beltan, then all of the others. Travis knelt, grinning, and Lirith and Aryn with eyes sparkling. Even Melia, and Sareth and Vani. They all knelt on the floor before Grace.

This was horrible. Didn’t they understand? She couldn’t possibly be royalty, let alone a queen.

But you are a queen, Grace. Much as you’d like to deny it, you can’t, so you’d better get used to it. Besides, you’re the ruler of a kingdom that hasn’t existed for centuries. It’s not as if there’s anything to be queen of. So what is there to worry about?

Plenty. Falken’s blue eyes were brighter than she had ever seen them. It was clear the bard thought she was going to restore Malachor—the very kingdom all the legends said he had helped to bring down. She looked at Vani and Sareth. Why did everyone around here think she had a natural talent for resurrecting dead civilizations?

She wiped her tears from her cheeks, then reached down and gripped Durge’s thick shoulders, pulling him upward.

“Rise, Durge, please. All of you. Do you know how stupid you all look?”

Travis was still grinning as he stood. “As you wish, Your Majesty.”

She glared at him. He was going to pay for that one, and by the way his grin turned into a grimace he knew it.

Sareth moved forward. “This is an amazing story you have told us Falken, Melindora. But may I remind you …”

Melia waved his words aside. “Yes, Sareth. We have hardly forgotten. Come, everyone. I imagine my requests to the emperor have been seen to. It is time we paid Ephesian our respects and said farewell.”

Grace followed the others from the hall, forcing her legs to function. She could feel the others gazing at her with a mixture of awe and respect. Even Travis. It was utterly dreadful. Then, thankfully, Aryn was there. The young woman gripped Grace’s hand in her own good one.

“So King Boreas was right all along, Grace. You really are royalty. Only you’re not a duchess, but a queen.”

Queen. That was what Marji had called her. Why was Grace always the last to know?

“In fact,” Aryn went on, “as Queen of Lost Malachor, I imagine you’d even outrank Boreas.”

To her surprise, Grace found herself laughing, and the act was steadying, healing. “I don’t think I’m going to be the one who tells Boreas that.”

Aryn joined in her laughter. “Well, don’t look at me!”

They were still laughing when they reached the dais and Ephesian’s throne. The emperor’s myopic eyes lit up when Melia told him of their discovery and of Grace’s royal nature.

“We shall have a celebration!” Ephesian said after roaring with mirth. He turned his attention to Grace. “We’re cousins of a sort, Your Majesty. I am descended from Elsara’s eldest son, and you from her second. Thus I decree that all of Tarras will honor you. We’ll have nine days of feasting and music and dancing. What’s more, you and I can ride together in a parade on a golden barge, and while the people watch I’ll give you some advice on how to run an empire.”

Grace had absolutely no idea what to say to that, so she simply murmured, Thank you, Your Magnificence.

Now Ephesian regarded Melia. “I must thank you, Melindora. This is quite possibly the most interesting day I’ve ever had.”

“And nor is it quite over yet, Your Magnificence,” Melia said. “So let’s not celebrate prematurely.”

Ephesian called forth one of his soldiers, who reported that the Etherion had been made ready as Melia commanded. After this, the companions bade their farewells to the emperor—with both Lirith and Grace promising to visit soon—then departed, marching across the vast throne room and leaving the emperor alone. The gilded doors of the palace swung shut behind them with a boom that reverberated through Grace’s body.

The vibration grew in force. A roaring filled the air, and the tiled surface of the courtyard rose and fell violently under Grace’s feet. She cried out as she and the others tumbled against one another. It wasn’t the vibration of the doors closing, Grace finally realized. The ground was shaking.

“What’s happening?” Falken shouted above the roar.

However, even as the bard spoke, the trembling of the ground ceased, and an eerie silence fell over the palace, punctuated by the distant barking of dogs.

Grace struggled to regain her feet, letting go of Sareth, whom she had clutched to keep from falling. A webwork of fine cracks covered the tiled courtyard. She was certain the cracks had not been there moments before.

“That felt like an earthquake,” Travis said.

“I do not like this,” Sareth said, gazing at Vani. “The cavern of the demon lies beneath the city. This trembling cannot bode well.”

Vani opened her mouth to answer, but a moan of pain interrupted her. Nearby, Melia staggered, her face ashen.

Falken rushed to her. “Melia, are you hurt?”

She shook her head.

“What is it?”

At last Melia managed to croak a single word. “Misar …”

Grace knew enough of what had been happening in Tarras to understand. Another god was dead, consumed by the demon.