WeatherMaker Hearts Desire Prologue
Chapter 53: The Tower

Amaia felt a jolt in her heart. She and White Feather shared a look of shock, both in utter disbelief.

‘What?’ Amaia gasped.

‘I am your father’ Tristan repeated.

‘But…why…how? I don’t understand.’

Tristan indicated the table beside them.

‘I think we should sit and talk’ he said.

At that exact moment, the double doors opened again, and a woman came striding in. The beautiful woman was wearing a low cut dress with confidence, and colours that were vibrant and bold, speaking volumes. Her blond hair was tied up, showing off her swan-like neck, around which she wore the most beautiful jewellery.

Tristan’s expression immediately darkened at the sight of her, and Amaia noticed his demeanour change, his brows knitted together as he glowered.

‘My my’ the woman said as she sailed into the room, a small black haired woman scurrying by her side. By the look of her simple dress, she was a servant. ‘What a splendid gathering’ the woman said, unable to see White Feather who had made himself invisible again, just in time as the doors had opened. ‘I must say I was quite saddened to replace that I was not invited.’

‘Amaia’ Tristan said through gritted teeth. ‘This is Olithia. My wife.’

They sat at the table together, Amaia glancing from one to the other. The man, who claimed to be her father; and the woman that Amaia presumed, would claim to be her mother.

‘So I suppose I have a lot I should explain to you’ Tristan began.

Across the table from him Olithia knitted her fingers together, resting her chin on her hands as she leant forwards with elbows on the table.

‘Are you really my father?’ Amaia asked.

‘Yes’ Tristan spoke slowly, nodding once.

Across the table from him, Olithia smiled.

‘But my father is called Farrell, and my mother…’ Amaia’s eyes lowered. ‘She was called Ramana.’

‘No’ Tristan said, ‘Farrell is not your father. I am.’

Across the table, Olithia’s smile widened.

‘But how can that be true?’ Amaia asked him.

White Feather who was sitting on top of the table with his legs crossed and leaning back on his palm, watched Tristan closely, with mistrust clear in his expression.

‘I suppose I should start from the beginning, from your birth….no, it was before that.’ Tristan leant back in his seat, staring at the ceiling in thought. ‘My mother, she became very ill. She slipped into a coma about……..’ he bit his lip in thought. ‘Thirty years ago? Thirty two years ago I think?’ he faced Amaia again. ’No one knows what’s wrong with her; it’s as if she’s under a spell of some kind. She looks as if she were only sleeping, never aging, never waking, since the first day she began her long rest. I don’t know if she will ever wake, but I miss her terribly.’ Tristan sighed forlorn. ‘I know you too have lost your mother’ he said to Amaia, ‘it is a horrible thing to endure. There has not been a single healer in the lands that has been able to help her. My father, the king, he has a lot of influence, but even he, even after all these long years, has not been able to replace anyone who can help her, or who even knows what’s wrong.’ Tristan clenched his jaw. ‘My father loves my mother dearly, and even to this day he has not stopped trying to save her.’

‘That is a very sad story’ Amaia said. ‘But I don’t understand what that has to do with me.’

‘I will explain. My father, some time ago, after he had exhausted every other means to help his wife by any healer that exists, moved onto Weather Makers. His wife, my mother, is a Weather Maker. My father believes that another Weather Maker would be able to help her.’

‘Why?’ Amaia asked.

‘There is no reason he should think this’ Tristan said. ’He has been driven mad over the years by grief over his loss. He is not prepared to accept the possibility that his wife may never wake, so has been driven to do anything, that might work. So far nothing has, no matter how many Weather Makers have been brought before him. It seems that there is no one on this earth that can help her, but he is not willing to accept this, no matter how many times I have tried to explain or reason with him. He refuses to see what he is doing, he refuses to even listen. It has been so frustrating for me, like trying to stop the wind blowing using only words. After several years I gave up trying.’ Upon the table White Feather listened closely to this, remaining in utter silence and invisible to all but Amaia. ‘I miss her so much’ Tristan went on. ‘When it first happened I felt a physical ache in my heart, which now…years later has become only a dull throb. Though I feel I will never fully recover from losing her. We were very close. ’ Tristan went silent for a moment as he thought of his mother the queen. ‘I saw so many Weather Makers come and go over the years. The ones brought before my father, taken from their homes and families. I never found out what happened to them after my father had seen them, I felt so terrible for them being taken away like that. But there was little I could do to save them.’ Tristan glanced towards Amaia again. ‘I am the thirteenth son of my father. There is very little chance of me ever reaching the throne, but I don’t care for such thing anyway, I only care for my children. When you, our second child was born’ he said, glancing for the briefest of moments towards Olithia, who remained silently smiling, ‘it was one of the happiest days for me. ’

‘I have a sibling?’ Amaia asked.

‘You do’ Tristan acknowledged quickly before getting back to topic. ‘But my deepest fears were realised, when I saw the birthmark on your body.’

‘What birthmark?’

‘It fades after only a few hours, but my mother had it when she was born, as did every Weather Maker I have ever spoken to. But’ Tristan continued, ‘I had prepared for this. My mother was a Weather Maker, so I realised there was a chance of one of my children being so too. I didn’t want any harm to come to my children, I have watched so many other Weather Makers go missing after the king has learnt of their existence and taken them from their families. I didn’t want the same to happen to you, and so I hid you. Over the months before your birth, I sent out numerous soldiers, only my most trusted men, to watch over several women who were at the same stage of pregnancy as Olithia. And when Ramana began to go into labour, the soldier that was watching her, sent a message by falcon, it was the fastest way. I was in the town within an hour of the baby being born. It was stillborn. Ramana was devastated to say the least. When a mysterious stranger appeared offering her a newborn baby, she was more than willing to accept.’

‘But why didn’t she every tell me?’ Amaia asked.

‘Maybe she intended to one day’ Tristan replied. ‘But you were still very young when she was killed; perhaps she intended to wait until you were mature, when you would fully understand.’

Amaia lowered her head, tears welling up. Before her sitting on the table White Feather remained impassive.

‘I miss her so desperately’ Amaia whispered. ‘I wish there was a way I could see her again.’

Tristan opened his mouth, but before he could speak Olithia interrupted.

‘That is a nice little story my dear husband.’ He gritted his teeth as she spoke, a vein in his temple pulsing. ’It was so convenient for you to appear at just the right moment to give this woman her new baby.’

‘What do you mean?’ Amaia asked her tentatively.

’What I’m saying is that I never birthed you. You are not my daughter. My daughter was the one that was stillborn.’

Amaia glanced toward Tristan uncertainly.

‘Olithia has never gotten over the loss of her daughter’ Tristan explained waving a hand dismissively at his wife, and speaking as if she wasn’t there. ‘Just like my father chooses to believe my mother can be saved, Olithia chose to believe her daughter was stillborn rather than live with the knowledge that someone else was raising her child. She is’ Tristan went on, ‘selfish, and possessive.’

Rather than being insulted by these quips, Olithia seemed to relish in them as she smiled even wider.

‘It was too risky for us to see you’ Tristan said, ‘it would only have caused complications and unwanted questions. So we left you there, growing up to believe Farrell and Ramana were your parents. It was the best thing I could do to protect you. But that day you used magic, I realised you were in danger.’

‘How do you know about that?’ Amaia asked.

‘Every single day, there would be someone watching over you on my command, for your safety of course. To protect you. I only regret that I was unable to reach you in time, because on that day there was another who saw you use magic…one of my father’s men. I rode to the town as soon as I heard. I was able to save you from my father’s men, but I was too late to save Ramana. I’m sorry.’

‘It makes sense now’ Amaia said. White Feather quickly glanced to her at this. ‘Those men who first took me were the king’s men. And the men who set the ambush to stop them, those were yours?’

‘Yes’ Tristan nodded. ‘That’s right.’

‘It’s funny how it took you so long to reach the town when Ramana was killed’ Olithia said loudly, ’but when Ramana was in labour, you arrived just in the nick of time.’

‘I was away the day Amaia was seen using magic’ Tristan replied, barely able to suppress his snarl. ’You know that. I arrived as fast as I could when I heard she was in danger.’

‘Oh’ Olithia replied curtly. ‘That’s….convenient.’

Tristan jerked his head away from her, teeth grinding and brow knitted together in irritation. She knew just how to get to him.

‘I’m afraid the truth is a lot simpler’ Olithia said speaking to Amaia now. ‘I had a stillborn girl. Tristan was so devastated that he began to obsess. He found a woman who had recently given birth to a baby girl, like the one he should have had, and in his mind he adopted her. On the day he saw you use magic, he realised what you were, a Weather Maker like his dear mother. A Weather Maker, just like the many other Weather Makers that were being captured by the king and ended up going missing forever. He began to panic. Why do you think it took so long for help to reach you? He had to ride all the way home, gather his men and ride all the way back. By that time his father the king who is far more resourceful, had already reached the town you grew up in. He was able to save you, but not your mother Ramana. When he saw that she was dead, he adopted you and brought you into this home’ she said indicating the building around them. ‘But he didn’t want to risk visiting you, because for years later since that day, his father the king has been suspicious of him, accusing him of attacking his men that day. But he was unable to prove it. Tristan has often voiced his disagreement in the past over what the king is doing, kidnapping Weather Makers across the land, and so was the first to fall under suspicion. And so he hid you’ Olithia concluded. ‘Not because you were his daughter, but simply to save a life. Just like the king chooses to believe his wife can be saved even after all these years, my husband chooses to believe that Ramana was the one who had a stillborn child, rather than live with the knowledge that our precious daughter had died before she had a chance to live. It was easier for him to live a fantasy than to face the truth. He is’ Olithia glanced at Tristan, ‘delusional, and naïve, thinking he can brush over the past and make the truth what he wants it to be.’ She smirked. ‘Like his father.’

‘Dam you woman’ Tristan snarled.

Olithia smirked again, rising from the table she turned to leave. ‘Oh’ she said pausing and speaking back to Amaia, ‘and he’s lying about the birthmark as well.’

She swiftly left the room then, followed by her submissive handmaid.

A short time later, Amaia was walking along the corridors through a part of the building she had not been to before. The doors had been opened for her, and she ventured forth. She came to a stop before a large painting set high up on the wall. She considered it for a moment, tilting her head at it.

‘I never liked that picture’ Tristan spoke, coming to stand behind her.

It was a painting of Tristan and Olithia standing together with their arms around each other, both smiling widely.

‘This was painted without either of us being present’ Tristan told her. ‘You have to understand’ he said turning to her, ‘I married her for political reasons, nothing more. She has been a curse upon me from the very first day I met her.’ He paused, glancing towards the painting again. ‘It hung in our home for only a few days; then I gave it to one of my soldiers to dispose of. I didn’t know he brought it here.’

Amaia couldn’t help thinking, as she stared up at the painting before her, how much it reminded her of the one that was painted of Farrell and Ramana and herself, all those years ago. She didn’t know if it made her feel better or worse seeing this painting, it just made her feel……strange, like none of this was really happening. She wondered, could it really be true what Tristan had said, and that Farrell and Ramana really were not her true parents?

She stared at the painting. There were no children in this one, only Tristan and Olithia, holding each other smiling.

Amaia let out a slight gasp of surprise as Tristan took her by the hand, walking with her away from the painting. He sighed deeply then, as if feeling a longing in his soul.

‘I’ve missed you so much’ he said. ‘I was never there for you, and no matter how hard I wish I could change things….’ He grasped her hand tighter, pausing and turning to her. ‘I’m sorry…’

Behind them White Feather watched silently.

‘I wish I had been there to watch you grow’ Tristan said. ‘My daughter…’ he stroked her cheek tenderly.

‘Is what you say all true?’ Amaia said. ‘Are you really my father, despite what Olithia says?’

‘She is nothing but a cruel and vicious liar’ Tristan spoke with a snarl. ‘She seems to take pleasure in seeing others suffer.’

‘That’s right’ White Feather voiced loudly from behind them. ’How can she possibly be Amaia’s mother?’

‘Children are not always like their parents’ Tristan said defensively to him. ‘Just take a look at my father. If he replaces out I’ve been hiding a Weather Maker from him…..I wouldn’t even feel confident to say that he wouldn’t kill me for it. Listen to me Amaia’ he said speaking to her again. ‘I want us to go away together…and catch up on the time we’ve lost.’

‘But what about my father? I mean…’ Amaia faltered.

‘Farrell is not your father’ Tristan said shaking his head.

Behind them, White Feather pursed his lips.

‘Just think about it’ Tristan said letting go of her hand, ‘Please.’

‘Alright…’

He backed off, walking away and leaving Amaia alone. He knew she needed time to think.

‘He’s lying’ White Feather said angrily the moment he was out of earshot.

‘How do you know?’ Amaia asked.

‘I’ve just got this gut feeling.’ White Feather balled his fists. ‘Call it instinct…call it what you want.’

‘Then why does he look like me?’ Amaia cried desperately. She hugged herself then. ‘Gods I’m so confused, have I been living a lie all this time?’

White Feather shrugged helplessly. ‘Some people just look like each other’ he offered. ‘There are enough people in this world for that to happen. And besides’ he added, ’he has blonde hair, so does Olithia. Yours is black. Like your mother’s. Like Ramana’s.’

‘But how did he know my name?’

‘There could be a thousand ways for him to replace that out.’

‘But…’ Amaia began to plead miserably. ‘I look like Olithia too.’

‘No’ White Feather shot at her, his tone aggressive. ‘You’re just doubting yourself. Their lies are causing you to see things that are not there. You’re being misled. You look like Ramana, your mother.’

‘How do you know her name?’ Amaia asked him meekly. ‘And how do you know what she looked like?’

‘There was a painting in your home’ White Feather explained. ’The home you grew up in. Your true home. The painting was of you, and your parents. Small writing at the bottom read each of your names. Farrell and Ramana with their daughter Amaia.’

‘I don’t know what to think anymore’ Amaia sobbed, turning away from him.

She gasped then, replaceing herself standing face to face with Olithia. Her sudden appearance had caught her off guard.

A slow smile spread across Olithia’s face. A predatory smile.

‘Hello’ she said. ’My daughter.’

Her sarcasm was not lost on Amaia.

‘Come sit with me’ Olithia said, herding Amaia over to a collection of low seats over by one of the windows.

Amaia sat nervously beside Olithia, feeling extremely uncomfortable. White Feather loomed around them, standing over the both of them like a silent ghost, invisible to Olithia.

‘You know’ Olithia began. ’It’s such a terrible thing that’s happening to these Weather Makers, them being hunted by the king and all. It would be such a terrible shame if the king found you. Maybe you should go off with Tristan, run away together.’ Her eyes crinkled at the edges. ‘How exciting.’

Amaia’s expression was blank as she listened. She was unable to speak.

‘I wouldn’t want to waste time though’ Olithia went on. ‘The Weather Makers that are caught by the king…suffer terrible ends…’ her voice trailed off. ‘He murders them you know’ she said causally. ‘When they don’t give him what he wants. When they fail to bring his wife back from her coma, the disappointment he suffers…the despair…’ she smiled. ‘They suffer…terribly.’

Amaia’s breath began to quicken, and her chest rose and fell sharply.

’The last Weather Maker died in the most horrible way. He ripped her spine from her body, and turned her inside out.’ Olithia leant forwards towards Amaia. ‘She was tortured for hours...that poor girl. Just think……that could happen to you.’

Amaia burst through the double doors, stumbling into the next room.

‘I have to get out of here’ she cried. ‘There’s no way that cruel beast could be my mother. I have to escape. I have to go home to my father…to Farrell.’

She rounded on White Feather, grabbing him by the shoulders and pulling him close.

‘You have to help me’ she pleaded shaking him. ‘You have to help me get out of here.’

White Feather did not pull away from her; instead he gave a firm nod. ‘I think there is something I can do to help. Just close your eyes.’

‘What?’

‘Trust me.’

Amaia took a deep breath. She let go of White Feather and closed her eyes.

She waited, then opened them again, and White Feather was gone.

‘White Feather?’ She asked tentatively. ‘Where are you?’

‘Right here’ came a voice.

She felt something touching her shoulder, glancing down she saw that it was White Feather. Now a size small enough to stand in the palm of her hand, he pushed her hair back, smiling up at her.

‘What do you think?’ he asked.

‘You’re so tiny.’

He fluttered through the air with his delicate wings. Amaia opened her hands allowing White Feather to land there.

‘I can use my small size to open one of the doors from the other side’ White Feather said. ‘We could escape together.’

‘We have to’ Amaia urged him. ‘I cannot stay here another moment.’

‘I couldn’t agree more. That door’ he said pointing to the one behind her. ‘I could unlock it from the other side.’

‘Do your magic’ she whispered to him.

White Feather took flight, darting through the air and growing even smaller as he did so, he slipped through the keyhole, disappearing from sight.

A few seconds later, there was a quiet click coming from door that had previously been locked. Amaia rushed forwards, pulling back momentarily. She reached out towards the handle, hesitated, then grabbed it, turning.

White Feather was waiting for her on the other side, having returned to his previous size, as tall as she was now.

‘Be careful’ he whispered to her. ‘There are many guards about.’

White Feather led the way, as they moved through the unfamiliar rooms one after the other. Amaia’s body shaking slightly as she followed in White Feather’s footsteps, her breath in shallow gasps and body tense.

‘There is a door’ White Feather whispered back at her as they crept along, ‘just around the corner’ he pointed. ‘It leads to the garden, from there we could…’

‘Hey!’ came a voice.

Amaia spun around, seeing a heavily armoured guard standing behind her in full sight.

‘Stay right where you are’ he ordered.

Amaia instantly bolted, tearing down the corridor around the corner and towards the door White Feather said would lead to the garden, but when she reached it, she found it locked.

‘No!’ she screamed banging on the wood in desperation. ‘Gods no!’

White Feather whirled around, seeing the guard coming up behind them. He threw his hand out, sending towards him a blinding white light. When it faded, the guard lay collapsed before him, and Amaia was gone.

‘Amaia?!’ he called after her, seconds later hearing the sound of another door slamming shut nearby. In her panic, she had run away.

He made after the noise, replaceing behind the door a spiral staircase that wound its way up a tower. He tore up the stairs Amaia had fled, chasing after her.

Amaia stood on the edge of the balcony. The wind this high up was cold and sharp, though not unpleasant on her skin. She had become flushed, exhausted from her trek running up the spiral stairs of the tower behind her. She had thought that she might escape this way, but her path had led only to this dead end.

But she did not despair. She could still escape.

‘Mother…’ she breathed. ‘I will see you again.’

She took a step forward, standing at the very the edge of the wall-less balcony. She tilted, just as she did so, White Feather appeared behind her. He cried out, running forwards to try to stop her. But he was far too late.

She plummeted, head first towards the ground. The last thing she saw was the wall of the tower she had climbed shooting past.

She hit the ground, and was killed instantly.

Her body was found shortly after, fallen in a bush. The leaves had concealed her as the twisting green vines wrapped themselves around her body, entangling her.

The soldiers had been the ones to replace her. One of them fought through the thick thorns, lifting her lifeless form in his arms and resting her upon the stone ground nearby.

Tristan ran through the garden, slowing to a stop and staring down at Amaia’s dead body.

‘I’m sorry your majesty’ the soldier that had carried her said. ‘She jumped. We could not reach her in time.’

Tristan raised his head to the tower, seeing above him a row of soldiers standing at the edge, looking down to the scene below. He searched, but Tristan could see no sign of White Feather. Perhaps he had chosen to remain invisible, or perhaps he had fled altogether.

He glanced behind him towards one of the windows, and saw his wife standing there looking back down at him. Her expression was vacant, and he could not read her emotions from what he saw. Perhaps she felt nothing.

‘My lord!’ the soldier who had carried Amaia gasped.

Tristan looked back at him.

‘Her body’ the soldier said. ‘It’s gone!’

Tristan lifted his eyes to the darkening sky, watching as the thick black clouds rolled above the lands.

‘No’ he spoke slowly. ‘She is still out there somewhere, and I will replace her.’