Devan Chronicles Series: Books 1-3 by Mark E. Cooper Page A

so minor that they were essentially the same. No! He wouldn’t accept that. His father was a sadist. If Athlone ever had honour, he had it no longer.
    I will not be him! I won’t allow myself to become him!
    Jihan stopped at a door without a handle. By what trick of fate had he been led here? The women’s quarter lay beyond with all its mysteries. He made to turn away but he hesitated. How long was it since he had been through that door? The last time was the day he saw his mother’s badly beaten face. Almost eleven years ago that was.
    Jihan thumped a fist upon the door before he could change his mind. The door opened to reveal Opina. She was one of the serving girls. Her face froze in shock when she saw who had come calling. She instinctively backed away to allow him entrance perhaps not even realising in her shock that she could have refused him. Jihan stepped through into another world, a quieter more peaceful world. It all came back to him. The dim lighting, the smell of perfumed ladies, and the scent of flowers, it all harked back to the better days of his childhood.
    Without speaking, Jihan walked through the labyrinth of corridors, his only concession to courtesy an inclined head as he encountered the women who lived here. It was a strange reversal, he now thought. Outside of this place everyone—man or women—bowed and curtsied to him, but here he was an interloper and bowed instead of they. Jihan found the room without difficulty. He knocked and entered. Dust cloths covered everything and he breathed a sigh of relief. He had hoped for this. He closed and locked the door then prowled his mother’s suite of rooms. Under the covers, everything was as it had been. He pulled a cover off the wardrobe and opened it.
    Jihan’s eyes burned with the need to cry, but he would not allow that. He was a child no longer. His mother was dead, but her things were here to remind him. Her dresses hung awaiting their owner’s return, as they had since that day. He carefully lifted one from the rail and buried his face within the folds of lace. He breathed in and thought he detected her scent, but when he did it again there was nothing but a slight aroma of dust and old lace. Jihan replaced the dress and closed the door. He looked around but there was nothing for him here. He threw the cover back over the wardrobe and left the bedchamber. The windows in the sitting room were dusty, but a swipe with his hand allowed him to see the view. There lay Malcor Town a league distant and well beyond that a vague purplish colour on the horizon that was the Athinian Mountain range. How many times had his mother looked out of this window and yearned to be on the other side of those mountains?
    Jihan turned away and studied the portrait above the fireplace. It harked back to the day of her wedding. Mother sat in a chair in her wedding gown and Athlone stood behind and slightly to one side of her with his right hand resting lightly upon her left shoulder. They were both smiling and obviously happy. What had gone wrong? All Jihan could think was that Athlone’s love for her was a sham—maybe to lure her. Athlone was well known for attracting the ladies in his youth. Thank the God that was no longer true. Jihan didn’t know what he would do if Athlone did to another woman what he had done to his mother. One thing was certain. When he was finished with Athlone, he would never do it again.
    Jihan unlocked the door and left the room to find curious women in the hall. Again he was surrounded by whispers, but this time they were punctuated by titters and quiet laughter. He inclined his head to them but didn’t speak. He locked the door and pushed the key into his sash for safekeeping. His mother’s room would remain undisturbed.
    It was time for the judgement, but Jihan did not concern himself with his lateness. He strode through the corridors and down the tower steps until he reached the ground floor. He could hear the murmur of conversation