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“That’s not going to happen,” Little John said, stepping forward. “We’re going to protect Robin from vile evil like you, Thomas, as if she’s the daughter of the forest itself. Because she is our star—the Lady of Sherwood we never knew we needed.”
Father threw his head back and laughed. When his eyes came back to me, they were violent and mad. “If Peter Fisher could never win your heart, Robin, then you and I are travelling in the same flock. Your mother never loved me, either.”
“And that’s why you killed her?” My voice was level, seething with hatred.
“I simply eased her passing, girl. She died of a broken heart long before that, with Robert. Had our son not died, none of this would have happened. I would have had no reason to come after you if you hadn’t become heiress.”
“And you somehow hold me responsible for Robert’s death?” I said with a snort. “You’re delusional, Father. Always have been.”
His words hurt me. I tried to hide it, tried to keep my resolve. I won’t ever be free unless . . .
He spit a wad of blood onto the floor. “I’m finished speaking with you, Robin. Take me to the authorities, if you think they’ll take your word over mine. The words of an outlaw over that of a knight.”
I gritted my teeth. “No, I don’t think they will.”
“Then . . .” His eyes widened. The smarmy, smug expression on his face abruptly faded. “You wouldn’t.”
“Uncle,” I said, bracing myself, digging deep within my heart to do what I knew needed to be done. “I think it’s time you leave now.”
Gregory shook his head. “No, Robin. Joan was not just your mother. She was my sister, too. I stay.”
“Robin . . .” Little John murmured, seeing the dangerous expression in my eyes. “You don’t have to—”
“I couldn’t do it with Peter Fisher—”
“I will gladly rip this man to pieces for you. Perhaps your uncle and you should leave while—”
“No. I must.” I locked eyes with him, and the flicker of the fire burgeoned in both our orbs.
His fire dimmed, face sinking. “I’m worried we’ll never get you back. If you do this . . .”
“I’ll be corrupted absolutely?” I gave him a small, sad smile. “I think it’s too late for me.”
“It’s never too late, my star.”
I could still back down. John was right—they all were. I could see the eagerness in their eyes. They would gladly do this for me.
But my rage was too great. It overshadowed my sadness and reason. I wanted to take the biggest, most painful fucking thing I could find here and stick it into my father.
Steel clanked on hardwood.
I turned as Uncle Gregory handed me his massive greatsword. It was nearly as tall as I was.
I wrapped my hands around the worn leather. On instinct. I swiveled around, struggling to hoist the unwieldy weapon.
My father’s eyes blew wide. “R-Robin,” he sputtered. “Don’t be foolish. Don’t become like me—like one of these godless rogues!”
Now, I said, speaking to Robert as much as to myself. Now, at last, I will be free from a lifetime of torment.
With a primal shriek, staring into his huge eyes, I thrust the tip of the sword into my father’s chest.
Chapter 49
Robin
Patricide.
I’d never thought of that word much. Never thought about what it meant, how it affected a person. To kill one’s father.
