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   Chapter 229 No.229

The WeatherMaker Hearts Desire By Lady Lilium Characters: 5002

Updated: 2018-07-12 12:03

Farrell lowered his hand, staring through watery eyes to his brother.

'But why?' he mumbled.

'Because' Arlen smiled. 'I have faith.'

'So that was Amaia' William said folding his arms and leaning back against the wall. 'The woman we've been looking for for nearly a year. Here she was.'

'Layla….Why do you think she bore a false name?' Adam asked them.

'Who knows?' Arlen said beside Farrell, who sat nearby silently biting back his grief. 'I'm sure Tristan told her to stay hidden here.'

'Just think' Adam continued, 'because of that false name, you might never have found her.' He paused in thought. 'It was extremely lucky that you did' he spoke to the brothers.

'So what do we do now?' William asked the both of them.

Arlen glanced to Farrell before answering.

'You've fulfilled your purpose William' Arlen spoke solemnly. 'You are free to go where you please now. We thank you for all you've done, and are sorry for your loss. Bill was a good man.'

William stared at Arlen hard for a moment, before straightening up and walking away in silence.

'I suppose the same goes for me' Adam said quietly when he had gone.

'Almost' Arlen said. 'There is one last thing I want you to do. Return to the mountains to the rest of the army, and release them.'

'I will.'

Adam rose from his seat, moving towards Arlen and grasping his forearm in farewell.

'Goodbye Arlen' Adam said.

'Goodbye my friend' Arlen replied sadly holding tightly Adam's arm.

Adam let go, glancing silently to Farrell and nodding to him briefly before turning on his heel and marching out after William.

'I guess that leaves just the two of us then' Farrell mumbled as the door swung shut.

'It does' Arlen said. 'It does.' He took a deep breath. 'And now we wait….'

Chapter Sixty Six

Mearah's Fate

Tristan took the tray from the servant, jerking his head to indicate her to be dismissed, before turning back to Amaia.

He placed the tray on the table before her.

'Do you want some tea?'

Amaia didn't answer; she only stared off into nothingness with a vacant expression. Upon her lap sat a small grey coloured, skinny dog. Markus was curled up into a tiny ball, happily deep in sleep.

Tristan sat opposite her on the large sofa, the low table between them, upon which sat the tray that carried the tea which was being ignored. He had brought her back to his home after they had left the temple, the home she had spent twelve years of her life imprisoned in. She

was back here now, but this time she was free to wander, and free to be spoken to.

'Amaia?' Tristan asked tenderly. 'What's wrong?'

'What will happen to me?' Amaia asked the air. 'Will I be hunted for the rest of my life?'

'No. Not anymore' Tristan told her without hesitation. 'You are safe now.'


'Because the king is dead.'

Amaia slowly turned her head towards him.

'Without the king' Tristan said, 'no one will be hunting the Weather Makers anymore.'

'The king is dead?' Amaia mumbled. 'How do you know?'

'Because I watched him die.'

Amaia's eyes widened in shock.


Tristan pulled open the tall double doors, stepping inside the hall and closing the doors quietly behind him.

Everything inside the vast hall was silent.

Tristan walked forwards, marching to the back of the hall towards the woman who lay on the soft bed that rested upon a stone slab. Behind her, tall windows reached from the ground, all way to the high ceiling, allowing her still body to always bask in the sunlight or moonlight.

Tristan approached the steps, walking slowly up them and towards the woman, coming to stand beside her.

He looked over her mournfully, fear and uncertainty stirring in his heart.

'Mother' he said. 'I wish you would wake. I wish you were like the way you were before…I've missed you so much over the years….'

He bent forwards, holding her head in his hands. He rested his forehead against hers, breathing slowly with his eyes closed.

He kissed her forehead, straightening up again and gazing down upon her.

In life, her hair had always been short, but over the years, it had grown long, like her nails had grown long. Now her hair spilled down the side of the stone slab on which she lay, pooling on the ground below her.

'I'm sorry mother' Tristan said to her sleeping profile. 'I'm sorry…'

Tristan reached into his pocket, pulling out a small knife.

He looked down at the queen, his mother, just one last time, before slitting her throat.

The blood seeped through the open wound, staining the white bed she lay on, and the white dress she wore.

She was still alive; the blood flowed fresh, but she did not wake.

Tristan watched as the blood ran down the stone slab, until it began to slow; and her skin began to pale.

The doors opened behind him, and Tristan whipped around.


The king strode through the hall towards him. Tristan noticed then blood running from a wound at his neck.

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