Blood Reunion (Page 44)

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Lissa’s Journal

"Lissa, are you well?" Gavin was there in moments, but Karzac had already arrived and removed the offending smell (along with the wastebasket) from my study with power. I leaned back in my chair, a cool cloth draped over my forehead. Karzac was kneeling next to the chair and stroking my belly while light formed around his fingers.

"Better now," I mumbled.

"Sometimes we just have to deal with this," Karzac said softly, making slow circles over my skin.

"Gavin?"

"Cara mia?"

"Open that envelope on my desk—the one from the courts on Shaaliveer."

Gavin lifted the envelope—it was heavy and bore the crest of the Shaaliveeran judicial system on the front. Forming a vampire claw on a single finger, he slit it open carefully and drew out the contents.

* * *

"Daddy, we already found out about it—Tory and Ry had to do an assignment over the economic impact that Trell’s destruction had on the Alliance. One thing led to another." Nissa toed a carved leg of Great-Grampa Glendes’ desk. The leg resembled the head of a sea serpent. She wasn’t looking at her father, her grandfather Raffian, who’d also come, or her great-grandfather. She was worried she’d be in trouble for the information she held.

"Nissa, they are offering Melida’s child to us. And to your mother, since she was Shadow’s other mate at the time. Melida was married to your father for a short period of time, although they were never close." Glendes looked across his desk at his great-granddaughter. He should be holding her in his lap or next to him to deliver this news. Why had he held back all this time? The poor child looked completely lost. Nissa held so much of her mother in her. Glendes sighed.

"Are you going to take him? Or her?" Nissa amended her first supposition.

"Nissa, this child will be turned over to the courts on Shaaliveer if someone doesn’t come forward."

"Does he have talent? Why won’t his other family keep him?" Nissa didn’t understand this. The mindspeech she’d gotten from Tory indicated that the Belancours were doing fine.

"We don’t know what he has—they haven’t bothered to send him through the rite." Glendes slid a photograph across the desk toward his granddaughter. Nissa glanced briefly at Glendes before lifting the photo. She gasped at the image.

* * *

Lissa’s Journal

"Lissa, do not hyperventilate—I only got your stomach calmed down," Karzac was attempting to get my head pointed toward my knees.

"What," I wheezed, "did those idiots," another wheeze, "think they were doing?" I was breathing with difficulty and trying to straighten up at the same time. Karzac shoved me down again.

"Lissa, you should have waited to go Looking," Karzac scolded gently.

"She," I huffed, "took," another wheeze this time, "drugs." I started coughing.

"Love, do not distress yourself," Connegar appeared, causing Gavin and Karzac to step aside. Connegar knelt beside my chair and placed one hand on my forehead, the other on my abdomen. "There, that’s right," Connegar soothed as a calming light formed around me. "Take this one as yours, Lissa, and Reemagar and I may be able to set some things right."

"But he’s fifteen," I wailed in distress.

"Does that mean he needs love less?"

"No." I reached up to wipe away the tear that insisted on falling. "Connegar, what are we to do?"

"Hush, now, the Wizards of Grey House are here. With your daughter."

Chapter 11

Trikleer Belancour stared at his shoes. One was larger than the other. It didn’t matter—he couldn’t walk anyway—the smaller foot was attached to a shorter, withered leg. One of his hands, too, looked the same—withered and nearly useless. Trik had learned to feed and dress himself one-handed over the years. He ghosted about the Belancour Manor—the lower level of it anyway, in a motorized chair.

Since his mother’s death, none of the family bothered to speak to him. Even Melida had gone for days without speaking to her only child. Marid, Trik’s grandfather, refused outright to test Trik for talent. Trik had overheard too many conversations during his fifteen years. Conversations that always began with "He’s useless without both his hands."

Trik had come to hate those words. His right hand wasn’t completely useless. He used it to brace things, or he could grasp lightly, if it were clothing to be slipped on. Trik used every bit of what he had to the best of his ability. He’d taught himself, too—thankfully, someone had shown him his letters early and he’d picked up reading quickly. They wouldn’t have bothered, otherwise. Now, he often sneaked into his grandfather’s library at night, pulling down books that wouldn’t be missed with a pole he’d devised himself, with a little help from two younger cousins. It would reach up and grasp things that were too high for him to get any other way. Family members usually grumbled if he asked them to do it for him.

Now, he’d been asked to dress nicely for visitors. For Trik, it was his nicest outfit, handed down from one of his cousins. Seev had outgrown just about everything, and this particular tunic and pair of pants hadn’t seen much wear before Seev needed something larger. Trik hadn’t asked why he needed to dress nicely—he’d heard the whispers. If these people didn’t take him, he’d be sent off to one of the state-run homes and spend the rest of his natural life there, an oddity that nobody wanted.

* * *

Toff had seen the photographs, just as Ry and Tory had. Tory swallowed hard at the image; Ry’s expression had been grim. Toff’s heart thumped painfully in his chest—here was likely another who’d been bullied and ignored because he didn’t have what the others did. Now, Toff stood between Queen Lissa and Roff, while Tory and Ry stood with their fathers. Karzac had come, too, with Connegar and Reemagar.

Toff learned how easy it was for the Larentii to disguise themselves. They looked like any other humanoid, now. They were waiting in a reception area of Belancour Manor until the contingent from Grey House arrived. A Belancour Wizard—an old woman, stood near the door, waiting for all of them to gather before taking them to see Trikleer Belancour.

"Toff?" Nissa’s voice was almost breathless when she tapped him on the shoulder. Toff’s grin was wide with relief as he hugged Nissa, lifting her off the floor the moment he turned around. He’d been afraid she wouldn’t be allowed to come.

"I missed you," Nissa whispered in Toff’s ear as he set her down again. Nissa stepped back and adjusted her finely woven tunic; the fabric was dyed a beautiful shade of green. Toff thought Nissa looked very pretty in it.