’Tis only you and me, now. Together til the end.
David shook himself and spun on his heel, speeding through the heavier crowds until the firelight faded to the silvery glow of Luster. It sparkled softly about him like fireflies. He breathed the stardust scent deep into his lungs.
How was he supposed to feel about this? What was the proper protocol?
He’d been forced into this place by soul-shearing pain to play the villain, and the only people who seemed willing to give him the benefit of the doubt were a woman who could read his mind and another with emotions like a hurricane, who trusted him so little that she felt compelled to use furniture as a shield between them.
David rubbed his eyes, wishing he hadn’t come. To this bonfire. To this world.
Maybe if he’d suffered long enough, that pain would have killed him.
“How do you find the revel?” asked a voice from the shadows to David’s right.
His attention jerked that way. A figure stood in ahooded cloak, his face shrouded in darkness. In one hand, he held a goblet, and he took a leisurely sip as he appraised David.
“Crowded,” David replied.
The figure chuckled. “They have much to celebrate.”
“Yes,” he said, rolling his eyes. “The return of their Savior.”
The figure shifted, and Luster gleamed against his face—unlined and sharp edged, with blue eyes the shadows seemed unable to touch. Pixie.
“There are those who celebrate your return as well,” he said.
“Really?” David opened his arms to either side. “What do I have to offer other than a tainted bloodline?”
The man studied him in silence a moment before he murmured, “Who told you your bloodline is tainted?”
Uh, everyone.
The man sighed. “Do not believe all the stories they tell you, Galadaine’s son. History is written by the winners.”
David was tempted to laugh. “You going to tell me Galadaine was the good guy?”
“No. Wars are more complicated than good versus evil. Galadaine’s Followers would argue that the Exorcism is the true evil—sacrificing lives for an unwinnable feud.”
“And enslaving humanity is the honorable course?”
With atsk, the man said, “That was never the goal. The goal has always been, and will always be, an end to the bloodshed. The Mother does not abide strife.”
“Right.” David perched atop a giant root nearby.
The man took another drink. “We would rid this realm of famine. We would bring balance.”
David raised a brow. “And where do I fit in all that?”
“If you have even half the power that Galadaine had, then you could lead us once more. You could?—”
“I have no interest in following Galadaine’s footsteps.”
The man paused, took a deep breath. “And why is that? Because you were told he wasevil?” In David’s silence, the man shook hishead. “Lhynion Sidera was a great man, but Queen Falan used his death to build outrage, to consolidate her power, to feed her own greed. There are two sides to every story. Perhaps you should ask yourself which is the side of right and which you prefer to be on.”
With that, the man kissed the tip of his thumb, touched his forehead, and strode away.
CHAPTER 16
SEAN
