Judd and his companions were moved to the room where they had been introduced to King Rocheveron the day before. Cleric Rodel, Captain Chael and the Fort Mavour soldiers had not accompanied them but where they were was not in the forefront of any of their minds. Judd sat on one of the windowsills, leaning against the frame, arms folded, gazing into the royal gardens. Caste was on a chair, almost entirely still, only his eyes blinking frequently and his lips moving silently. Verne was at the mantlepiece above the fireplace, long fingers tracing around the base of the vases, tapping on the dustless shelf, shaking his head now and then. Suvau studied all of their states, calm and solid like an anchor in a storm. Giordi was the most restless, pacing back and forth, talking to himself.


    He had paused long enough to accept some refreshments of wine and sweet cakes from a servant who had no news to give them except that they were bade to wait until called upon. However, despite the wine having a heady aroma and the sweet cakes, glazed with delicate sugar flowers and thick, vanilla icing, Giordi continued to pace, wine undrunk and cake, uneaten.


    “It’s…it’s incredible to think that this entire time, we had the daughter of King Rocheveron wandering the wilds with us! And not once,” he leaned towards Verne, “not once did she let on!”


    “You’ve already said this.” Verne squeezed the bridge of his nose and grimaced.


    “Yes but it’s worth repeating! To imagine that she was hiding in the village, coaxed out into the length and breadth of Terra, even as far as the south and yet she never said, never used her influence…it’s unbelievable!” He went to take a bite of his cake then put it down, distracted by another thought. “Perhaps she has amnesia and forgot about her life here…and the blow Rodel dealt her restored her memory…but then why did she not warn Chael or the soldiers? Was she hoping that they would be served an alarming justice for striking the only surviving child of Rocheveron?” He shook his head, raising his glass to his lips then set it on a table, not even looking at where it was perched. Suvau lunged forward to keep it from plummeting to the ground, its aubergine shade undoubtedly able to permanently stain the plush white carpet. “No, that does not ring true. Aalis, I mean, Genovieve, never demonstrated any kind of petty or malicious behaviour, unless of course that was her Aalis persona and not Princess Genovieve’s…”


    “For the love of Terra, shut the Maul up!” Verne snapped. Giordi stopped, stunned. Verne faltered as though unsure as to why he’d erupted. “I…I mean…”


    “I was just thinking out loud.” Giordi said in less of a protest and more of a confession. Verne closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead.


    “I…have no answers for you.”


    “Can I ask,” Suvau’s deep voice rumbled with a kind of calming weight that caught most of their attentions, “who is Genovieve?”


    They all looked at each other. Verne shrugged. “If we hardly knew who she was, it’s unfair to expect Suvau to know when Terras kept his people in the dark.”


    “Genovieve was, is, the daughter of King Rocheveron,” Caste explained, “twin sister to Nicolin who was the heir to the throne.”


    “Was?”


    “He died in his sleep four, nearly five years ago.” Caste clucked his tongue. “Perhaps a week later, Genovieve was pronounced dead of the same malady that killed her brother.”


    Suvau nodded. “So…who is Aalis?”


    They were all silent for a moment. Shadows danced across the soft hues of the room, cast by the long reaching branches of trees, their jagged leaves waving in the breeze.


    “King Rocheveron believes her to be his daughter.”


    “Yes…but what do you think, Caste?” Giordi asked, sitting on the chair near the deacon as he had been promoted to being, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. “Surely you must have an opinion on the matter?”


    “The Order of the Grail is not known for its mistakes,” Caste faltered, swallowing, “however, it has come to light that not all their decisions are without fault.”


    Giordi frowned. “So is she or isn’t she?”


    “I think she is.” Verne glanced at them, turning to lean against the wall, folding his arms. “Certain things she said…the way her past was always obscured…the way she speaks…”


    “No contractions?” Verne nodded. Giordi sighed. “I noticed that too. For all the shift in language, it’s hard to change fundamental training.” He shook his head and stood up. “It’s just so unbelievable. I mean…how did the Order get it so wrong?”


    “What of physicians? Of servants?” Suvau asked urgently. “Surely her father would have laid eyes on his child before she was buried.”


    “She wasn’t buried.” Caste explained. “She was cremated.”


    Suvau frowned. “Is that normal? In the south we cremate any dead. Monsters have been known to dig up graves and disturb burial plots. I did not think Astaril would be so restricted.”


    “Special permission was given for her to be cremated as she was so far away and transporting a body such a great distance was not appropriate.”


    “I don’t understand.”


    “The princess was declared dead and cremated in Fort Verion,” Judd said suddenly from the windowsill, arresting all of their attentions as he swivelled around to face them, his face pale but calm, “where she was in the care of her husband, Sir Garo Rylan.”


    With his final three words, Judd managed to suck the air out of the room. They stood in the void, agape and frozen, trying to comprehend what he had said.


    “She’s married?” Judd nodded, swallowing. Verne floundered. “Sir Rylan…he’s the one who started your knighthood quest?”


    “Started, founded…he was supposed to knight me himself.” Judd shrugged helplessly.


    “Married to Sir Garo Rylan…” Giordi’s eyes widened before they closed and he shook his head. “Oh Judd…the vow!”


    Judd nodded while the others looked on, confused. “I thought of that.”


    “Thought of what?” Caste asked.


    “Aalis kept saying that her journey ended when I returned her to her village. That’s the vow we made at the very beginning. When I…” Judd swallowed. “When I told her how I felt about her, she kept talking about how she could not break her vow…”


    “She meant her vow to love no other than Sir Garo Rylan.”


    Everyone knew he had to be in so much pain yet they could not stop themselves from staring at him.


    “Judd…” Verne breathed. “Judd, what will you do?”


    “I don’t know.”


    Nobody knew what to say. Each of them were consumed with their own thoughts and concerns.


    Giordi grimaced. “Not to pile onto the issue at hand…but is anyone else concerned that we were followed by soldiers from Mavour?”


    Suvau looked at him. “You’re thinking, did they see us at the nomad camp?”


    “More to the point, did they see Mauls at the nomad camp?”


    If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    “I confess, that was my immediate reaction.”


    “Chael seemed surprised to see you.” Verne tapped his teeth together. “That’s got to be of some comfort…”


    “I doubt Chael would talk to me at the moment.” Judd admitted, folding his arms.


    “Yeah but where is he now?” Giordi shrugged. “Chael could use a friendly face while behind bars.”


    “I could be joining him.” Judd pointed out then they all stood up as the door to the door swung open and King Rocheveron entered. Judd immediately began to approach him. “Your Majesty, I…”


    “Judd LaMogre,” Rocheveron grasped Judd’s hand and almost knelt before him, “please allow me to kiss your hand, the man who restored my daughter to me.” He did so, Judd feeling the touch of tears as the King bestowed an honour reserved for the greatest of heroes. King Rocheveron stood up, giddy and weepy at the same time as though he was drunk on joy. “You have given this heart, weary and aged, reason to be joyful once more. Whatever it is you ask of me, I would gladly give it.”


    Judd swallowed and drew his fingers out of Rocheveron’s grasp. “Your Majesty, while I am not insensible of your generosity, you ought to know that I had no inkling Aalis was your daughter.”


    “None of us did.” Giordi spoke up, making sure that Judd did not stand alone in his admission.


    “To accept that which you offer, even if it is praise alone, would be dishonest.” Judd added.


    King Rocheveron was not dissuaded in his appreciation and urged Judd to sit in a chair, sinking into one near it. “Is it not true that my beloved Genovieve was protected by you as she travelled Terra in your company?”


    Judd could not resist a small chuckle. “Actually, sometimes it was Aalis…forgive me, Genovieve, who protected us.”


    “Truly remarkable!” Rocheveron gushed. “She tells me that you faithfully returned her to where she had been found, fulfilling your promise to do so.”


    “Well…yes,” Judd stammered, “but I swear, if I had any notion that we were being followed, I would never have left Aal…Genovieve, vulnerable.”


    “None of us would.” Verne nodded.


    “The actions of Mavour’s cleric and captain were not your responsibility…but had you not interfered, I would have ordered the, so called, witch’s execution and seen only afterwards that it was, indeed, my beloved Genovieve.” Rocheveron’s cheeks became wet with tears, the horror of what had almost happened causing him to tremble with fear. “You defended my daughter and restored her to me. Please…ask it! Anything at all!”


    Judd glanced at the others, namely Giordi, hoping for a sign of encouragement or wisdom. He didn’t know how to correctly handle an emotional monarch. But even they looked bemused and somewhat alarmed. All except Suvau who, having the least the lose given he was already considered sub-human, sat on a footstool.


    “Why did you lie about your daughter’s death?”


    Rocheveron stiffened. Caste cleared his throat, aiming it at Suvau then quickly continued the thought.


    “She was supposedly cremated yet she is here…unless there is a possibility Aalis is not Genovieve?”


    “There can be no mistaking her.” Rocheveron returned strongly. “Those lavender eyes are passed down from the line of Andigre and Grail through the female lineage. Even when only sons have been borne, even two or three generations might pass but the moment a daughter is born, she always has those eyes. Viene, my beloved wife, was a descendant. I,” he sighed sadly, “I am simply king by default, married into the family because I possessed a secondary and much fainter connection to the throne through my mother’s lineage. This girl you know as Aalis can only be Genovieve.” He swallowed and nodded, leaning back against the chair. “But you are right to inquire for the lie must now be exposed.” Everyone sat down to listen to the old man’s tale. “My Nicolin was robust and healthy and everything I hoped for in a future king. I knew I could pass the throne of Astaril onto him with confidence. It was my comfort after Viene died for we had struggled to conceive for so long. Genovieve…while no less a child of mine, was not as strong as her brother. She suffered terribly as a child. We…thought…”


    “Aalis talked about how she thought she was insane.” Verne offered gently.


    “I see she trusted you with her childhood trauma.” Rocheveron sighed. “She was as pale as milk, her hair as black as a raven’s feather with luminous lavender eyes, endlessly plagued by nightmares until she was little more than a ghost. I heard someone call her the spectre of Astaril. But when she grew older, the nightmares and voices in her head lessened.”


    “Did you ever think that she might have been tainted?” Caste asked tentatively.


    “It was talked of much by Peele and the Archdeacons.” Rocheveron nodded. “However, there was no physical evidence and then, as the voices quietened, her health began to improve. She was not robust but there was hope that she might live a spinster life…until Sir Rylan fell in love with her.” Judd felt everyone try not to look at him as Rocheveron continued. “I was surprised by the strength of his ardour. I would not have let Genovieve marry anyone she did not love but she welcomed his proposal, incandescent in love. After the wedding, she left Astaril to live with Sir Rylan in Fort Verion until word was sent of Nicolin’s death.” Rocheveron paused, his jaw trembling as the emotion of the memory returned sharply. “Then I was told that my beloved Genovieve…”


    “Died of the same malady?”


    “No,” Rocheveron shook his head, “my daughter, upon reading of her brother’s death, was so overcome with grief she drank herself into a haze, took herself to the top of the wall and threw herself into Maul.”


    The day, so bright and cheerful dulled in the wake following Rocheveron’s confession.


    Caste frowned. “But…the Order…Sir Rylan’s cleric…”


    “It was all a lie.” The King stated brokenly. “Bishop Peele and the Archdeacons felt it was the best way to soften the blow, to have Genovieve’s death likened to Nicolin’s demise, the unknown cause attributed to their being twins.”


    “The Order felt it best…to lie?” Caste’s tone was brittle. He felt Suvau’s hand on his shoulder, like he was extinguishing the flame of a candle, smothering the deacon’s temper before it flared up.


    “I was sodden with grief,” Rocheveron croaked, “my beautiful son dead and with no explanation and even as I began to rise from the haze, I received word of Genovieve’s terrible act and had a stroke.”


    They all sat up, stunned. “That was never admitted.” Judd paused, thinking. “You did not make public appearances for a time but no one ever thought…”


    “The Order covered it all up,” Rocheveron reassured him, “my stroke, the truth behind the death of Genovieve and the way in which to conceal the fact that there was no body to intern.”


    “Her urn is just filled with ash scraped from a hearth?”


    “I suspect so.”


    Caste looked like he was the one about to suffer a stroke.


    “I suppose the Order also wanted to protect Sir Rylan’s reputation.” Verne remarked and Rocheveron nodded.


    “He would have become King, just as I did, as we married into the Andigre/Grail lineage. After Genovieve’s death I believe Bishop Peele and the Archdeacons discussed, at length, the best person to succeed me upon my death. In the end, it was Sir Garo Rylan. He commands the loyalty of the fort knights and their soldiers.”


    “Sounds like more of a threat than a prodigy.” Giordi murmured.


    “Nicolin could have handled him,” Rocheveron heard the minstrel and answered him firmly, “Garo and Nicolin were friends despite the age difference of ten years. Nicolin did not want to leave the defence of the south only to the southern forts. He was aware of the amount of power those forts command and wished to distribute and rotate it. He had such plans for a truly united Terra. I hope Sir Rylan will be like minded in his plans for the future.”


    “Your Majesty,” Caste raised one hand slightly, “did Genovieve tell you how she survived Maul, if she even went over the wall at all?”


    “She would not say and there were other more pressing concerns, most of which concerned you and her adamant insistence that you were her protector.” Rocheveron gestured to Judd. “I hope to hear more of her story, of what happened to her and why her hair is…”


    “Dreadlocks?”


    “White.” He shook his head. “But all of those are inconsequential. My daughter has returned from beyond the wall of Maul, beyond death itself.”


    Judd grimaced. “You are not concerned about her being called a witch?”


    “They could call her the mother of Maul and I would defend Genovieve.” Rocheveron stood up. “I would defy even the Order of the Grail, had she been condemned by Bishop Peele himself.”


    “Your Majesty?” There was a soft knock on the door and a maid curtseyed. “King Rocheveron, Princess Genovieve wishes to speak with yourself and Judd LaMogre and company. She was quite insistent.”


    “Of course she may visit as long as she is strong enough.” King Rocheveron stood up and looked over the room as the maid hurried away, Archdeacon Adamis taking her place. “We will need to organise a great celebration for Genovieve. Adamis, you can inform Bishop Peele yourself.”


    “Your Majesty, before we make any hasty announcements…”


    “And I will not hear any word about expense. It is not every day someone you love is returned to you.” Rocheveron placed cushion on a chair then another then shook his head, taking it away and brushing invisible dust from its velvet seat. “We should declare a national holiday!”


    “We should confer with the other Archdeacons and the Bishop first…”


    “I’m surprised you’re not more overcome with joy yourself, Adamis,” Caste said, standing up, “after all, Genovieve represents the continuation of the line of Andigre and Grail. Without it, the Order doesn’t stand for much at all.”


    Archdeacon Adamis turned on Caste with fire in his eyes. “The Order has existed for hundreds of years, passing knowledge and truth down from generation to generation, not of blood but of those who are worthy to be counted as one of its officers. It is the true legacy of Andigre.”


    “Or is it just possible that you’re a little worried about how to people are going to react when they find out the infallible, irreproachable, utterly trustworthy Order of the Grail has lied to them, not once but several times.” Caste challenged. Verne, Giordi and Suvau glanced at each other, raising eyebrows and smothering smirks as Adamis seethed at his much shorter fellow officer.


    “Do not let this promotion to deacon go to your head. I am still your superior!”


    “Yes you are but let me assure you, in order to smooth over the outrage of the way in which the Order has manipulated and lied and deceived the people of Astaril, let alone all of Terra, you will need the superior flair and exaggeration of minstrel Giordi Gavoli.”


    “I am for hire.” Giordi chuckled, bowing.


    “You pretentious upstart! How dare you?”


    “I dare because I am a pedantic, neurotic perfectionist.” Caste replied and Adamis recoiled slightly, suddenly afraid of what else Caste might say.