The Legacy of Lord Regret: Strange Threads: Book 1 (9 page)

Braston shook his head. ‘You are too harsh. I made the same sacrifice as you, yet the Spell has brought us back. And certainly
I don’t intend to rush to death again, however keen you may be to do so!’

Yalenna prickled at the accusation, though part of her was strangely thankful that he at least acknowledged the tension between
them.

‘I should not have abandoned my people in the first place,’ he muttered. ‘I’m simply back where I belong.’

‘We don’t know that.’

‘There!’ Braston brightened. ‘At least you’re open to the possibility! Come, will you join me? I should get back to my task.’

Yalenna knew he needed time to adjust to any idea he did not like, and was especially stubborn when it came to mistakes he
had made. Certainly she did not feel in the best position to talk him around immediately, given how wrong she had been herself.

‘What are you doing?’ she asked.

‘Seeing prisoners.’

As they returned to the group, the shackled man cringed in the guard’s steady grip.

‘Take this fellow, for instance. A murderer who killed a man in a drunken bar brawl. Now look at him.’

The miserable prisoner stilled as all eyes settled on him.

‘The man he killed was his friend,’ said Braston. ‘They knew each other from childhood.’

Tears began to etch their way down the prisoner’s cheeks.

‘Yet I can read his threads,’ said Braston. ‘His sin has cost him greatly, and he’ll never again repeat it.’ He nodded to
the jailer. ‘Unchain him.’

As the jailer lifted his keys, disbelief showed on the prisoner’s face.

‘But lord,’ he whispered, ‘I don’t deserve to be released.’

‘The words of someone who does,’ said Braston, and the nobles in the group cooed to each other at his wisdom. ‘If you cannot
face your friends and family, you are welcome to join my army. Take him away.’

The man bowed and murmured thanks before a guard ushered him on. Braston smiled at Yalenna, and she tried to return it. She
knew they had to be careful about using their gifts, yet Braston’s came as naturally and unstoppably to him as hers did to
her. He saw the tapestry of relationships around every person, how they were connected to the world – and if there was injustice
there, done to or by the person, he could always sniff it out. Laudable as his
intentions were, it made her uncomfortable to see how eagerly he embraced his powers.

He moved to the next door, where fingers gripped the bars of the panel.

‘Let me out too, lord,’ came a plea from within. ‘I’ve atoned for my wrongs, I swear!’

Braston peered into the cell. ‘A petty thief,’ he said.

‘That’s right lord, nothing too bad! I only took a bit of fruit, the odd trinket – got to feed the family, you know how it
is.’

‘And a liar too,’ said Braston. He slid the panel closed upon a howl of dismay.

‘Should have known better than try to deceive the Lord of Justice,’ murmured one noblewoman to another. She glanced curiously
at Yalenna, who gave her a slight nod, and she blushed.

May you derive satisfaction from completing simple tasks
.

‘Are you really her?’ the noble asked. ‘The Priestess Yalenna?’

‘I really am.’

‘And have you come to join Braston?’

Yalenna quirked an eyebrow. ‘I suppose you could put it like that.’

‘My goodness. And since you’re here, does that mean that we are blessed?’

‘You are.’

The women glanced at each other in awe.

‘By the Spell, my lady, what have you given us?’

‘You’ll have to discover that for yourselves.’

The women excitedly began discussing what unknown gifts they now possessed.

Yalenna sighed.

‘Not sure about that one, lord,’ the jailer said.

Braston was staring through the panel of the next cell door. ‘Open it.’

With resignation the jailer obeyed, and Yalenna moved to Braston’s shoulder to look inside.

The cell was filthy. Excrement smeared the walls around an empty bedpan. Sheets lay in a heap on the floor, the mattress frayed
as if someone had been chewing it. The prisoner himself sat in a corner facing away, muttering as he scratched his scabs and
ensured there would be new ones. As the door squeaked his head turned to reveal a sallow, unshaven face.

‘Look,’ he whispered, ‘at all the nice warm goodies.’

‘He’s not right in the head, lord,’ said the jailer. ‘Ain’t nothing to be done for him either.’

Braston stooped to enter the cell, and the man snarled, flecks of spittle dotting thin lips. He did not rise, but twisted
to flatten himself against the filthy wall. His eyes darted frantically about the people watching him, finally settling on
Yalenna.

May you always be true to your heart’s desires
.

‘Such a pretty mouth,’ the prisoner leered. ‘I’d like to use it as a bedpan.’

The nobles gave exclamations of disgust.

‘Mind your tongue!’ barked the jailer, but Braston held up a hand for silence. He studied the man, seeing things that no one
else could, and eventually gave a sad sigh.

‘He’s committed terrible deeds,’ he muttered, almost to himself.

‘Yes, lord,’ said the jailer.

‘No hope for redemption, either,’ said Braston. ‘Yet to keep him here, like a sick animal, for the rest of his life … isn’t
justice. It’s cruelty.’

He approached the quivering prisoner, one hand held out as if to calm a frightened dog.

‘Much better for you,’ said Braston, ‘to know peace.’

The man gave a squeak and tried to scrabble away, with all the effectiveness of a spider in a jar.

Braston drew the sword from his belt. ‘I suggest you look away, gentle ladies,’ he spoke over his shoulder. Not bothering
to see if they took his suggestion, he raised the sword, and the prisoner let out a panicked shriek.

‘Kinder,’ said Braston, and plunged the sword through the man’s breast, pinning him to the wall. The blow was true, and it
did not take long for movement to cease. Braston withdrew the blade, letting the body crumple to the floor. He turned and
moved out of the cell, everyone backing out of his way, the ladies glancing nervously at his dripping sword.

‘Make sure he gets a proper burial,’ he told the jailer.

‘May I have a moment?’ said Yalenna.

He nodded and they stepped aside. ‘I’m sorry you had to see that. Justice is not always –’

‘Please, Braston,’ she cut him off, ‘I am not one of your dainty sycophants. The only thing that offends me is what a terrible
waste of time this is.’

Braston frowned. ‘There are people who have been in this place years past their due, one way or another. How can I expect
others to follow me if I can’t even keep my own house in order?’

‘I hardly believe that the Spell brought us back so you could grant rest to a few ne’er-do-wells.’

And it’s not your house
, she added to herself.

‘But
I
cannot rest,’ Braston said, ‘with this place thrumming on the edge of my thoughts – it’s too close to the castle. So many
untidy threads clamouring for attention!’

She arched an eyebrow. ‘I don’t believe that. We are ever and always surrounded by injustice, and you
can
ignore it when you choose. We have more important –’

‘I realise we must talk. I do. Tonight? Once I have carried out my task here?’

He turned and singled out the captain who had brought her here, loitering with the others.

‘You, sir!’ he called, pointing with his blade. ‘Captain Jandryn, is it?’

‘Yes, lord.’

‘Escort Lady Yalenna to the castle. Make sure she’s appointed fitting chambers, and that her every wish is met.’

‘My only wish,’ hissed Yalenna, ‘is to work out what we’re supposed to do!’

Braston affected not to have heard.

As she passed through the castle’s archway entrance into a wide blue-stone hall, Yalenna found her annoyance growing. She
did not want to sit in some chamber waiting for Braston to decide that he was ready to speak with her – yet she needed him,
or, if need was too strong a word, then at the least she very much wanted his help.

‘What of Loppolo?’ she said suddenly to Captain Jandryn.

‘Pardon, my lady?’

She couldn’t blame him, she supposed, for not following her train of thought.

‘What has happened to the rightful King of Althala?’

He blinked, obviously uncomfortable with her choice of words.

‘Well, he … is probably in the throne room.’

‘Oh? Does he still sit on the throne?’

‘No. Er.’ The captain glanced about, but there was no one to overhear. ‘In truth, my lady, there is some confusion.’

‘I have no doubt. I wonder if you’d take me to him?’

Uncertainly the captain nodded. ‘As you wish.’

As they moved down the hall, Yalenna ignored groups of people whispering to each other and drifting along behind her. Word
of her arrival, it seemed, had not taken long to spread.

They arrived in the immense blue marble chamber of the throne room. An interlocking line of diamond-shaped tiles made a path
that wended its way towards the distant dais and throne, through a collection of fountains. Artificial streams populated by
colourful fish ran here and there, sparkling in the light of high-set windows. Little birds flew about, their chirps magnified
as they echoed off walls, and servants moved between scattered courtiers. It was as luxurious and grandiose a place as Yalenna
remembered.

‘This way, my lady,’ said Jandryn. Everywhere people stared, and there was more than one finger pointing at her. Ahead a sizeable
group collected around one of the fountains, all feathers and headdresses, frilled coats and silk slippers. In their centre
a man reclined lazily on a bench, eating a piece of cake and looking bored. When someone whispered to him however, he glanced
her way and came swiftly to his feet.

‘My Lord Loppolo,’ said Jandryn, bowing. ‘May I introduce the Lady Yalenna?’

Loppolo bowed so deeply that his brown ponytail dangled from the back of his head. He was a pleasant enough looking fellow,
beyond middle age but with a softness to his features, who wore many layers of differently toned clothes.

‘My goodness,’ he said. ‘Welcome indeed, Priestess, to my … well, to
the
throne room, I should say.’

‘Thank you, Lord Loppolo.’

‘Such a … well now, I’m not sure if it’s good fortune or not that brings you to our midst?’

‘That is a question indeed.’

‘Indeed.’

Loppolo wrung his hands, for a moment unsettled. Yalenna realised she was not quite sure herself what she wanted to achieve
here. In her peripherals she sensed people coagulating about them, many probably hoping to catch a stray blessing. Some already
had, her cloud emanating as abundantly as ever. Some of the smaller bundles even found homes in the birds flitting about,
or the fish in the streams.

May you set achievable goals every day
, went to a minnow.

‘I understand,’ she lowered her voice, ‘that you were king until recently.’

‘Oh, yes,’ said Loppolo. ‘Til very recently, my lady. A good king too, if I may say.’

His companions, some of whom were more hard-eyed than he was, murmured their agreement. Looking at them now, Yalenna wondered
whether Braston’s description of everyone collapsing to their knees when he appeared was entirely truthful. There were plenty
of portraits and busts of him about the castle, so she did not think recognition had been a factor – but maybe fear had been.
Who would stand against the hero-King of Althala, back from the grave?

‘But,’ continued Loppolo carefully, ‘I can’t argue with fate’s deliverance, nor deny Braston his old seat. Not when his return
from death must surely have been willed by the Spell itself.’

Yalenna was careful not to contradict this. Best that she and Braston presented a united front, even if she did not agree
with his actions so far.

‘So what now?’ she said. ‘It mustn’t be easy for you to remain here in your old throne room.’

Loppolo nodded thoughtfully. ‘I won’t pretend it is. Going from being the exalted King of Althala, to suddenly … well. Normally
succession follows a death, even exile from time to time, and perhaps those would be less perplexing ends.’ He forced a smile.
‘Not that I wish for them, of course. This way, I can remain a lord, and continue serving the people as best I can.’

The man was obviously struggling to justify what had happened to him, and Yalenna felt a compunction to shape a blessing for
him – not randomly this time, but one of her choosing. She was not quite sure, however, what was appropriate. Perhaps it would
be easier to see if she agreed with what was already in place? Sending her influence into his pattern, she sought the threads
he had received from her – and smiled.

‘May you always have happy dreams,’ she said, passing her fingers through the air as if she bestowed the blessing by choice.

Loppolo looked surprised, then gave another quick bow.

‘I thank you, Priestess.’

‘And now,’ said Yalenna, ‘I find myself tired. I appreciate you speaking with me, Lord Loppolo.’

‘Of course. And I hope to see you again soon, my lady.’