shattering the carafe of wine. A red stain spread across the table, soaking like blood into Briel’s troop reports. The door flew open, and Sylvan guards rushed in. Briel dismissed them with a single, hard gesture. When they were gone, he looked from Rowen to Knightswrath.
The Sylvan captain hesitated then reached for the adamune’s dragonbone hilt. He’d hardly touched it when he recoiled, hissing through clenched teeth. He pressed his good hand to his chest, swearing in heated whispers. Then he opened his hand, showing Rowen his blistered fingers. “I’m running out of places you can injure, Human.”
Rowen blinked. “I didn’t know—”
“Get out,” Briel said. Despite his maimed hand, he picked up his own sword. “And take that damn demon-blade with you!”
Rowen scooped up Knightswrath, felt just a tingle of warmth from its hilt, and sheathed it. He stalked out of Briel’s office. Immediately, his so-called bodyguards fell in silently behind him. Despite his dark mood, Rowen noticed that there were a great deal more of them than before.
Zeia tugged at her cloak, alarmed by the growing midday chill. “Did Fadarah really think those children would serve him?”
Shade looked up wearily from his own horse. “What?”
“The Shel’ai children born of rape. The ones Brahasti wants to make. Did Fadarah really think they’d serve him, after the kind of nightmare they were born in?” Her choice of words reminded her of the Nightmare, and she suppressed a shudder.
Shade was quiet for a moment. “I think he meant to wait until enough Shel’ai children had been born, then he’d sweep in with hands burning, kill Brahasti and their captors, and ‘rescue’ them. After something like that, they’d be every bit as devoted to him as we were.”
Though Shade had shared some of the memories he’d gleaned from Fadarah’s mind, that part of the plan had been absent. Was Shade merely making it up in effort to redeem Fadarah’s memory? That seemed odd, given that Shade himself had been the one to kill him. She asked a different question. “El’rash’lin used to say that only one in a thousand Sylvan children is born a Shel’ai.”
“Your point?”
“That’s a lot of time and trouble to go through. I have no doubt Brahasti could find men willing to do the deed and Sylvan captives to bear the abuse, but still, it would take years. And what about the thousands of other children born without the dragonmist?”
Shade turned and scowled at her. He tapped the hilt of his shortsword.
She caught his meaning. “No wonder you killed Fadarah.”
“He was already dying. That Isle Knight—”
“He probably would have died,” Zeia corrected, “but you turning his skull into a pile of ashes made it certain.”
Shade reined in his horse. “Forgive me, Sister. I’ve spent half the past couple days regretting my decision to haul you out of that pit and the other half running for my life, so my senses aren’t what they should be. Were you just now asking me to kill you or only making conversation?”
Zeia reined in as well. Though she had recovered a measure of her strength since her rescue, she was no match for Shade. “Doesn’t it bother you that we’re about to risk our necks to save Sylvs… quite possibly the same Sylvan captives we were fighting only a couple of weeks ago?”
Shade shook his head and urged his horse onward. “Even in war, there are rules.”
Zeia bit back a smirk. She remembered how she and a few others had made that same argument when Fadarah decided to forcefully transform imprisoned Isle Knights into near-mindless assassins, only to have Shade accuse them of being weak willed and naïve.
Has Shade finally found his conscience?
She considered how little time had passed since Shade killed his last opponent and decided it unlikely. “So what do we do with the Sylvs once we’ve dealt with Brahasti and his scum?” She half expected Shade to suggest they kill them.
He
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