Book 3 of the Zygradon Chronicles
"You've had your lessons about the Nameless One." Nalla waited until Meghianna nodded. "He was your great-grandfather. His evil came down through two of his three children, Endor and Triska. Nainan, your grandmother, broke free of the magic he used to control her. Triska's daughter is Trevissa, and she used magic to trick your father, to think she was Belissa. And so Megassa was born."
"Oh. Papa must be very uncomfortable when he sees Megassa." She frowned and chewed on her next thought a moment. "Or doesn't he see her ever?"
"I'm not sure. She's been living somewhere else, and only came to the fortress last fall. Most of what I know about your sister, I have only heard from others. But show your father some mercy, and don't ask him. Let him tell you what he thinks of your sister when he chooses, all right?"
Meghianna nodded, and slipped her hand back into Nalla's as they continued down the long, shadowy hallway of smooth, golden stone.
She had heard enough people say Efrin Warhawk was far too young to carry the burden of the throne. It prompted her to step back and look at her father as if she had never seen him. That was easiest to do when she came to the Warhawk's fortress in the spring, after being separated from her father all fall and winter. When she walked into the council room that afternoon and saw him sitting at the far end of the long council table, she noted the touch of silver in his oak-colored hair and short beard, and new lines around his mouth and eyes. She hoped those lines would go away when he stopped frowning. Efrin was only twenty-eight. She supposed older people would think that was very young to be the High King, charged with keeping the entire World safe. From her very young age of six, twenty-eight seemed enormously ancient.