The Poisoned Throne

Chapter 30

Raynor

Tibera did not appear suddenly from thick rain or morning mists; it was visible for an entire day, enticing the sailors on Raynor’s ship with its golden shoreline. The brilliant blue water sparkled in the sun, but as they drew closer, the reflections of a hundred suns in the windows of the Tiberan people far exceeded that of the ocean.

To step onto the docks of Tibera felt like returning home to a deep part of him. It was the same kingdom, or had been, as his childhood home, and it was the homestead of his family. Still, it did not fill him with the same peace as he hoped that returning to Westhall might.

After he had settled into his rooms in Lionhall and made sure that his soldiers had all been given quarters in the barracks or in holdfasts scattered around the castle, he went to visit the address given to him in Yasmine’s letter. He could barely recall what his friends from the early days of the People’s Choice looked like. In his mind, Yasmine had molded into a mix of her and Amalia, while Finn and Hans had somewhat morphed together; both had blonde hair and brown eyes… as far as he could recall.

The address was to a nice town home. The bricks were painted white and the windows blue, and yellow flowers grew in the pots outside. When he approached the door, he heard children’s laughter from inside. Perhaps I should leave, he thought. Perhaps it is best for everyone if I don’t interfere with their lives again.

He did knock, after drawing in a deep breath and collecting himself. After what seemed half an eternity but could have been two heartbeats, the door swung open. The smiling face he was met by was nothing like the one he had imagined; Yasmine’s eastern curls hung around her face wildly and her wrinkled brow glistened with sweat, but her eyes were full of the same laughter that had intrigued him years ago.

“Raynor,” she said.

Even her voice had changed - the way she said his name. She was no longer young and playful, but a mother. The child in her arms, no older than eighteen months, was a testament to that.

“Yasmine,” he breathed. “You’re…”

She raised the child in her arms in gesture. “A mom?”

He smiled. “Exactly.”

She let out a light laughter. “Come on in.”

He followed her into a small hall, with wooden steps leading to the upper floor and doors to the kitchen and the living room. It was all very Borghese and intellectual. As she called for Finn to come downstairs, Raynor peeked around the doorways. He was met by soft, heavy blankets and white embroidered curtains.

“I am so sorry,” Yasmine said, turning back to him. “We weren’t expecting company. Would you like tea?”

“Yes, tea would be…”

“Mommy!” a girl’s voice called out just as tapping steps entered the hall. The girl froze in the doorway, seeing the stranger.

Yasmine took hold of her neck affectionately and drew her close. “This is Isabella, our firstborn.” She looked down at her daughter. “Isabella, you know King Raynor.”

The girl blinked, nodded to herself, and then lowered herself carefully into a curtsey. “Your Grace,” she said.

“Oh, that’s really not necessary,” Raynor said. “Your mother and I are old friends.”

He looked up just in time to see Yasmine look down at her feet before Finn came running down the stairs. He stopped halfway down, stared at Raynor, then rushed the rest of the way down.

“Your Grace!” he exclaimed, drawing Raynor in for a hug, his hand slapping against Raynor’s shoulder all the time. “I thought I’d never see you again.”