The Witcher 2.5: Between the Storms
Chapter 2: Triss – 2
Triss whimpered in her unconscious state as memories and dreams swirled in her head. There was no coherence. Just a cyclone of visions, sounds, and smells. Suddenly, though, she caught a glimpse of one person in particular – a man whose face was etched into the granite of her mind. Seeing him caused her heart to break. She mumbled, 'Papa, Papa,' several times, and a moment later, a vivid memory emerged from the mists and took center stage.
"Let's go," ordered Katherine, the eldest. "You said that you wanted to help."
"Where…where are we going again?" Triss stammered.
"We told you already," answered Penelope. "Down to the dungeons."
The three Merigold sisters stood just outside of Guardsmen Tower – or, at least, what was left of it. The ruined edifice stood on the backside of the royal estate and had once been the home to the palace guard before it had been destroyed in a fire more than a decade past. It had never been rebuilt, and, therefore, all that now remained was the foundation, a few short walls of stone, and some charred and broken wooden beams.
A few minutes earlier, little Triss had been playing in the palace gardens, laughing and chasing butterflies across the manicured lawns, when her older siblings had approached her – both with wide smiles plastered on their faces.
"Papa asked us to collect some sewant mushrooms for him," Katherine had informed her.
"We thought you might want to help," added Penelope.
At first, Triss had been elated. One of her greatest joys in the whole world was helping her father, who she believed was the best healer in all the land. But it wasn't just she who thought so. He was so well-respected that, a few years back, Prince Falkirt had made him the royal healer at the palace in Maribor. She loved watching him work his laboratory – dicing up alchemical ingredients, brewing elixirs, and distilling potions in alembics. Many times, he even let her assist him with a simple task. Her favorite activity was using the mortar and pestle. Even though he'd always give her the smallest one, she still had to use both of her tiny hands in order to adequately crush whatever ingredient he required. And, afterwards, he always rewarded her with kind words and a kiss on her head.
She was also happy with her sister's invitation because, honestly, she'd never been very close to them. They were four and five years older than her respectively, and they'd always been rather cold and aloof towards her, even going so far as to sometimes calling her mean names. And she truly didn't understand why. They rarely let her tag along with them anywhere so she'd been so very excited to be included in their latest excursion. Now, however, she was starting to have second thoughts. She pictured the square opening located in the back corner of the tower's foundation, with its stairs leading down into pitch blackness, and suddenly a shiver ran up her spine. Once, a year past, she and the huntsman's son had dared each other to descend into the old dungeon. They'd stood at the top, and she'd wrinkled her nose at the rotten stench emanating upwards. The boy, with a torch in hand, had disappeared into the darkness, but she'd only made it down a few steps before quickly losing her nerve and rushing back up into the sunlight.
"But you didn't!" protested Triss, looking up at her two sisters towering over her. "You never said anything about the dungeons. You just said we'd be picking them by the back wall. I heard you."
Penelope looked down her nose.
"The dungeon is by the back wall."
"It's fine," said Katherine. "We'll just tell Papa that you didn't want to help him. That you were too selfish. Come on, Pen."
"Yes. Let's go, Kat."
The two older girls immediately turned and walked up a set of steps towards what had once been the front door. Triss gnawed on her lower lip as she watched them go, not knowing what to do. What was she more scared of – the frightening dungeon or disappointing Papa? She hugged her dolly tightly to her chest. It'd been a recent gift from her father, and she was suddenly reminded of just how much he cared for her, which filled her with guilt. Here she had a chance to show him that she loved him, and she was letting her fears get in the way. She didn't want to be scared. Or selfish.
"No! Wait!" she finally called out before running after them. "I'm coming! Please don't tell Papa!"
"Fine," said Penelope. "We won't…if you do exactly as we say. No more backtalk. Understood?"
Triss nodded her head vigorously. She was so grateful that they were going to give her a second chance.
The three of them walked towards the back stairwell with Katherine leading the way. Once there, the two older siblings both lit small, oil lamps.
"We've been down here plenty of times gathering sewants. There's nothing to be scared of," encouraged Katherine. "But you can walk between us if you'd like."
Triss swallowed hard. Her mouth had turned so dry that she couldn't seem to get out any words so she just nodded instead. As the three of them slowly made their way down the steps with the eldest leading the way, Triss' heart was racing. She wanted to be as close to Katherine – and her lamp - as possible but descending the stairs was making it difficult. It was then that her foot accidentally kicked the back of her sister's, causing the older girl to stumble.
"Hey! Watch it, brat!" yelled Katherine as she reached out her free hand to steady herself. She immediately turned around, glaring at Triss. "Be careful what you're doing. You almost tripped me."
"I'm sorry," squeaked Triss. "I didn't mean to."
For a reason that she didn't understand, her words seemed to make her sister even angrier.
"I didn't mean to," mocked Katherine. "Of course, you would say that."
She continued staring daggers for a moment longer before eventually shaking her head and saying, "Come on."
Before Triss knew it, the three of them had descended the stairs and were in the dungeon itself. With eyes wide, she peeked her head around Katherine to see what was in front of them. Shadows danced across the walls, but there was enough light from the girls' lamps to discern that there was a hallway off to the left and another straight ahead. It was decorated with empty wall sconces, spider webs, and weeds growing up through the stone floor. And there was a thick, pungent odor in the air – as if something had putrefied.
"The mushrooms are this way," said Katherine over her shoulder, and then she began walking down the hallway.
Triss obediently followed behind with her head on a swivel, expecting any second for a rabid creature to leap out from the shadows with fangs and claws bared. But they made it halfway down the corridor without any attack.
"Here it is," said Katherine. "They're in here, in this old storage room."
Triss noticed the thick, wooden door that opened up into the hallway, but the room itself was pitch black. But that wasn't the only thing bothering her, for she was also slightly confused. Whenever she visited her father's laboratory, he'd often quiz her on various alchemical ingredients – their appearance, their properties, and where they could be found - and she couldn't ever remember him telling her that sewant mushrooms could be found in the dungeon of the old Guardsmen Tower. Plus, if they were going to collect mushrooms, then where were their digging tools and baskets for carrying them? But she swallowed her questions. Her siblings were much older than she was so they must have known what they were doing, right? Besides, they'd already warned her about giving any backtalk, and she was afraid that if she brought up her doubts, then they'd send her off by herself, to navigate the darkness alone.
"I'll look by this wall," said Katherine. "Pen can take the one to the right. And you can look over there." She was pointing to the area furthest from the door.
Though Triss didn't have a lamp herself, there was enough light coming from her sister's that she could just make out the floor where she was standing. She crouched down and investigated the area. The floor was dirty and damp with weeds sprouting up here and there. There also appeared to be some kind of rodent droppings, but what she didn't see were any sewant mushrooms. It was then that she noticed her surroundings getting darker. She turned her head to witness her sisters hurrying from the room.
"Wait! Where are you going!?" she yelled.
But neither girl answered. Instead, she saw them both grab the edge of the open door and slam it shut.
"No!" Triss cried out, suddenly engulfed by darkness. "Don't leave me!"
She was unable to see even an inch in front of her face, but she still got up and ran toward the room's entrance. She blindly and frantically began searching for the doorknob. She quickly found it and gave it a turn, but no matter how hard she pushed, the door wouldn't budge.
"Let me out! Let me out! Please let me out!"
Tears of fright were welling up in her eyes.
"No!" yelled Katherine from the other side of the door. "We're gonna keep you locked in there forever. You deserve to be punished."
"But I haven't done anything!"
"Wrong! You killed Mama!"
The accusation was so outlandish that it almost shocked Triss into silence.
"What? No, that's not true. Papa said that she died."
"Exactly! Giving birth to a spoiled brat!"
"You killed Mama. You took her away from us," said Pen, "and you think that you can take Papa away from us, too."
"Our family was perfect until you came along! We hate you!"
"I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I didn't mean to. I promise!"
Triss was bawling and on the verge of hyperventilating when she suddenly heard a skittering noise behind her. She quickly spun to see what was there, but it was impossible in the blackness. A moment later, she heard some unknown creature squeak on the other side of the room, which pushed her over the edge. She began screaming and banging her fists on the thick door.
"Let me out! Let me out!" she yelled over and over.
And, suddenly, Triss felt something strange swirling around her, as if the air had come to life. All the hairs on her body stood on end as her skin began to tingle. She screamed out in terror a final time, and a surge of power blasted forth from her hands, knocking her backward across the room. Her little body bounced off the far wall and fell to the floor. When she looked up, the first thing she noticed was that the room was no longer cloaked in darkness. She could see light flickering out in the corridor. And then she gasped. The door had been blown off its hinges and lay shattered out in the hallway, and Katherine and Penelope were on the floor, unmoving. At that point, she only had one thought – she had to get help.
"I didn't mean to hurt them, Papa," cried Triss. "I promise. I promise I didn't."
"I know you didn't, baby girl. I know it was an accident."
Davyn Merigold was sitting on the edge of Triss' bed, holding her in his lap and wiping away the last of her tears. The mysterious explosion in the dungeon had taken place two hours before. Triss had raced to find her father, telling him of the entire episode between sobs. Her father and his assistant had retrieved the two girls and brought them back to the castle. Both had severe concussions and various abrasions and bruises. Katherine also had a broken nose while Penelope had suffered some burns on her hand when the door had shattered her lamp, causing hot oil to splash upon her skin. Papa had sent Triss to her room while he'd examined and treated his two, older daughters.
"And don't worry," he assured her. "They're going to be fine. A little banged up and bruised, but they'll recover."
"They hate me…and now they're going to hate me even more."
"They hate you? Why do think that?"
"Because they said so. And not just today."
"They did?"
"Yes."
"Did they say why?"
Triss became quiet and still. She hugged her father tightly and buried her face into his chest. She wanted to tell him about their accusations – to ask him if what they'd said was true - but she was too afraid of the answer. Finally, though, her desire for the truth won out. She pulled her head back and looked into his face. A face that was nothing like hers. He had sandy blonde hair and blue eyes over a fat nose. Katherine and Penelope looked just like him. Triss, on the other hand, was the spitting image of her mother. Fiery red hair, emerald-green eyes and strong cheek bones. Papa had an oil painting of Mama hanging in his bedroom, and Triss thought she was the most beautiful woman in the world.
"Papa…did I…did I kill Mama?"
"What!? Is that what they told you?"
Triss nodded.
"They told me I'm a spoiled brat who took Mama away from them. And that I'm trying to take you away from them, too."
She saw the anger in his eyes suddenly soften as he let out a long sigh. He looked away and shook his head.
"I've tried my best to be impartial," he mumbled to himself, but Triss still heard the words. Not that she understood their meaning. Eventually, he brought his attention back to her.
"I'm sorry that your sisters said those things to you. What they said is not true. And it's not your fault that they're angry with you. It's mine. I love you and your sisters equally, but…I guess I can't deny that I've doted on you more than I have with them. After your mother died…well, she was a special woman, and your sisters had four to five years of living with her. Being loved by her. Nurtured by her. But you had none of that. So, I suppose, without even realizing it, I've treated you special, to try to make up for what you've missed out on." He then gave her a small, sad smile. "Besides, you remind me so much of her."
"So, I didn't kill her?"
He peered tenderly into her eyes.
"No, sweetie, you didn't kill her. It was not your fault she died. Do you hear what I'm saying?"
Triss nodded.
"Then I want to hear you say it."
"It was not my fault."
"That's right. It was nobody's fault. It was just…part of life."
"I don't understand. If it was nobody's fault, then why'd she die?"
He didn't immediately answer. He just continued gazing at her. As young as she was, she could tell that he was making some kind of decision. Finally, he gave the tiniest of nods.
"Triss, there is a lot of beauty and goodness in this world, but there's a lot of darkness and ugliness, too. I've wanted to keep that knowledge from you as long as possible. To let you enjoy the innocence of your childhood. But maybe it's time that you know the truth, especially after what happened today. The truth is that life is full of strife, hardships, and disappointments. Now, most of the time, we bring the troubles on ourselves, with our own poor choices. Remember that night when you thought it'd be a good idea to sneak that box of chocolates into your bed and eat the entire thing? What happened?"
"I got awfully sick."
He gave a small laugh.
"Indeed, you did. That was a case of you making a poor decision and, then, reaping the painful consequence of it. But that's not always the case. Sometimes, bad things happen, and it's not our fault at all. Sometimes, others are culpable. And then there are other times when no one's to blame – like when your mother died. We live in a fallen world, baby girl, with death, disease, monsters, natural disasters. It's a place where bad things happen randomly, for no apparent purpose. And the best we can do is face it with courage and dignity…and the will to persevere through it. Do you understand?"
Triss gave a small shrug. "I think so?"
That made her father smile.
"Well, you'll understand one day. Right now, though, we need discuss in more detail how you knocked down that door. Tell me again exactly what happened."
It was then that the scene ended and quickly morphed into another. Triss' unconscious mind immediately recognized it, causing a bittersweet moan to escape her throat. It was one of her most treasured memories.
An older Triss walked arm in arm with her father through the palace gardens. It was a late, summer afternoon – the sun shining and a light breeze rustling the leaves of the big oaks. Fat bumble bees buzzed amongst the rows of tulips, roses, and daffodils. Monarch butterflies flittered to-and-fro around the sculpted shrubs. The two of them had been strolling along for over an hour, with much of that time in comfortable silence. They'd simply been enjoying each other's company, for they were both keenly aware that, come the morrow, it might be months, if not longer, before they were in each other's presence again. Eventually, they came upon a wooden bench that overlooked a small pond filled with a family of ducks.
"Mind if we sit?" asked Davyn.
"Alright."
For a while, they still didn't speak. Triss stared up at her father. The gray hairs at his temple were like burnished silver in the sunlight. She thought that they gave him a distinguished air. She then peered at his face. It wasn't handsome, but it possessed so much tenderness. The laugh lines around his mouth and eyes an indication of his joyful spirit. She followed his gaze and noticed him staring at the family of ducks – the brood of baby ducklings following right behind their mother in a line as she quacked at them. It was as if she was both encouraging and instructing them at the same time, and they were answering her right back in their high-pitched chirps. The scene caused both of them to smile. Triss was suddenly overcome with emotion, for she wasn't sure how she was going to be able to say goodbye to him in the morning. Just the thought of it broke her heart so she reached out and grabbed his hand. That brought his eyes to hers, and he squeezed her hand in return. Eventually, his smile faded as his face took on a more earnest look.
"I've got so much that I want to tell you before you leave, but I'm having trouble getting all my thoughts and feelings organized. I want to share a story with you, about me. One that I've never told you before. I never thought you were old enough to hear it, but I think maybe now you're ready. However, it's tied to the story of your ancestor, Festus, and I know I've told you his story several times. Would you humor your old man and let me tell it again?"
"Of course, Papa. I want to hear whatever you want to tell me. Plus, I love that story."
"Thank you, baby girl," he said with a smile. "Well, as you know, your great-great-great-grandfather Festus wasn't a good man in his youth. He grew up poor, the son of a peasant farmer, and he had no desire to follow in his father's footsteps. He saw the incredibly hard work that farming required, and he had no interest in it. Instead, he chose the life of a brigand, joining an outlaw band as a teenager. He'd been blessed with speed and strength, and with a little training, he became highly skilled with a weapon in hand. Over time, he worked his way up the ranks, to the point where he was the leader of his own small hanse of bandits. He became infamous in the area where he prowled, and he achieved what he'd always dreamt of - money and power and all the trappings that come with it. But, eventually, he came to the realization that he wasn't happy. What he thought would bring him fulfillment, hadn't. So, one night, he just up and quit it all, telling no one. He simply got on his horse and rode away, unsure of where he was heading, but knowing that he needed to go where no one knew him so that he could start anew.
"Weeks later, in a foreign land, he crested a hill to see a field of marigolds below him. Bright orange and yellow flowers for as far as the eye could see. He paused, taking in the sight. And though he'd spent his entire life outdoors, in that moment, it was as if blinders had been lifted from his eyes, allowing him to perceive nature in a way he'd never seen it before. Looking down on that field, he didn't think he'd ever viewed anything so lovely, and for the first time in his life, he suddenly thought that the gods – gods that he'd never believed in before - just might exist. He couldn't imagine that something so beautiful could have been created by chance. So, perhaps, the gods were real, and they were benevolent after all. However, what he also saw was a family being robbed. The act was so incongruous with the surroundings that a fire of righteous indignation flared within him. So, without even thinking, he charged down the road to their rescue, killing one bandit and driving off the rest. The family offered him money for his heroic action, but he refused. For he hadn't done it for a monetary reward. Though, he did eventually accept a small parcel of food from them. For he was quite hungry.
"That night, as he lay under a blanket of a thousand stars, Festus experienced a new feeling – the true contentment and satisfaction that comes from helping others. By losing himself in selfless service, he'd finally found himself and discovered his purpose. He spoke to the gods, asking for forgiveness for the unrighteous life he'd led and vowing to live a new life of honor. From that day forward, he roamed the trails and roads of the land protecting merchants and families from the very people that he'd once been. And he never asked for or accepted money.
"Word of his deeds spread, and a few years later, as he traveled a main road near the capital city, a royal retinue approached him. The king of Maribor – it was its own realm at the time instead of a fiefdom of Temeria like now - bid him to the palace where he was not only knighted but also given a small estate along the eastern border of the kingdom. When asked how he should be dubbed, Festus thought long and hard. He had, unfortunately, tainted his family name with his past treachery. Plus, he considered that foolish and immoral youth to be long past dead. He was a new man now. A new man needing a new name. And, suddenly, he recalled that day, years before, when he had crested that hill to see an ocean of golden marigolds shimmering in the sun. That was the day the new man had been born. So, he gave the king his answer and was dubbed, 'Sir Festus of House Marigold.' And though he was now a landed gentleman, he never stopped patrolling the kingdom, always on the lookout to give those in need a helping hand."
At that point, Davyn chuckled.
"Unfortunately, Festus wasn't a learned man, and so he ended up spelling the house name with an 'e' instead of an 'a.' But I've always thought that fact added to the charm of the story."
"Me, too, Papa. And thank you for telling it again. I never get tired of hearing it."
He gave a nod of his head and continued.
"Festus' story you already know, but the next part – my story – I've never told you. May I?"
"Of course, Papa! I'd love to hear it."
"Well, Festus' history and our house motto have been passed down through every generation, and virtually every Merigold male has wanted to follow in his footsteps – specifically, to be a great warrior with sword in hand, fighting back the evil in the world. And growing up, I was no different. I wasn't the oldest, so I was never going to be the lord of the house, but I still dreamt of being a knight and bringing honor to the family by protecting the realm from its enemies – both those within and without. I even dreamt of being called to court for I considered being a member of the royal guard to be the highest honor. So, I trained with weapons every day. Later, I squired for a knight from a house in the west. And then, one day, war broke out between Maribor and Brugge. It wasn't big as far as wars go. Nor did it last very long. But it was my first taste of real battle. Of fighting to the death."
He paused for a moment, and his eyes drifted away. Eventually, he let out a small sigh and came back to himself.
"The things I saw – and the things I did – changed me. Forever. When I was in the middle of it, it was almost as if I was in a trance. My mind wouldn't let me take in the carnage. All I focused on was my training – blocking, parrying, slashing – over and over. But, afterwards, I looked around the battlefield and was disgusted by the scene. I wanted to vomit. There were boys like me – younger than me – with their arms cut off. Heads bashed in. Lying in the mud and their own excrement. The ones who weren't quite dead were crying out in agony – and fear - for the mothers. It opened my eyes to the ugliness of humanity. We may be the worst monsters on the planet. For I know of no other species of creature that is so hellbent on the wholesale destruction of their own kind. There was absolutely nothing romantic about it. And those that do romanticize it – the bards and the playwrights – I promise you, they have never experienced it themselves."
Triss was hanging on her father's every word. She couldn't believe he had ever been in war as a soldier. He was so kind-hearted and gentle – plus, he was so dedicated to the field of healing - that it just didn't seem possible that he could have ever taken another person's life.
"When the war was over, I came home and swore that I'd never pick up a sword again. Don't misunderstand, Triss, I'm not a naïve pacifist. I fully recognize that, sometimes, the only thing that can stop evil men are good men with steel in hand. But I had no more taste for it.
"I found a local alchemist – Master Botkin - who specialized in medicine and begged him to train me. I was older than the typical apprentice, and he already had one under his tutelage so he initially said no. But when I told him my story, he agreed to take me on. He started me off on the lowliest of tasks – cleaning bed pans, washing out dressings filled with infected pus. You name it. It's hard to believe that was almost three decades ago."
For the first time in the story, Davyn smiled.
"Later, I took some advanced medical courses at Oxenfurt. And, then, many years after that - irony of ironies – I was actually called upon to be a member of a royal court. But, instead of wielding a sword, I carry a pouch of medicinal herbs and healing potions.
"So, why am I telling you this? And why now? You have been given an extraordinary power, Triss. Why? I don't know. It's not as if you somehow earned it. There's no explanation as to why you can harness magic and not your sisters or the other kids in the palace. It could be random chance. Or, if you want to believe that gods actually exist, then you can say that they've bestowed it upon you. Now, I hope that I raised you well enough that you know that just because you have this power, it doesn't make you better than other people."
"I know, Papa. I remember. Everyone has the same worth and should be treated with respect."
He smiled upon hearing that.
"That's good. That said, though, I can't deny that this ability you possess – it is special. Very special. But whether this ability ends up being a very special curse or a very special blessing is going to be entirely up to you and how you decide to use it. At Aretuza, you're going to be trained in a variety of magical disciplines. And I won't tell you which ones to focus on. I ultimately chose the path of healing – and I do think that's the better choice - but you're not a baby girl any more. You're on the verge of being a young woman, so you'll have to choose your own way. The way of war and destruction. Or the way of healing and restoration. Either way, though, you'll have the power to do great things. You have a special opportunity to be a powerful light, fighting back against the encroaching darkness of this world. I trust that you can and will – just as long as you remember to always follow our house motto. Will you say it with me?"
"Selfless service," they both said.
"And what's the key word of the two?" he asked.
"Selfless."
"And why?"
"Because service alone isn't unique. Everybody serves someone, but it's usually themselves."
Triss must have heard her father preach that a hundred times.
Davyn pulled her close, hugging her tightly to his side. Triss laid her head on his shoulder, resting in his embrace.
"I know I just said that you're a young woman now, but…do you mind if I still call you 'baby girl' from time to time?"
She heard his voice break so she squeezed him as hard as she could.
"No, Papa, I'd like that," she answered, as tears came to her eyes.
"I love you, baby girl."
"I love you, too, Papa."
The memory ended as Triss regained consciousness. She raised herself up and sat next to her father's grave, located on the back portion of the Merigold estate. She had somehow teleported all the way from Upper Aedirn to Temeria. She hadn't thought that it was even possible for her to teleport that far. No wonder she'd passed out from magical exhaustion.
It was the middle of the night, and her body shivered involuntarily from the cold air, but, in truth, she didn't even notice. Her mind was filled with heavier matters. She leaned forward and rested a hand in the thick grass, right above where her father was buried. The tears streamed down her cheeks, but she didn't bother to wipe them away. She stared at his headstone. Below his name was the house motto, and underneath that was the house sigil – a bouquet of three marigold flowers. Her eyes then fell to the date of his death, and guilt pierced her heart. 1268 – the year that the Second Northern War ended. Nilfgaard had ultimately been stopped at Brenna but not before they had pushed past Maribor, just to the southeast. While the Black Ones had not been able to capture the city, they had destroyed much of it, and her father and her sisters – including their families - had died in the battle.
"And where were you?" she choked out, her voice full of bitterness.
Not with them. Not fighting side-by-side with her father – protecting her family, her city, and her kingdom. Sure as hell not selflessly serving. No, she'd been safe in the far north of Redania, at Montecalvo with the rest of the Lodge of Sorceresses. Instead of fighting the noble fight with those she loved, she'd been neck-deep in Philippa's power-hungry schemes and machinations. And what good had they ultimately achieved? Absolutely nothing. And, now, after the disaster at Loc Muinne and discovering that they'd been behind the murder of King Demavend, she could no longer deny the painful and ugly truth. The Lodge had never accomplished anything for good. All they had done was cause chaos and taint the already-shaky reputation of all magic-users on the Continent. Triss regretted having ever fallen under Philippa's charismatic influence.
It was then that the guilt finally overwhelmed her. The guilt of how she'd neglected her father in his time of greatest need. The guilt of how she'd failed to live up to the family motto. The guilt of how she'd treated Geralt. The guilt of every lousy thing that she'd ever done in her life. She bowed her head and wept, and then she wept some more.
Eventually – maybe it was minutes or maybe it was hours – she lifted her eyes to her father's name on the tombstone. She was empty of tears but not of the self-condemnation.
"I'm so ashamed, Papa. How did it happen? I tried to live by your words. I tried to make you proud, but…somewhere along the way, it all went wrong. I can't deny it – I've made my life all about me. And I don't like the person I've become."
After that, she said nothing for a while. She sat in silence, as if she was hoping for some kind of response. Some kind of encouragement from beyond the grave. Because he had always known just what to say when she was blue. But there was nothing except the cold, whistling wind rushing down from the Mahakam mountains and the hooting of a far-off owl. She crawled forward until she was right next to the headstone and reached out her hand, running her fingers over the house sigil that was etched into the marble. She closed her eyes, imagining a field of marigolds, and remembered her father's words.
'When asked how he should be dubbed, Festus thought long and hard. He had, unfortunately, tainted his family name with his past treachery. Plus, he considered that foolish and immoral youth to be long past dead. He was a new man now. A new man needing a new name. And, suddenly, he recalled that day, years before, when he had crested that hill to see an ocean of golden marigolds shimmering in the sun. That was the day the new man had been born.'
Triss opened her eyes and stared at her father's name. She clenched her jaws and gave a resolute nod of her head.
"Papa, I promise you – starting today – I am going to live a life worthy of your name. I will never be on the wrong side again."
And with that, she stood and strode purposefully toward Merigold manor.