Tressa's Treasures (The King's Jewel Book 1) by Belinda M Gordon
Authors: Belinda M Gordon
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I groped for the arm of my chair to support the turmoil growing inside me.
Speculation regarding the likelihood of me fulfilling the King's Jewel Prophecy had dominated my entire youth. My people had adored and blessed me at first, but as time passed, they began to disparage me. It began to seem like the moment would never come when I would conceive and take the next step in becoming everyone's savior. Yet not once had I heard my grandmother remark on it, let alone make such a proclamation.
Mamó would never speak blithely about such a serious matter. She held my gaze with her own stoic stare, still managing to show empathy for my anxiety. She broke our connection and gazed out the window.
"Do you see the labyrinth out there?" She waved a graceful hand toward the garden. "Life is like that labyrinth, full of pathways that seem like the right way, but end up being detours. We go one way and then another until we find our true path."
"Aye, there certainly have been detours," I remarked sardonically.
"A few affairs with men who your grandfather and uncle thought of as politically advantageous was hardly the way to find your Anam Cara . You will find your way when the time is right."
I said nothing. I didn't know what to say. Arguing with Mamó was foolhardy—she was never wrong.
The weight of my race's deliverance pressed down on me, suffocating me. I gathered my strength, closed my eyes and pushed away the burden of their expectations.
My grandmother's attention wandered while I struggled with my thoughts, giving me some mental space. She appraised the food on the curate stand. After a moment of silence, Mamó patted the seat next to her on the sofa.
"Come sit next to me and have tea," she said gently.
I refilled her empty teacup and poured a cup for myself. When she waved off a fresh slice of lemon, I put it in my own cup instead. I dropped two lumps of sugar in each of our cups. Then I fixed a plate for each of us with two sandwich triangles. I cut a scone in half, spread cream on both sides and put one half on each plate.
I settled down in to the space next to her on the sofa. She sipped her tea and smiled approvingly.
"Did you see the child when you came in?" she asked.
This lighter topic was an unexpected and welcomed turn in the conversation.
"She's in the kitchen making cookies with JJ. They made the chocolate ones there." We both took a bite of chicken salad sandwich.
"Do you remember when I said that I had a feeling about her father—about Alexander?"
"Of course, Mamó."
She was quiet again, as if deciding how to continue. Her hesitation proved my first impression wrong; we weren't going to have a casual chat. Instead, she was weighing the consequences of telling me something important.
"Having 'a feeling' about someone isn't unusual for you, is it?" I said, encouraging her to continue.
"True enough. Actually, I get a feeling about everyone." She smiled ruefully. "Since I rarely ever explain what I mean by that, most fae conclude I have a vision, or some kind of second sight—a Darna Shealladh ."
"Well, don't you?"
"Not at all."
"Oh?" I picked up a second piece of sandwich, making sure my movement was smooth and natural, feigning a sense of calm. She was about to reveal something that, until now, she had kept deeply hidden.
"You are aware, of course, that I can see auras?"
I nodded.
"Everyone's aura is different. They can tell you a great deal about a person."
"Is it true that your aura shows the quality of your character?"
"Auras come in many colors. The shade of that color is what you are referring to."
"White for good and black for evil, like in storybooks?"
"Yes, essentially, but in reality they are normally shades of gray. Angels have the purest auras, so much so that they are difficult to look at. I saw one once. Her aura was so pure, so flawless that it burned my eyes to look upon her.
"Fallen angels are the opposite; only Lucifer himself could be more devoid of light. I've never
Speculation regarding the likelihood of me fulfilling the King's Jewel Prophecy had dominated my entire youth. My people had adored and blessed me at first, but as time passed, they began to disparage me. It began to seem like the moment would never come when I would conceive and take the next step in becoming everyone's savior. Yet not once had I heard my grandmother remark on it, let alone make such a proclamation.
Mamó would never speak blithely about such a serious matter. She held my gaze with her own stoic stare, still managing to show empathy for my anxiety. She broke our connection and gazed out the window.
"Do you see the labyrinth out there?" She waved a graceful hand toward the garden. "Life is like that labyrinth, full of pathways that seem like the right way, but end up being detours. We go one way and then another until we find our true path."
"Aye, there certainly have been detours," I remarked sardonically.
"A few affairs with men who your grandfather and uncle thought of as politically advantageous was hardly the way to find your Anam Cara . You will find your way when the time is right."
I said nothing. I didn't know what to say. Arguing with Mamó was foolhardy—she was never wrong.
The weight of my race's deliverance pressed down on me, suffocating me. I gathered my strength, closed my eyes and pushed away the burden of their expectations.
My grandmother's attention wandered while I struggled with my thoughts, giving me some mental space. She appraised the food on the curate stand. After a moment of silence, Mamó patted the seat next to her on the sofa.
"Come sit next to me and have tea," she said gently.
I refilled her empty teacup and poured a cup for myself. When she waved off a fresh slice of lemon, I put it in my own cup instead. I dropped two lumps of sugar in each of our cups. Then I fixed a plate for each of us with two sandwich triangles. I cut a scone in half, spread cream on both sides and put one half on each plate.
I settled down in to the space next to her on the sofa. She sipped her tea and smiled approvingly.
"Did you see the child when you came in?" she asked.
This lighter topic was an unexpected and welcomed turn in the conversation.
"She's in the kitchen making cookies with JJ. They made the chocolate ones there." We both took a bite of chicken salad sandwich.
"Do you remember when I said that I had a feeling about her father—about Alexander?"
"Of course, Mamó."
She was quiet again, as if deciding how to continue. Her hesitation proved my first impression wrong; we weren't going to have a casual chat. Instead, she was weighing the consequences of telling me something important.
"Having 'a feeling' about someone isn't unusual for you, is it?" I said, encouraging her to continue.
"True enough. Actually, I get a feeling about everyone." She smiled ruefully. "Since I rarely ever explain what I mean by that, most fae conclude I have a vision, or some kind of second sight—a Darna Shealladh ."
"Well, don't you?"
"Not at all."
"Oh?" I picked up a second piece of sandwich, making sure my movement was smooth and natural, feigning a sense of calm. She was about to reveal something that, until now, she had kept deeply hidden.
"You are aware, of course, that I can see auras?"
I nodded.
"Everyone's aura is different. They can tell you a great deal about a person."
"Is it true that your aura shows the quality of your character?"
"Auras come in many colors. The shade of that color is what you are referring to."
"White for good and black for evil, like in storybooks?"
"Yes, essentially, but in reality they are normally shades of gray. Angels have the purest auras, so much so that they are difficult to look at. I saw one once. Her aura was so pure, so flawless that it burned my eyes to look upon her.
"Fallen angels are the opposite; only Lucifer himself could be more devoid of light. I've never
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