Page 86
Story: Stolen
Rolund spoke as if he hadn’t heard me. “My mother was right,” he said, advancing. “Crasor tried to warn me, but I wouldn’t listen. They told me there was darkness inside you, that Father invited it into Sithistra when your mother enthralled him.”
“He wasn’t enthralled. He loved her.” Desperate, I tried to farsee again.
“Like you love your priest and his…companion?” Disgust twisted Rolund’s mouth. “I told Crasor his plan would never work. I said there was no way my gently reared, innocent sister would bed down with two men, let alone two perverts. But I should have known better.” Hate shimmered in his eyes. “You are your mother’s daughter. A whore, just like the demon bitch who birthed you.”
The vile words struck like arrows, piercing the last bit of love I felt for him. My brother was gone, twisted by the same fanaticism that had consumed his mother.
And he had murder in his eyes.
I took another careful step back, wishing I had Avenor’s sword. The rage in my throat was so thick, it was difficult to speak. “Laurent and Varick are better men than you’ll ever be. You’re not fit to polish their boots. And my mother was no whore.”
“She was a devil,” he said, “and now my daughter is dead and my line dead with her. Father turned away from the Lord, and he cursed us all. My wives are barren, my kingdom consumed by Nor Doru’s shadow.”
My heart pounded. We were nearly to the tent flap. I could turn and make a run for it. “There is no curse, Rolund. Only prophecy.”
Blue eyes the same shade as my own danced with madness. He drew a dagger. Gold appeared to ripple down the blade. Solstone. “If that’s the case,” he hissed, “let me fulfill it.”
My fingers curled around something solid. A familiar hilt filled my hand.
Rolund charged me.
I thrust Avenor’s sword into his gut.
We both froze. For a moment, he just looked at me, his brow furrowing like he couldn’t make sense of what happened. Slowly, he looked down. I looked with him, and we stared at the elven steel lodged in his stomach. Blood spread around it, turning his green jacket black.
Blue eyes lifted to mine. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth and ran into his dark beard. “You… Evil…” His legs folded, and he crashed to the ground. He stayed upright for a second, then fell to his side. The life drained from his eyes. His chest went still.
I stood over him, shock holding me immobile. Something tickled my hand, and I looked down and saw it covered in blood.
The crunch of boots on gravel rang out. Someone was coming.
With a muffled cry, I reached down and grasped the sword. It slid from Rolund’s gut so easily, I flailed backward.
And landed hard on my ass in Laurent’s bedchamber. Laurent and Varick stood over me, both half-naked and looking scared out of their minds.
Varick knelt and seized my shoulders. “Where were you?”
“She’s bleeding,” Laurent barked.
The three of us looked at the sword I still clutched in my hand.
“It’s Rolund’s blood,” I rasped. “I killed him.”
* * *
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