02 The Blood King by Martin Gail Z

Author:Martin, Gail Z [Z, Martin, Gail]
Format: epub
Published: 2010-04-10T21:06:19.616000+00:00

"I was afraid Donelan would be joining me before his time," Viata replied, growing more serious.

"But at least for now, the wasting spell is halted. While I want our spirits to be together even-

tually, there is no hurry."

Viata looked past Kiara to Tris, who felt himself suddenly color. "And this is your young man?" Kiara wiped away her tears and reached out to take Tris's hand. "I'd like you to meet Tris--

Martris Drayke of Margolan, Bricen's second son. My betrothed."

Viata nodded solemnly. "I was grateful that Bricen intervened with the marriage pact because I didn't want war. But I worried as I came to know more about what kind of man Jared Drayke had become. I'm pleased that you've found a more desirable solution."

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Viata's ghost met Tris's eyes. "I've seen your training, and I'm most impressed. You have my blessing to wed Kiara, and my prayers to the Lady that your quest will be successful." Tris gave a courteous bow. "I'm honored, m'la-dy."

"Kiara," Viata said, and Kiara turned toward her mother's ghost. "Even when you can't see me, never doubt that I'm watching over you. I've resolved not to go to the Lady until Donelan can join me and you are safely established. Death doesn't end love."

"Thank you," Kiara whispered. "I love you, too."

Tris bade Viata's ghost farewell and the spirit faded from view. Kiara leaned against him, letting him hold her in silence, until the bells sounded midnight.

CHAPTER NINETEEN prev next contents

"HOW do you like my garden?" Jared of

Margolan asked the middle-aged noble at his side. It was early in the second month. The day was cold but clear. A light snow no deeper than a horse's fetlock covered the ground. Jared and the noble stood outside Shekerishet, next to the pattern of long, sharpened stakes that from 267

above made the crest of the House of Margolan.

Thirty stakes, and on each of them, a body.

Some were impaled through the back, others face down through the gut. Vayash moru were staked facing east, so that Jared might see whether they burst into flames at dawn. Others, around the perimeter, were either coated alive in wax or soaked in oil, making human torches that burned as night fell.

Jared's favorite punishment, however, he reserved for those from whom he truly wished to exact the greatest revenge. A sturdy, sharpened pole impaled the victim between the legs, on a stake just tall enough that the victim could remain on his toes for several candlemarks, until his strength failed, and he finally sank low enough for the stake to pierce vital organs. Jared found the death dance mesmerizing. Today the moans of his dying victims sounded like a distant wind. Lord Curane's expression was neutral. "Your parties are always memorable, Your Highness."

"It's been a good day," Jared said amicably, taking another deep draught from his flask. He had been drinking Tordassian brandy since early in the day, even before the show trials of a dozen deserters, tracked down by faithful officers and brought back in chains.

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