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The WeatherMaker Hearts Desire By Lady Lilium Characters: 5183

Updated: 2018-07-12 12:02


'What happened?'

The king did not answer his son as he stormed up the steps. He froze then when he saw the blood.

'Nooooooo!' the king screamed, tearing forwards. 'Mearah!'

He stared down at his wife in shock and disbelief and fear, hands grasping the edge of the stone slab, before turning on his son, grabbing him by the front of his shirt and shoving him away.

'What have you done?!' he screamed at him. 'What have you done?!'

Tristan stared back in astonishment, unable to take his eyes away from his father's grief.

The king bawled hysterically over his wife, leaning over her, before quickly falling silent.

'Mearah' he whispered. 'My love…'

He lifted her in his arms then, moving down the steps away from the stone slab and towards the centre of the hall.

And then he began to spin, as if dancing with her, holding her dead body in his arms, her long hair flowing around her.

Suddenly the king collapsed, falling to his knees and holding his wife close.

'My love…' the king whispered in her ear, over and over again. 'My love…'

He lay her down on the cold stone floor, rising to his feet and facing his son.

The king drew a sword from his belt, and Tristan stepped back uncertainly. But instead of attacking him, the king turned the sword on his self, driving it straight through his own navel, and falling beside his wife.

He moaned in pain, gritting his teeth as he raised his head up to glare at his son as he died.

Tristan watched without emotion as his father jerked the sword out of him.

He lay beside his wife now, reaching out to touch her one last time.

'I will see you soon my love….' the king whispered, 'Mearah…'

The prince stared down at what had just happened, broken from his trance only when he noticed another figure in the room with him.

He was not alone in the hall as he had first believed.

Tristan turned to the figure on the floor, sitting hunched against the wall and nursing his injures.

'You…'

'I tried to make him see reason' Tristan said mournfully. 'I tried…when my father received a raven sent by my brother, telling him of a Weather Maker named Annabel who was especially powerful; he began to obsess over her……. I tried to speak to him. I tried to make him stop. But he wouldn't listen…and after a time' he went on, 'I realised the only thing I could do, was to get rid of her.' He drew a steady breath. 'Without her, there would be no reason for him to kidnap the Weather Makers, but I never realised what he would do once he found her, I never really thought about it.' He leant forward

, brow furrowed and hand over his mouth in thought. 'I shouldn't have been surprised. I should have known he would do it….he truly loved with all his heart and soul……but…I couldn't continue to let him do what he did, not if there was something I could do to stop it. He stole the Weather Makers, believing they could save my mother….he had no reason to believe this, his grief drove him mad and it was the only hope he could grasp onto. My mother was a Weather Maker, so he thought that only other Weather Makers could save her.' He shook his head. 'I should have done it sooner……but I didn't have the courage.'

'How could you kill your own mother?' Amaia asked him weakly, feeling sick to her stomach. 'That makes you as bad as he was.'

'I was driven to it' Tristan replied. 'Because the king…my father…….he killed my son…your brother Alan.'

Tristan marched briskly down the corridor, walking with his head down but eyes up. He turned towards the double doors and entered the great hall beyond.

Inside he faltered, seeing his father standing with his back to him, facing the queen who lay forever still on her bed at the end of the hall, and his son nearby, flanked by two soldiers.

Tristan shifted on the spot, glancing from his son to his father's back.

'Father' he nodded.

He looked again at Alan, who stared back at him nervously.

At first the king did not address his son, but stared, for the longest time at the sleeping profile of the queen, his wife.

'She's so beautiful' he spoke at last. 'Is she not?'

'She is' Tristan replied uncertainly.

'And you know there is nothing I wouldn't do for her.'

'I know' Tristan said.

'I would gladly kill for her, would gladly go to the ends of the earth…even rip out my own heart for her……if it would bring her back….you know that…don't you?'

'Yes' Tristan answered.

'You stole a Weather Maker from my prison' he said to him. 'Didn't you.'

Tristan didn't answer, he didn't move, only forced himself to take deep and calming breaths, as panic began to slowly sink its claws into him. He glanced now with fear towards his own son. Alan continued to watch him unspoken.

'I want you to tell me where she is' the king spoke dangerously. 'I want her returned to me.'

'Father.' Tristan spoke loudly to the king. 'Enough of this! Don't you see you've caused enough suffering? And for what?! You haven't been able to save her, you haven't even come close! Please!' he cried. 'Stop this madness. Do you want this' he indicated to a figure sat hunched at the edge of the hall, 'to be your legacy?!'

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