Haladras

Twenty-six

Skylar spun around to see from where the voice came. His mouth gaped in astonishment at what he saw. There stood before him the uncloaked figure of Lasseter, proud and erect as a king.

The rest of the council was blurred in Skylar's memory. The green flash of lightning in Lasseter's eyes and the silence that rent the clamor asunder were all that he recalled clearly. And Lasseter's words...they had echoed and re-echoed in his thoughts a thousand times.

I am King Athylian.

How could it be? Any moment he expected to awake from this dream. Lasseter—the king? His father?

Of how the Council meeting concluded he possessed only a vague idea. That none questioned Lasseter's claim, he felt certain. How could they? Standing there with his head held high, his jaw set as if hewn from stone, his voice booming like thunder and his eyes blazing with such fiery indignation, who could doubt him? No, all present knew it. Though some, to protect themselves might openly deny it.

Nothing pertinent remained to deliberate in the meeting. A call-to-arms was all that was needed. And to that they had yet to see how the Haladrians would respond.

He slept that night at home, in his own room, warm and comfortable in his own bed. Krom approved his visit home, provided Endrick stay close at hand. Now that his identity was public knowledge, there was no longer a need to hide from prying eyes.

As of yet he and Lasseter—his father—had not spoken. After the assembly, Lasseter was instantly swept away with matters of state, of raising an army and preparing for war. Skylar felt a mixture of relief and disappointment. He wanted to speak with Lasseter—to his father. Yet he didn't feel ready. What would he say to him now that he knew?

For now, Skylar felt content simply to be back at his home in the Gorge with his mother. He'd missed her more than he realized. They spoke little that night, both overcome with emotion at being together again and the weight of everything heavy on their minds.

In the morning, though, they spoke. Skylar felt more at ease and let loose his tongue, telling his mother of nearly all that had befallen him since he left, saving her only from the most harrowing moments. Of Grim's death he kept silent, though he wished to confide in her his deep sense of guilt and remorse. She listened to all with admirable composure.

"I'm so sorry, Sky," she said softly once he had finished his tale. "I'm sorry you had to find out about who you are the way you did. I'm sorry I couldn't protect you anymore—save you from all of this. And I'm sorry...for me...that I'm no longer needed."

She bowed her head and looked on the verge of tears.

"You needn't feel sorry. You did all you could. You are mother to me. Nothing will ever change that. I wish things had never changed, that I could go back to just being Skylar. I know now that's not possible."

She smiled, her eyes glistening with bated tears, and ruffled his hair with her hand.

"What happened to my boy? You left me scarcely a fortnight ago and you already seem ten years older."

"I don't feel older. Indeed, I've often felt younger than I am, unequal to the tasks required of me."

"Well...now you know the secret," she said with a smile. "True adulthood does not come with age, but acceptance of adult responsibilities. Few adults, I imagine, ever feel entirely equal to the difficult tasks sometimes laid upon them. It can make one feel young and inadequate, truly."

Skylar did not respond, but let his thoughts dwell over what his mother had said. Eventually his thoughts returned to Lasseter.

"Did you know about Lasseter?" he asked. "I mean, did you know he was really my father and not some former servant?"