“And all this time… you’ve known where I am from. Who my parents are.”
“Yes.”
Trystan glared at Emrys through watery eyes. “You’ve known I’ve been searching for them. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“It was for your own protection, Trystan. I couldn’t risk anyone knowing who you really are.”
“Does Noah know?”
“He knows little, for the same reasons.”
Trystan held Emrys’ somber, green gaze. “Are they still alive?”
“No,” Emrys whispered. “I couldn’t save them. Only you.”
Angry tears blurred Trystan’s vision, threatening to spill from his eyes. He willed them not to fall. He felt painfully deceived. His entire life as he knew it was a lie.
“I need to hear it. Tell me their names.” Trystan felt the answer coming, but asked all the same. He needed to hear the words.
“Arthur and Guinevere, the last king and queen of Camelot.”
Trystan opened his mouth to speak, but the words stuck in his throat. “I’m the lost heir.” His voice cracked, dropping to a rasping whisper.
Regret pooled in Emrys’ emerald eyes. “Yes.”
Without another word and with slow, deliberate movements, Trystan set his unfinished dragon and carving knife on the table in front of Emrys and walked away. He grabbed his bow and quiver and headed for the door.
“Trystan.”
Trystan pulled the door open and halted as a gust of wind whipped past him. Emrys drew near, his footsteps heavy behind him.
“You know it isn’t safe.”
Trystan threw a glare over his shoulder at Emrys, his eyes daring. Confident, Trystan turned and took one step forward. A firm hand on his shoulder stopped him.
Emrys stood beside him, silently asking him to stay inside.
Trystan looked up. Green eyes locked on his. Green eyes edged with fear, pleading.
Remnants of his dreams whispered to him.Myrddin will protect you.
Trystan closed his eyes, inhaling deeply, then opened them again. “I’m not weak.”
“I never said you were.”
“I need the truth, Emrys. All of it.”
“As soon as Marc returns, I promise, you will get it. He needs to hear it too.”
***
A storm blew in as night fell, and still Marc had not returned. In his chamber lit only by the glow of the flames, Trystan passed the time on the floor in front of the fire, carving and pressing intricate details of the dragon’s features into the wood.
It frustrated him to no end that Emrys still hadn’t told him anything more about his past. He didn’t understand the importance of Marc needing to hear it at the same time. He’d waited years to know the truth and come to find out, the one man he trusted more than anyone else in his life was keeping secrets from him. And Trystan hated it.
A horse whinnied in the distance, followed by the sound of hooves pounding on hard ground. Trystan paused his carving and listened. The horse stopped a short distance away. Silence.
Trystan abandoned his carving and hopped to his feet. He grabbed his bow and nocked an arrow against it. With long, quiet breaths, Trystan watched both the door and window.
