The Dark Remains - Mark Anthony [228]
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