TKC 310 - 313
Enris grips Lorn by the throat. “Your son will not long sit
on any seat, uncle. I swear it.”
In that moment I realise Lorn does love his son. It is not
simply ambition that has caused him to reach for glory on his son’s behalf, for
he deflates as if someone stuck a needle into him.
“He will talk now,” I say. “Enris, release him.”
My brother shoves Lorn against the padding, and lets him go.
“If you value the life of …”
“Brandt means everything to me,” Lorn spits. “If you promise
to leave him alone, I will talk.”
“I cannot make that promise,” Enris responds. “Our cousin
has designs on the throne of Makaran and that makes him a traitor.”
Swallowing repeatedly to clear his throat for air, Lorn
shakes his head. He attempts to lift a hand to the affected area, but the burn
there is too much agony and thus he goes on swallowing.
“Wait,” he gargles, and swallows a final time. Then, gazing
directly at Enris, he says, “Brandt knows nothing, I swear that on my life.
Your cousin merely believes that you are lost either to time or death and
therefore assumes he will be declared the heir in your stead. I have made it
clear that if anything happens to our king, I will not rule. Brandt is
innocent, although I admit he is ambitious. He will not easily step aside, but
he does not deserve to die.”
Enris purses his lips and sucks loudly at his teeth
thereafter. “Fine, he will have the opportunity to speak for himself. Now
talk.”
“What do you want to know?”
Leffandir falls to her knees beside the man, her lips pulled
back in a snarl. “Did you kill my daughter?”
Lorn swivels his eyes to her. “She was an abomination. Yes,
I killed her.”
“Damin!” I screech as both Leffandir and Enris launch at the
man, both beyond rage.
Damin instantly abandons his post at the torn exit and wades
in to bodily haul Enris away. Gennerin, bless him, takes hold of Leffandir and
pulls her off. She fights him, but he manoeuvres her to the other side of the
small space and there he pushes her into the wall and holds her still.
“Murderer!” Leffandir spits.
“Coming from you, Empress, the accusation holds no weight,”
Lorn states. “No one in this room is as guilty as you are. Perhaps it was your
fate to lose someone you loved, given how many loved ones you caused to mourn
over time.”
Leffandir slides down the wall and her head lowers into a
cradle of arms. Sobs shake her entire body as she weeps. It seems Lorn hit a
nerve and she cannot deny his truth. I want to feel sorry for her, but she has
killed many; perhaps it is her fate.
My attention moves to Enris; he is unmoving and Damin has released him.
Abruptly he swings and punches the padding, doing so over
and over in absolute silence. My heart breaks for my brother.
“You came to me, remember?” Lorn murmurs, watching him.
Enris straightens and is unmoving. He stares at Leffandir
huddled into herself, shaking with the force of her grief. Eventually he nods,
a slow and deliberate gesture. “Yes, I came to you.”
Leffandir’s head jerks up. Tears roll over her cheeks.
Enris swings to Lorn. “I came to you, for I did not know
what to do next. The woman I loved was revealed as Glonu and that meant my neck
in a guillotine if anyone heard of it. How did I know? Our daughter was not
completely flesh; she was part ethereal. Half a light being. Part Glonu. That too
would have seen me killed, and yet I was prepared to run with the woman I loved
and our daughter. I needed help and
came to you.” He paced away to stand before Leffandir, looking down. “Two days
later our daughter was dead. I thought she died because her dual state weakened
her.”
Blinking, Leffandir stared up. She uttered not a word.
Enris closed his eyes. “Given the terrible words we said to
each other when I realised you were Glonu and given the death of our child,
when you disappeared I believed, after a time, it was better for both of us. I believed
grief and anger caused you to flee.”
“Did you look for me?” Leffandir asked, her tone without
emotion.
“For many months.”
Lowering her head, she sighed.
“And my search uncovered the salient fact that you were the
bloody Empress of the Glonu Empire,” Enris snarled. “By the stars, Leffandir,
what was I supposed to think then?”
“What every Ilfin automatically thinks,” she muttered from
her lowered position. “No Glonu can be trusted, not ever. Go away, Enris. There
is nothing left. My one consolation in all this is that now I know you had no
hand in Didra’s death.”
Lorn snorts. “You set your sights on the Makaran throne,
Empress. Where is the trust in those conditions?”
“Let it go,” I snap. “Lorn, how long has our father left?
What did you poison him with?”
Silence filled with heavy breathing descends. Leffandir
seeks to control herself and breathes fast, while Enris is so deliberate in his
inhales and exhales that I understand he attempts to control his fury … no, he
attempts to control the Warrior within. I glance at Damin, to see him watching Enris
carefully. Damin is aware that Enris can explode into the kind of action that
has no remorse.
“Your father is tough,” Lorn mutters. “Another man would
have succumbed by now, but he holds out. I had hoped his ‘illness’ would fell
him, but we are at the point where we may need to help him along.”
Enris is a blur of movement … and so is Damin. Damin is
faster, for he is not bowed in this by emotion, and he decks Enris solidly in
the jaw. My brother goes down hard and does not move. Damin laid him out cold.
“Stubborn,” Damin mutters, standing over the prone form
shaking his hand. “Bloody hard jaw, too.”
“Take me to my father,” I say to Lorn.
He glares at me. “I cannot walk, remember?”
I gather myself to stand. Then I inhale the courage needed
to go to the man. The sight of his burnt hands makes my stomach churn. “I will
heal your feet and, if you take me to my father and tell me what you used to
slowly poison him, I will heal your hands also.” Kneeling, I lay my fingers on
his boots. “You will lose your powers in the healing, but you will be alive and
whole.”
Those two blue eyes stare at me. “Girl, I do not want to
live without my powers. Besides, your father will kill me if he is renewed. I have
no life left either way.”
“Then do it for Brandt,” I urge him. “I give you my word,
uncle, that I will speak to Brandt’s innocence. I will ensure he lives a long
and full life.”
Lorn Makar stares into my soul. That is what it feels like,
so intense is his scrutiny. “You got it all, didn’t you? Every talent? Iniri,
what a sorcerer you will make, far more than what I am capable of, if only you
will accept who you are. I suggest you step up, for that is the only way to
discover what kills your father. I will take you to him and then it is up to
you.”
I shiver. He means it. Lorn Makar is a dead man and his
final act is to create as much chaos as he is able to. Fine. I will do what I must,
no matter what it costs me.
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