The Devil's Judgment (The Vengeful Prince Saga Book 3) by Brian Koscienski & Chris Pisano

Author:Brian Koscienski & Chris Pisano [Koscienski, Brian]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Hellbender Books
Published: 2019-11-12T22:00:00+00:00

nineteen

Dearborn brushed Ideria’s hair as her daughter brushed the horse’s mane. The flaxen stands flowed through Dearborn’s fingers like newly spun silk, a form of Heaven and she would have been content to do this all day. This was Diminutia’s hair, her husband, Ideria’s father. Although his hair had been twisted by a natural curl, it was impossibly soft. One of Dearborn’s favorite things to do was to play with it, just close her eyes to allow her sense of touch to be her only experience as her fingers traipsed through his hair.

“Keep petting me like this and you’ll make me go bald,” he would say.

“Well, then I guess I need to get all my petting time in before that happens,” she would reply and sink her fingers deeper into the curls.

The last time she was able to do that was over ten years ago before he got eaten by one of the king’s dragons. He died with valor while rescuing children, freeing them from the same fate. That did nothing to quell the desire to run her hands through his hair again. However, her daughter’s hair held the same place within her heart. This would have been a perfect substitute if not for the staining.

The blonde was a perfect match, gilded rays of sunshine, but the glow was muted by persistent streaks and patches of brown. Blood dyed Ideria’s hair like an indelible memory that must be cut away. Cut away, she ruminated. Surely the hair would need to be shorn, for she had seen with her own eyes that water would never again remove the stains from her children. This was truly innocence lost. Never again could they open their eyes and look at her with that childlike purity of heart, nor could she look at them as if they could ever toddle to wherever their fleeting curiosity led them. Bathing could only purify the outside appearance, not the mind—nor the heart.

Dearborn wanted to scream, to rail at the injustice of the world that had taken her children away from her and given them back as adults. Adults that had witnessed already too much horror in their short lives. Never again could they close their eyes against the nightmare and reopen them prepared to dream again without the threat of falling back into a chasm darkened by the shadow of death.

“Mother,” Ideria started, only to be hushed by Dearborn as she drew her daughter close in a one-armed embrace.

“No words,” Dearborn requested. “Not yet.” She hummed a quiet tune as her daughter, continued to brush the horse.

When she became aware of Nevin’s proximity, she held out her free hand, cajoling him to come closer to her until she could embrace him in the other arm, her hand on his shoulder, her forearm across his chest. Her frame was still large enough that she could cause all three of them to rock to and fro without requiring much effort on her part. She wanted to stay like this forever, for this reunion to last until her eyes closed for the last time.

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