The day Chand and Grice Wynth arrived at Ivor Keep, it began storming. At first it had been only an occasional sprinkle that stopped within hours, then it became a steady drizzle that hindered much of the training activities. Finally it changed from a drizzle to a steady onslaught, heavy enough to keep everyone inside. No thunder or lightning accompanied the foul weather, but the rain began to make a quagmire of the courtyard within the bailey as well as the surrounding countryside.
"I was planning on exercising the horses tomorrow, but it doesn't look like I'll be able to," Sentian fumed, glaring out the window.
"A little rain hasn't ever hurt a horse," Belvoir, the aging warrior, piped up.
"Then you think I should take them out?" Sentian asked, looking to Conar.
"Wait and see if it slackens," Conar said. "I'd rather you men stayed inside unless it's absolutely necessary. There's nothing that can't keep."
"We're going to need more wood, though," Sentian remarked. "It's getting damned cold in here."
"Remember when we stayed at the Briar's Hold that time?" Liza asked Conar. "When it rained like this?"
"I recall," he answered, lowering his gaze to his plate. Other memories from that time many years before he remembered all too well. "Harry burned some of his furniture to keep us warm."
"Harry Ruck?" Legion inquired. Though his brother smiled, Conar knew the time he had shared with Liza, a time that excluded Legion, poked at the man's vitals. "As stingy as he is, I'm surprised he didn't let you freeze."
"He didn't know who Conar was." Liza giggled, smiling as Conar looked at her. "He didn't know until the next day, and that's when Conar found some of the chairs and a table missing from the inn." She winked at Legion. "Being the true monarch he was, your brother was his most imperious self, as I remember."
"How so?" Tyne Brell asked, digging his fork into a healthy mound of creamed potatoes.
"His usual high-handedness, I would think," Chase Montyne said and chuckled. "Back then, he was rather full of himself."
"I paid them for the chairs and table," Conar said, cocking a brow when Liza laughed. "I did, and you know it."
Legion cleared his throat, drawing everyone's attention. "Did it storm like this, then?"
Conar nodded, cutting into his steak. He speared a chunk and brought it to his lips, then plopped the juicy morsel into his mouth before pointing his fork toward Liza. "What she's reminding me about is the weather. It poured for--what? Three days?" When Liza nodded, he shrugged. "We couldn't get out of the inn because there were no roads. When it stopped raining, there was so much mud, you couldn't get far without having to dismount and pull your nag out of the mire."
"I don't fancy helping Heil pry his horses out of this muck," Storm said.
"What did you do cooped up in that inn for three days?" Teal asked.
"As I remember," Conar said, concentrating intently on the green beans on his plate, "we played whist."
" 'Zelle caught cold and she was in bed most of the time," Liza said. "Conar and I stayed downstairs. When he wasn't flirting with Dorrie--"
"Dorrie?" Legion gasped, a wide grin on his bearded face. "As I recall, she could suck the gilding off..." He stopped, his face infusing with color.
A fine black brow shot up on Liza's forehead. "And how would you know Dorrie Burkhart's talents, Milord?"
"I...ah...I..."
"You got yourself into that one, big brother." Conar chuckled. "You'd best answer your lady."
"And it had better be good!" Liza snapped.
* * * *
Corbin and Regan were in their room...arguing.
The downpour continued, working into its second week. Those in the keep were on short ends from being pent up inside the damp and chill walls. The gray, lackluster days put the inhabitants into a dismal, dank mood that brought tempers close to fraying and nerves close to mayhem.
The boys had been playing a game of chess, and Regan began to cheat.
Corbin caught him. "That isn't a gentlemanly thing to do," the older boy admonished.
"I ain't no gentleman," Regan mocked. "I am what I am and nothing more. I don't pretend to be Heir-Apparent to the throne."
Corbin shot back with equal rancor. "You never could be, anyway. Your mother is not a queen!"
Regan hated his mother almost as much as he hated his father, Conar MacGregor, but he despised, or so he told himself, Elizabeth A'Lex even more. "My mother may not be a queen, but a least she doesn't spread her legs for every man in her husband's family!"
Corbin lashed out with a hard fist, bloodying Regan's nose.
* * * *
Conar heard grunts and vulgar words coming from the boys' room. He stopped, opened the door, and entered.
Shocked, Conar saw his sons locked in a ball, scrambling on the floor, trying desperately to pommel one another with fists and knees.
"Enough!"
He grabbed Corbin by the seat of his pants, lifting him off Regan's smaller, bruised, and battered body. Corbin tried to get away, tried kicking Regan as the little boy came to his feet. But Conar swung his older son behind him and put out a hand to halt Regan, holding that boy by the scruff of the neck.
"I said enough!"
Regan tried to punch Corbin, but Conar tightened his hold on the boy's shirt collar and shook him.
"Damn it, Regan! Cut it out!"
Regan kicked at his father, narrowly missing Conar's shin. He soon found himself dangling in the air, his shirt nearly over his head.
"Don't you ever try that again!" Conar growled, "or I'll sling your scrawny ass over my knee and wallop the shit out of you!"
"Take your hands off me!" the boy screamed, cartwheeling his arms to get away.
Conar dropped him.
Regan jerked down his shirt, his eyes blazing at Conar. His mouth set into a thin line, while his chin trembled with rage. "Don't you dare touch me again!"
It stunned Conar to see the hatred on his son's face. The child glared with so much enmity the very air vibrated with it. A snarl twisted his bloody, split lips, drawn back over little teeth. The small body quivered with fury; the childish fists clenched; the spine turned rigid. Regan's right eye rapidly swelled shut, turning purple, but the look from the dark orbs remained deadly.
"Find Sentian and stay with him," Conar told his youngest son. "I'll deal with you later."
When Regan stared at him with a malevolent look, Conar shoved him toward the door.
"Do it now!"
The boy jerked away, squinting. "I hate you, you whoring son-of-a-bitch! Why couldn't you have died from them drugs?"
He didn't even flinch as Conar drew back a hand to hit him.
"Papa, no!" Corbin yelled, snatching Conar's arm.
Standing his ground, Regan raked his eyes down Corbin, snorted with disgust, then turned on his heel. "I don't need your help, McGregor!"
Feeling Corbin's fingers digging into his arm, Conar shook off the hold and walked a few feet away. With his fingers trembling, he pushed hands through his hair. "Are you all right?" he asked.
"Aye, sir," Corbin breathlessly reply.
Conar had been avoiding both boys, being, as yet, unable to come to terms with his parenthood. He knew he displayed cowardice in not dealing with the issue, but he had more pressing matters on his mind--or so he had tried to convince himself. Now, he knew he could no longer put off dealing with the problem. "What was that about?"
"Nothing." Corbin shrugged. "Just boy stuff."
"Boy stuff?"
"Aye." Corbin took a step backward, cringing as Conar's brow lifted in anger. "I have some chores Mama gave to me..." He headed for the door.
Conar drew him back, spun him around, and lightly slammed Corbin into a nearby chair.
The boy's body shivered. He scrunched down into the chair, his arms folded tightly over his thin chest. He stared into Conar's eyes and swallowed hard. "Ah, is something wrong, sir?"
Hooking one of the other chairs with his boot, Conar pulled it forward,
then placed it directly in front of Corbin's. He straddled it before sitting, not saying a word to the boy looking back at him with such obvious trepidation. He let the silence play out, knowing full well Corbin would give in before he did. Hunched forward, Conar rested his elbows on his knees, his chin cupped in the palm of his right hand, and stared intently at his son.
Corbin's eyes darted everywhere around the room but at him. He almost smiled when Corbin's shoulders drooped and the child began to fidget. Little puffs came from his son's mouth; he clicked his tongue as he squirmed. Several times he let his gaze roam over Conar's face, but it kept jerking away.
"Well, all right. We were fighting," Corbin finally acknowledged.
"You want to tell me why?" Conar asked, calmly.
Corbin stared toward the fireplace. "He insulted Mama."
Conar sat back in the chair, sighed. "In what way?"
A hard glare came into Corbin's pale eyes. "He called her a ...a..."
"A what?"
"A bad thing..."
"What kind of bad thing, Corbi?" Conar didn't miss the surprise on his son's face at his use of the nickname.
Corbin's chin quivered. "He called my mama a whore."
Conar felt as though someone had punched him, but he willed his face not to show his emotions. He took a deep breath to calm his fury, then folded his arms across his chest, cocking his head. "He's wrong. You do know that, don't you?" His heart hammered as he watched his son trying to hold back tears.
"Aye, I know it! My mama is a lady!" He viciously swiped at a renegade tear that dared creep down his cheek.
"She certainly is. Regan said what he knew would hurt you. I'll talk to him, I assure you, and he will apologize to you as well as to the lady. I will have no one casting such remarks about your mother. Not even my own son."
----
Corbin flinched. It hurt him as much to hear Regan named "son" by this man as it had been to hear his mother called "whore." The tears started down his cheeks in earnest. He lowered his head.
"Corbi, look at me." When Corbin refused to do so, Conar took his chin, gently forcing up the stubborn head. "You will be King one day. One of the things a King must remember is to be courteous when asked to do something."
Corbin looked at his father. He loved this man, even though he truly didn't know him. The love went deeper than just the love of a son for his father. The man was a national treasure, a hero to his people, and the love of his mother's life. He wanted to fling himself into this man's arms and beg for that love and affection to be returned. Beg to be acknowledged as Conar's son just as Regan had been acknowledged.
"Are you afraid of me, Corbi?"
"No, sir. I am not afraid of you." He saw moisture form in his father's eyes, and that puzzled him. He wanted to reach out to him, but dared not to. Never once had this man offered him anything but distance and detachment.
"Once, a long time ago," Conar said, holding Corbin's look, "my father reminded me that a King must be many things to his people. He must have his people's love and trust and respect. You must also have their fear, but it is a healthy fear born of knowing that if they do wrong, you will have to punish them, fairly and justly, like a father must punish a child who has done wrong. The crown is a heavy responsibility. In order to wear it, a man must first deserve it."
He took a long breath and exhaled, his eyes flickering.
"If a King is corrupt, his people will be corrupt. If he is evil, his people will be the same. They will fear him, but they won't trust him. They won't respect him, and they certainly won't love him. His people won't follow him for long before they start looking for someone else to rule them. The same holds true if that King is a coward."
A shimmer of something dark and painful glinted in his father's dark, blue eyes. His gaze swung to the far side of the room, where he stared at the rain outside the high windows.
"If the King turns out to be a coward, his people will laugh him off the throne. Then the land would be thrown into calamity, chaos. Where, then, would be the kingdom?" He brought his gaze back to Corbin's. "The one thing a man can not be is a coward, Corbi, and still call himself a man."
"Do you think you're a coward, sir?" The idea seemed absurd to Corbin, who held his father in absolute awe.
Conar let out a ragged breath. "In some ways I am worse than a coward."
The answer made Corbin's mouth go wide in disbelief. His fingers itched to touch his father's hand. "You are no coward! You are the bravest man in the Seven Kingdoms. Everybody knows that! You are the rightful King!"
"My father took away my right to the throne, Corbi. He didn't believe me worthy to rule this land." He held up his hand as Corbin made to protest. "Your Uncle Brelan told me that my father recanted his decision before he died, but it was not so I could one day take the throne, but rather to have the way cleared for you to inherit as Firstborn. No one truly knows if he understood you were not Galen's, but..."
Corbin stilled, the hesitation in his father's voice making him keenly aware of the tears held tightly at bay. His young heart ached. He bit his lip to control the cry that battled to come out.
Conar sat forward in his chair, took another deep breath, and laid his hands on Corbin's knees. He smiled. "You are my son. I should have acknowledged it long before now, but the coward in me wouldn't let me. I blamed myself for what Tohre did to you and could not own up to the guilt. But in my heart, I accepted you as my child the moment your mother told me. If you will allow me, I will make up to you for all the times I have not called you my own."
He sat back and opened his arms to Corbin.
"I do love you, son. Can you forgive me for being a coward?"
Corbin flew into his father's arms, hugging him with a fierceness that surprised him. "Papa," he cried, burying his face in Conar's black silk shirt. "I love you, Papa!"
* * * *
Standing in the doorway, his own eyes brimming with treacherous tears, Regan watched the scene with growing hurt. Not that he wanted the man to hold him in that fashion, or tell him that he was loved. He didn't need Conar McGregor to apologize for having allowed Kaileel Tohre to do evil things to him as Tohre had done to Corbin. He didn't need love; he didn't need being held. He didn't need anything Conar McGregor could offer.
Turning and walking slowly down the hall, then running full out, his tears flowing like bitter acid down his face, Regan vowed he needed nothing but Conar McGregor--and now, Corbin McGregor as well--dead and buried.
Chapter 4
* * *
Kaileel Tohre sat brooding in front of the fire-pit in his conjuring chamber. His hooded gaze bore into the flames, watching images leaping in the fire that only he could understand. His head lay against the high back of his velvet chair, the white blond mane nearly glowing against the black fabric. With his gnarled hands hanging miserably from the carved chair arms, his lean body slumped dejectedly in the curve of the chair, Tohre presented a picture of hopelessness totally unlike him.
The skeletal mask of the tightly drawn flesh over his high brow and cheek brought the prominence of his light blue eyes with their heavy dark circles to the attention of those who came and went about the chamber.
The thin lips, bloodless and pulled down in a hard frown, now and again mumbled incomplete phrases that would make Tohre mentally shake himself out of the self-imposed stupor into which he had placed himself. Reaching up a trembling hand to wipe at the sweat on his face, he trailed the long, talon-tipped fingers to the mottled and discolored flesh under his chin and stroked his small goatee.
As memories stirred in his mind, he sat up straight, drawing in his left leg, crippled by stroke, and massaged his knee. As the memory faded, he slumped back in the chair.
Kaileel groaned.
It wasn't a groan of pain, nor of despair. It wasn't even a groan of fatigue, but of frustration. He was anxious for the final confrontation between himself and Conar McGregor to begin. As yet, the signs were not right; the battle yet to be waged. Shifti
ng in his chair, he turned his head and, with a start, remembered the blonde-haired woman.
Across the room, the Webspinner watched him. A thin, veiled smile stretched over her lips. Raja De Lyle tucked her long, tapered legs beneath her as she reclined on one of the benches scattered about the room, her arms crossed over her ample bosom.
He groaned again, this time with contempt. "Why are you still here?" he snarled, focusing his good eye on her.
Raja raised her arms over her head and stretched, pointing her scantily clad breasts toward the ceiling in an unconscious attempt at seduction. She unwound her body and stuck out her legs, flexing her naked toes toward the fire. "I was awaiting your decision, Holiness. You told me to stay." Her white teeth sparkled behind scarlet-red lips. "Do you not remember telling me to stay?"
Tohre didn't. He detested the woman more than any other, save perhaps Elizabeth A'Lex. If it were not for the fact that he needed Raja, and her vile offspring, he would have had the bitch slain long ago.
He frowned. "You may leave. I will inform you of my decision tomorrow!"
Raja smiled her cat-and-mouse sneer that never failed to annoy Tohre. "Time is of the essence, Holiness," she reminded him with a coy pout of her luscious lips.
"Your wiles are useless on me, woman. As are your reminders. I will deal with Conar in my own way. In my own time."
Raja's smile slipped. "And while you are trying to cope with your problems regarding him, Tohre, he is growing stronger by the hour. His powers are strengthening each day he and that bitch are together. Or have you forgotten the prophecy?" She stood and placed her hands on her hips. Her arrogant stance seemed more like that of a man's. "Let him have time to regroup, but you will regret it!"
Kaileel stood so suddenly, his chair toppled behind him with a crash. He staggered, his weak left leg trembling, as he made a grab for the overturned chair to steady his stance. The strokes had made it impossible for him to walk steadily, but though his speech was somewhat slurred, the timbre had not lessened in volume. "I will take care of Conar McGregor in my own way! He will not escape the final retribution I have planned for him. I will see to it!"
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