Diamant’s words were simple, yet weighty with a meaning that he did not know they carried. Merete listened carefully, knowing that she could not afford to miss a word. It seemed so entirely unlikely that this young stallion, the very first horse she had stopped to converse with since her return to the islands, could hold the key to the questions that floated around her mind, and yet with every word he spoke the evidence became more and more concrete. Inka. The name seemed to flick a switch in Merete’s mind. It was not a name she knew well, but it was indeed a name she knew. She was one a little older than Merete, about ready to leave home by the time Merete could remember, but she remembered the tall, dark mare who visited home often, and the cold comments Sterre would often make about her mother whenever she saw her. Merete had not been close to the mare – she had never been close to any of her siblings, save for Rook before she left – but for the purposes of this conversation that did not matter. Inka was from the Arch, so if she had known this boy’s parents, then they must have lived not just on Tinuvel, but in the Arch too. Merete’s eyes looked back into Diamant’s again, and she could see that it seemed impossible to deny who his father was, at least. Yet he was so young… was her father still around somewhere? But if he was, why was Inka raising his child – although sometimes harsh, she did not believe her father would not turn his own blood away. Merete dropped her eyes, her mind puzzling and a knot twisting and turning in her stomach. She was confused and conflicted. She was sure there were many half-siblings she was not aware of running around somewhere, but to find one here, so young and searching for the Arch as if he had been part of the dynasty all along… it was disorienting. And why didn’t he know his parents, or even their names? There were so many questions swimming around Merete’s mind, but for now all she could do was answer one of Diamant’s. “Het Vuur.” She said the word with such importance, as though it was something which explained itself. Indeed, there was a time when it would have. “He must be your father,” she explained, these words coming out more stumbling and uncertain than the first. They felt strange to speak, foreign and uncomfortable in Merete’s mouth. “Inka is my half-sister – our half-sister… You must be his… Those are his eyes.” She looked back into them, her own eyes searching, almost pained. Slowly, they drifted from his amber gaze to the star above them. “What did she tell you about your mother? Maybe… Maybe I knew her, too.” |