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   Chapter 235 No.235

The WeatherMaker Hearts Desire By Lady Lilium Characters: 4941

Updated: 2018-07-12 12:03

'I was hoping to see you again' the figure said lifting a hand to his mask, his tone was sincere. 'I knew I'd find you here' the figure spoke as he removed the mask from his face.

Amaia took a step away from him as he revealed his face.

'I've missed you. My daughter.'

Amaia balled her fists, puffing her chest out.

'Are you trying to hide from me?' she glowered. 'Are you trying to trick me?' she gritted her teeth. 'I am not your daughter. Farrell is my father.'

'You are Amaia' Tristan replied quickly. 'You are my daughter.'

Amaia didn't answer, only pursed her lips in anger.

'I have….some bad news' Tristan said bowing his head. 'Your mother is dead.'

'She's not my mother' Amaia said curtly. 'And I'm very sorry.'

Amaia made to leave, but Tristan grabbed her wrist.

'I want you to come home' he spoke firmly to her.

'Let go of me' Amaia struggled. 'I already have a home.'

'It's not where you belong' Tristan spoke harshly, tightening his grip.

'Let go! You're hurting me!' but her cries were barely heard over the noise of the celebration around them, and the people were too distracted, too drunk and too happy to even notice that something was wrong.

'I won't go!' Amaia spat stubbornly. 'I won't!'

'If you won't come willingly then I will take you by force.'


She tried to scream, but her cries were cut short when he clamped a damp rag over her mouth, holding her tight.

Amaia couldn't hold her breath for long, and was forced to breath in the fumes, collapsing as she fell unconscious.

Tristan caught her and swung her over his shoulder, striding away from the dancing figures around them and out of town. None spared him a second glance.

He headed towards a waiting carriage parked just outside the town, and placed her carefully inside.

'Home' he said to the driver. 'And be quick.'

Back at the masquerade, Carl searched for her.

He searched and searched, but he could not find her.

The next day

Amaia lifted her head to the sky, feeling the suns warm glow upon her face, drying the tears that ran down her cheek.

The garden around her was just as she remembered it, and nothing had changed since the last time she was here. It was the garden she had spent twelve years of her life overlooking, in the manor that White Feather had first found her in. If Amaia were to wander its grounds, she would find the plague, her own grave, where she had fallen from the tower, a

ll that time ago.

She sat on a bench now, looking around her. It was a beautiful place, but it felt as dead to her now as it did before.

'I grew up with Farrell' Amaia grumbled miserably at him, '…and Ramana….for many years they gave me a good life…a happy childhood……you've given me only a prison of loneliness….for twelve years…'

Tristan turned to face her; he had been picking the peaches from the tree that grew nearby. Now he stared at the back of her head, her hair matching the light green leaves of the bush that stood between them.

'I only did that to protect you' Tristan snapped harshly back. 'I was afraid to visit you in fear of my father finding out.'

'You've hurt people' Amaia added.

'To protect. You!'

Tristan's chest rose and fell sharply now as he breathed heavily, anger coursing through him.

'It's ok' he said, taking a slow and steady breath, placing on the ground the basket of peaches he held. 'Everything is as it should be. My father is dead, and you are here with me.'

'I would rather be dead than be with you' Amaia mumbled.

'How could you say such a thing?' Tristan asked her, feeling wounded.

She didn't answer.


He walked slowly around the bush to see her, gasping in shock when he saw Amaia fully.

She was deathly pale. The knife she had used to slit both her wrists lay now on her lap smeared in blood.

Tristan's hand went to his side, but instead of finding the knife he had carried, he found only an empty hilt.

She had stolen it from him.

He rushed up to her, holding her his arms. Her head lolled to the side as he grasped her desperately, but it was already far too late. She was already lost.

Her body vanished then, disappearing into balls of white light that drifted upwards in the breeze, as Tristan arms fell through thin air.

He rose, calling after her as the sparks lifted ever higher, growing smaller now than could be seen.

'I will find you!' he cried. 'I won't let you go!'

His only reply was the howling of the wind, dancing the leaves of the trees around him, and the endless silence that followed.

Amaia woke on the open plains, somewhere far away, her hair now red like blood. She wandered alone for days after that, having lost all her memory of her past, of Tristan, Farrell, Arlen and Carl, even Ramana. And without White Feather there to guide her, she became lost, and spiralled into a pit of misery, though she couldn't understand why.

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