Lor Mandela - Destruction from Twins (8 page)

“I guess so,” she sighed. Suddenly, Ultara’s
expression grew deathly serious. “Listen, Gracielle, Darian can't
know about this . . . nobody can . . . but especially not Darian.
He hates me passionately. He's already tried to get to Nenia—for
revenge, I suppose. He thinks that since I was willing to kill his
son I don't deserve to have a child of my own. If he knew that she
was his son's twin, he would hunt her like an animal. He would not
rest until she was dead.”

“I understand. I won’t tell a soul,”
Gracielle agreed.

Ultara pointed at the Advantiere and asked,
“So what do we do about this, then? Who do we tell?”

“I don't know,” Gracielle answered. “It
might be best if we just keep it to ourselves . . . at least until
we’ve had a chance to think it over. I imagine we’ll be busy with
other things for the next day or so.”

As her thoughts returned to her mother, she
recalled her last moments and how she’d given Ultara the little
silver box.

Ultara was still holding it in her hand.

“I guess you’re the vritesse now, Ultara.”
Gracielle’s voice quivered as she spoke.

Ultara looked at the box and sighed, “Yeah,
I guess I am.”

Gracielle glanced up at a large window that
had somehow remained intact and noticed the sun sinking below it.
“It's nearly time for me to meet Jonathan and his parents for
dinner. I need to let them know what’s happened. I expect they’ll
want to call a council meeting.”

“I should get back to Koria, too. I want to
inform the rest of my generals as soon as possible.” Ultara
responded.

They made their way out of the demolished
room and agreed to seal it so that no one could accidentally
stumble across the mess, or more importantly, the Advantiere. Once
outside, Gracielle lifted her hand and a small yellow spark
appeared in the bottom left hand corner of the door. It buzzed and
zipped upward and sped around the door frame. By the time it
reached the lower right side, the door had completely vanished.

“Thank you, Atoh,” Ultara mumbled.

“Good night, Vritesse.” Gracielle bowed and
they went their separate ways.

Gracielle slowly made her way to the Grand
Dining Hall where Jonathan was waiting for her outside the door. As
soon as he saw her he moved to meet her; as he got closer a look of
concern grew across his face. “Graci, what is it? What happened to
you?” She was pale and covered in dust and dirt.

The reality of the day’s events suddenly hit
her hard. All at once she felt dizzy and sick. She tried to steady
herself against a nearby wall but was still having difficulty
standing. “It . . . It's the vritesse, Jonathan,” she panted.
“Anika attacked her. They’re both . . .” Her knees buckled and she
slumped over. “dead.” Jonathan barely caught her before she hit the
floor.

Her collapse was witnessed by Atoc Cristoph
and Ator Jocelynne who had just come around the corner by the
dining hall. “What's wrong?” Cristoph shouted as they hurried
toward them.

Jonathan held Gracielle tightly. “She says
that Anika attacked Lantalia and they've both been killed!”

Jocelynne gasped and both she and Cristoph
froze in place.

Gracielle babbled, “Lantalia called Ultara .
. . downstairs . . . sending for the bodies . . . the council will
need to . . . .” Her eyes fluttered; she took a deep breath and
seemed to regain a little of her strength.

Jonathan, who was still concerned, however,
looked at his father and shouted, “Can you get the doctor? I'll
take her to our room.”

Cristoph nodded and he and Jocelynne rushed
away.

Jonathan helped Gracielle down the
hallway.

When they were almost at the end of it, he
reached out to a beautifully carved wooden door and pushed it open.
“Come on, Love, you need rest,” he insisted as he led her towards
the bed.

“I . . . I think I'm okay now, Jonathan,”
she assured. “A lot has happened today. I was just overwhelmed.”
She sat down on the bed, gazed into space, and then blurted
matter-of-factly, “Oh, and Jonathan . . . I'm pregnant.”

He stared at her for a few seconds and then
mumbled a feeble, “What?”

She exhibited no emotion whatsoever. “We're
going to have a baby.”

Jonathan paced for a moment and then asked
soberly, “And if it's a son?”

“It’s not going to be a son, Jonathan. It’s
a girl,” she replied.

“I understand it usually happens that way
for Trysta Heiresses, but . . .”

Gracielle stopped him. “No, Jonathan, this
has nothing to do with me being a Trysta Heiress. I've been told
that it's a girl.”

“Told? Who could’ve told you? Nobody
would’ve. . . . ”

Just then, there was a knock at the
door.

“Come in,” Gracielle answered, relieved
that—at least for the moment—she wasn’t going to have to give
further details.

A tall, slender man entered the room with
Atoc Cristoph.

“Oh hello, Doctor,” Gracielle welcomed with
a forced smile.

The doctor walked over and put his hand on
her shoulder. “Good evening, Atoh. I'm so sorry to hear about your
mother.”

“Thank you, Michelan.”

She leaned forward and gave him a hug.

“And thank you for coming, although I’m sure
I'm all right now. It's just been a hard day; I let it get to
me.”

The doctor frowned. “Of course, but I would
feel much better if you'd let me take a look. I'd like to make sure
both you and the baby are okay.”

Cristoph looked questioningly at Jonathan
who smiled and shrugged his shoulders. “We'll be outside.”

He put his arm around his father and led him
out of the room.

Jocelynne came walking down the hall toward
them. Her eyes were red and her cheeks were splotchy; she'd
obviously been crying.

“They've taken them,” she sighed.

Cristoph embraced his wife, and no one said
anything for a few minutes.

Finally, it was Cristoph who broke the
silence, “I think our son has something to tell us, Jocey.”

Jocelynne sniffled and looked at Jonathan,
who gently embraced her. “Gracielle and I are having a baby.”

A knowing smile crept across Jocelynne’s
face. “Of course . . . I should have realized. She hasn’t been
herself lately.”

She was giving Jonathan another squeeze as
the door to the room opened and Dr. Michelan peered out. “We're all
finished in here. Everything looks fine,” he assured.

Jonathan sighed with relief and he, and his
parents, stepped back into the room.

For the next couple of hours, Gracielle,
Jonathan, Doctor Michelan, Jocelynne and Cristoph all sat in the
room and talked. They spoke fondly of Lantalia and Anika and
contemplated what Jonathan and Gracielle's child would be like.
They discussed Ultara’s appointment, and debated over when they
should call the council together to make it official.

“Are you sure it's not too soon?” Jocelynne
questioned, when Cristoph suggested that the council convene the
following afternoon.

“Ultara has already been called,” he
answered. “She needs to receive the powers as soon as possible. It
may be difficult, but I don't think we can put it off.”

“But Ultara can go to the Caverns and get
the powers herself,” Gracielle argued. “The Council meeting is just
a formality. Couldn’t we hold the meeting after things have settled
down?”

Cristoph leaned back in his chair. “Yes, my
dear, I suppose we could. But I think that making these changes
with minimal disruption to our traditions may help people feel more
secure; it’ll help them come to terms with this tragedy more
quickly. Familiarity is comforting, you know.”

Jonathan and Jocelynne nodded in
agreement.

“I suppose that's true,” Gracielle
concurred.

“I'll make the arrangements and get the
message out tonight,” Jonathan offered.

Cristoph patted him on the back. “Thank you,
son. I think we should go now. Your entrusted looks as though she
could use some rest.”

Doctor Michelan stood from the green wing
chair in which he'd been sitting. “I believe you're right, Atoc,”
he agreed.

They said their goodbyes and the doctor,
Cristoph, and Jocelynne all left.

“Will you be okay while I prepare for the
council meeting, Graci?” Jonathan asked.

“Of course I will,” she grimaced. “I'll
probably just go to bed.”

Jonathan kissed her on the cheek and headed
toward the door. “Okay, Love. I'll be back in awhile.”

Gracielle changed into her pajamas and got
ready for bed, but didn't feel much like sleep. She felt edgy and
restless. There was no way she was going to be able to sleep with
everything that was bouncing around in her head. She curled up in a
large, dark green chair, and tried to read for a while but finally
ended up just staring out the window at the reflection of the full
moon sparkling on the surface of Mystad Lake. “Goodbye, beloved
vritesse,” she mumbled as tears welled in her eyes, and then flowed
unchecked down her cheeks. “Goodbye, beloved mother,”

In the meantime, Jonathan had dispatched
messengers to all of the chief council members telling them of the
next day's meeting. He was updating Cristoph in a small, simply
furnished sitting room, when there was a faint knock on the
door.

A portly, young servant with a ruddy
complexion and dishwater blond hair poked his head around the door.
He cleared his throat and announced, “Atoc, Aton, Darian of
Brashnell to see you, sirs.”

“Thank you, Phillip,” Cristoph replied.
“Tell him to come in.”

Phillip bowed as a charismatic man with
strong, masculine features and long dark hair came through the door
and confidently strode toward them. He lowered to one knee and
humbly apologized for the intrusion.

“Good Evening Atoc . . . Aton, I would have
never dreamed of disturbing you at this hour, but I have some very
alarming news.”

He looked up at Cristoph with eyes of pure
black, except for the small orange, blue, and white fires that
crackled where most people's pupils were.

Cristoph signaled for him to stand.
“Alarming, Darian?” he questioned.

Darian rose from his knee. “Yes, Sire, I
don't even know where to begin. I'm sure that it must seem bold of
me to be bothering you in light of recent events, but I'm afraid
that this cannot wait.”

“What is it, Darian?” Cristoph glanced over
at Jonathan who was glaring at their visitor. He had never gotten
along with Darian of Brashnell.

Darian explained, “I'm sure that you know
that Ultara and I are not on—shall we say—the best of terms.”

Cristoph raised an eyebrow and tilted his
head.

“Because of this unfortunate fact, I've
found it helpful over these years to keep some close Trysta
friends.”

“Friends? You mean spies,” Jonathan chimed
in cynically.

“I suppose,” Darian smiled as the fires in
his eyes seemed to grow larger. “That would be one way of looking
at it.”

“And what alarming news
have your
friends
brought
you?” Cristoph
asked.

“Sire, when Ultara and I were still
together, we—I am ashamed to admit it now—but we were plotting to
overthrow the government and rule Lor Mandela together. The plan
was to wait until she became vritesse. With her ruling the Trystas
and my position in Brashnell, we would be able to gain control over
Mandela City easily.”

“Why are you telling me this now, Darian?”
Cristoph barked. Clearly, his level of irritation was rising.

Jonathan was beyond irritated and glared
viciously at Darian.

“Atoc,” Darian continued, “this was at least
fifteen years ago. Please believe me. It is all in the past.” He
lowered his voice slightly and added, “At least it is for me.”

“What do you mean?” Jonathan insisted.

Darian smiled condescendingly at Jonathan.
“Well, Aton, my friend Omer, who is of course a Trysta, came to me
just a few hours ago and said that he overheard Ultara talking to
her advisor. She said that the waiting was over, and that the time
had finally come for her to gain control of Lor Mandela. He informs
me that she is planning some sort of attack, and very soon.”

“Why should we believe you? Ultara has
always been our friend!” Jonathan snipped.

“My dear, Aton,” Darian’s respect was
clearly feigned. “I know that many people do not trust me. Indeed,
you have no reason to trust or, in fact, to even like me, but as I
see it, whether we care for each other or not, we are in this one
together.

“Ultara is cunning and she loves power. If
she sees a way to get it . . . well, let's just say that it doesn't
matter who's in her way.”

He turned his attention to Cristoph and
continued. “Omer didn't know who the attack was going to be on,
Atoc—just that it was either your family or mine.” The flames in
his eyes flickered wildly. “If we are ready—and help each other by
keeping a watchful eye—it will surely benefit us both.”

He shot Jonathan another contrived smile,
then added, “Perhaps I have been misinformed, but if not, it
behooves us all to be on our guard.”

Cristoph nodded
thoughtfully. “Of course. Thank you, Darian. Let us hope you
were
misinformed.”

Darian bowed humbly and then strutted out of
the room.

Jonathan barely waited for him to get out
the door. “Well? What do you make of that?”

“I don't know,” Cristoph answered. “Ultara
has always been kind to us.”

“And Darian is known for being . . . what's
the word . . . um . . . deceitful?” Jonathan added. His tone was
heavily bitter.

“Jonathan, this is not the first time I’ve
been warned about Ultara.”

Jonathan’s surprise was apparent.

“Lantalia told me that
Ultara should be watched carefully. It shocked me when I heard it.
It shocked me tonight when Gracielle said that Lantalia had
called
her
as the
new vritesse.” Cristoph looked his son squarely in the eye.
“Darian's right, though. We need to be alert. Anything unusual is
to be reported, understand?”