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So she held her pose.
She also wondered what excuses her brothers would come up with this time.
“Have any of you even tried? Any of you?”
The eldest, Hector, set his jaw. “We’ve each had our teams investigating and searching for decades. We’ve concluded that there’s no such place. Our support of the generals on Second and building their individual death vampire armies is far more useful.”
Chustaffus rose to his feet.
Rage rolled from him. Why was Hector challenging him so forcefully? When Hector stole a glance at Yolanthe, she understood. Hector was playing the old game of shifting daddy’s ire elsewhere, essentially onto her back. Yet again.
Yolanthe grew rigid as she waited. Her father never punished his boys, not when something of lesser value was present on which to inflict punishment.
Every muscle in her body grew tense as she waited.
He shifted slightly in her direction. He was very tall, almost six-feet-eight-inches. He wore his black, wavy hair long to his shoulders and swept away from his face. A silver streak about an inch wide flowed just off-center, giving him a striking appearance. He was handsome by most accountings, but women avoided him. A great number had spent the night in his chambers never to be seen again.
She’d grown up in his home, listening to their screams.
And afterward, the cold silence.
But for that, she blamed most of these women. They knew his reputation and he never took anyone to bed who didn’t go willingly. In Yolanthe’s opinion, each had chosen her death.
Chustaffus’s jaw ground a couple of times as he met her gaze.
She didn’t look away, however. It would go worse for her if she avoided his gaze or showed any other sign of weakness.
There was nothing she could say, only what she could do for her future. And that involved Duncan Wallace and his aid in helping her to find the mythical Rapture’s Edge.
“Come here, daughter.”
She hid the trembling of her legs as she rose to her feet.
Chustaffus folded a whip into his hand, brought from his weapon’s room. This one was split at the ends into a dozen smaller leather strands, metal shards bound to the end of each.
She mentally pushed a footstool close to him, something he always required. She eased the floor length overdress down. Her wing-locks had already begun to seal up in preparation and her under-gown was backless as required by her father.
Facing away from Chustaffus, she knelt in front of the footstool and wrapped her arms tight around the maroon leather.
She took a deep, steadying breath and closed her eyes.
The first blow always hurt the worst.
CHAPTER TWO
Hope begins with the sweet surprise
Of the unexpected.
Collected Proverbs – Beatrice of Fourth
Despite the fact that a healer worked on him, Duncan still felt like he’d been shoved through a keyhole at ninety-miles-an-hour. He hurt from both mind-dives, the one that Yolanthe had perpetrated and his own plunge that had helped him disturb the link well enough to escape the trance. He ached all over as well, probably because he’d been inactive for the past two weeks.
But Horace was with him now and healing waves poured through Duncan’s head, flowing the entire length of his body.
His mind had finally started working again, but he struggled to open his eyes. He needed to know where he was and whether or not -- God help him -- Rachel had survived the wrecker attack. He’d been in and out of consciousness so that only snippets of information had reached him.
As the pain diminished, he was at last able to open his eyes to stare up at a welcome face.
