“It makes no sense.” The older man paced the room. “Why would killing his brother as revenge make Galadaine vulnerable to the plague?”
Sean stared at the words, seeing a far different interpretation. The vengeance wasn’t killing his brother. It was forcing Meléan to make a blood oath she didn’t want to make.
“The plague is not a sickness,” Kywyn continued. “It’s—it’s what we’ve always called this kind of treachery. A disease of thought, disseminated by Galadaine. He spread it wide—domination of an entire species as a viable course of healing. It goes in direct opposition to what the Queen desires. Galadaine was a traitor.”
Except Galadaine hadn’t exactly seemed to be on Meléan’s side that day Lhynion died.
“And why does she say we’ve placed our faith in retributive lifeblood? I don’t even know what that means.”
It was Meléan’s blood oath, obviously, sworn under duress as retribution for causing Lhynion’s death. Still uncertain how to break the news of that particular misinterpretation of events, Sean chose to remain silent.
“The child of Sidera is you, clearly, but why does she say you’re bound? Does she mean to Isobel?”
Sean’s mind glided over the soul bond.
“And why areyouimmune to the plague? Unless the plague is something different in this context. Many think it’s David, as if he’llresume Galadaine’s ideals and infect our realm with thoughts of war on Viterra. But…why would he do that?”
A great question.
“The martyr is thought to be Bel. That part, at least, seems simple enough. She will sacrifice herself for you, and in overcoming death, you will be strengthened.”
Nonplussed, Sean blinked. “Did no oneaskher what it meant? She writes this cryptic, world-changing prophecy, and no one thought to say,Hey, could you clarify?”
“It’s told she would speak nothing more of it. She said the paths were too murky, too changing. She couldn’t say for certain which path we would follow.”
Sean stood. He’d never had a mercurial temperament, had always tried to be affable, even in the face of frustration, but this was too much.
With wild hand gestures and a steadily rising voice, he lost all shreds of restraint. “What the fuck is this?”
“Sean—”
“Why would you have a son when you knew this could happen? That this could be my fate?”
“I can’t control conception.”
Abruptly, Sean’s anger iced over, and his body went still in a way he couldn’t control. It was like his heightened emotions were too much for David, and the other man reached through their connection to snuff them out.
Sean’s voice dropped to that tone he recognized as David’s, all smooth lines with sharp edges. “No, but you could have kept your dick in your pants.”
Kywyn’s mouth opened, then shut. After a short sigh, his voice lowered. “I don’t have to justify wanting you, Sean. You’re the best choice I ever made.”
The ground beneath Sean’s feet turned to quicksand, and he took three deep breaths to calm the storm, to melt this ice that wanted totake control. If he struggled too much, fought too hard, he’d certainly drown in this.
“I—” His hand wrapped around his own throat, and his pulse slammed against his palm. “Am I meant to survive this?”
“Isobel is your saving grace, Sean.”
At the expense of her own life.
Something he couldn’t allow. Not in good conscience.
Sean cursed. His throat ached. He tried to swallow, but it went nowhere. Tremors started in his fingers and moved inward. His lungs expanded, but no air entered.
Or did it?
The breaths came too fast. Sparkles danced in his vision. Seconds or minutes or entire lifetimes passed while Sean disconnected from his body.
Arms wrapped around his shoulders, tight and unyielding. Dropping the book, Sean gripped his father like the man could tether him to the earth. To sanity.
