casting a critical eye at the exquisite palaces lining the wide thoroughfare called, he had been informed, Kings Row. The palaces were meant to impress the viewer with the wealth, might, and spirit of the people they represented. Each structure vied for attention with towering columns, elaborate ornamentation, and flamboyant sweeps of windows, roofs, and decorated entablatures. To Tobias Brogan, they looked like nothing more than stone peacocks: an ostentatious waste if ever he had seen one.
On a distant rise lay the sprawling Confessors’ Palace, its stone columns and spires unmatched by the elegance of Kings Row, and somehow whiter than the snow around it, as if trying to mask the profanity of its existence with the illusion of purity. Brogan’s stare probed the recesses of that sanctuary of wickedness, the shrine to magic’s power over the pious, as his bony fingers idly caressed the leather trophy case at his belt.
“ My lord general,” Lunetta pressed, leaning forward, “did you hear what I said—”
Brogan twisted around, his polished boots creaking against the stirrup leather in the cold. “Galtero!”
Eyes like black ice shone from under the brow of a polished helmet beneath a horsehair plume dyed crimson to match the soldiers’ capes. He held his reins easily in one gauntleted hand as he swayed in his saddle with the fluid grace of a mountain lion. “Lord General?”
“ If my sister can’t keep quiet when ordered to” —he shot her a glare— “gag her.”
Lunetta darted an uneasy glance at the broad-shouldered man riding beside her, at his polished-to-perfection armor and mail, at his well-honed weapons. She opened her mouth to protest, but as she returned her gaze to those icy eyes she closed it again, and instead scratched her arms. “Forgive me, Lord General Brogan,” she murmured as she bowed her head deferentially toward her brother.
Galtero aggressively sidestepped his horse closer to Lunetta, his powerful gray gelding jostling her bay mare. “Silence, streganicha .”
Her cheeks colored at the affront, and her eyes, for an instant, flashed with menace, but just as quickly it was gone, and she seemed to wilt into her tattered rags as her eyes lowered in submission.
“ I not be a witch,” she whispered to herself.
A brow lifted over one cold eye, causing her to sag further, and she fell silent for good.
Galtero was a good man; the fact that Lunetta was sister to Lord General Brogan would count for nothing if the order were ever given. She was streganicha , one tainted by evil. Given the word, Galtero or any of the other men would spill her lifeblood without a moment’s hesitation or regret.
That she was Brogan’s kin only hardened him to his duty. She served as a constant reminder of the Keeper’s ability to strike out at the righteous, and blight even the finest of families.
Seven years after Lunetta’s birth, the Creator had balanced the injustice and Tobias had been born, born to counter what the Keeper had corrupted; but it had been too late for their mother, who had already begun to slip into the arms of madness. From the time he was eight, when the disrepute had delivered his father into an early grave and his mother had finally and fully nestled into the bosom of madness, Tobias had been burdened with the duty of ruling the gift his sister possessed, lest it rule her. At that age Lunetta had doted on him, and he had used that love to convince her to listen only to the Creator’s wishes, and to guide her in moral conduct, the way the men of the king’s circle had schooled him. Lunetta had always needed, in fact embraced, guidance. She was a helpless soul trapped by a curse that was beyond her ability to expunge or her power to escape.
Through ruthless effort, he had cleansed the ignominy of having one with the gift born into his family. It had taken most of his life, but Tobias had returned honor to the family name. He had shown them all; he had turned the stigma to
On a distant rise lay the sprawling Confessors’ Palace, its stone columns and spires unmatched by the elegance of Kings Row, and somehow whiter than the snow around it, as if trying to mask the profanity of its existence with the illusion of purity. Brogan’s stare probed the recesses of that sanctuary of wickedness, the shrine to magic’s power over the pious, as his bony fingers idly caressed the leather trophy case at his belt.
“ My lord general,” Lunetta pressed, leaning forward, “did you hear what I said—”
Brogan twisted around, his polished boots creaking against the stirrup leather in the cold. “Galtero!”
Eyes like black ice shone from under the brow of a polished helmet beneath a horsehair plume dyed crimson to match the soldiers’ capes. He held his reins easily in one gauntleted hand as he swayed in his saddle with the fluid grace of a mountain lion. “Lord General?”
“ If my sister can’t keep quiet when ordered to” —he shot her a glare— “gag her.”
Lunetta darted an uneasy glance at the broad-shouldered man riding beside her, at his polished-to-perfection armor and mail, at his well-honed weapons. She opened her mouth to protest, but as she returned her gaze to those icy eyes she closed it again, and instead scratched her arms. “Forgive me, Lord General Brogan,” she murmured as she bowed her head deferentially toward her brother.
Galtero aggressively sidestepped his horse closer to Lunetta, his powerful gray gelding jostling her bay mare. “Silence, streganicha .”
Her cheeks colored at the affront, and her eyes, for an instant, flashed with menace, but just as quickly it was gone, and she seemed to wilt into her tattered rags as her eyes lowered in submission.
“ I not be a witch,” she whispered to herself.
A brow lifted over one cold eye, causing her to sag further, and she fell silent for good.
Galtero was a good man; the fact that Lunetta was sister to Lord General Brogan would count for nothing if the order were ever given. She was streganicha , one tainted by evil. Given the word, Galtero or any of the other men would spill her lifeblood without a moment’s hesitation or regret.
That she was Brogan’s kin only hardened him to his duty. She served as a constant reminder of the Keeper’s ability to strike out at the righteous, and blight even the finest of families.
Seven years after Lunetta’s birth, the Creator had balanced the injustice and Tobias had been born, born to counter what the Keeper had corrupted; but it had been too late for their mother, who had already begun to slip into the arms of madness. From the time he was eight, when the disrepute had delivered his father into an early grave and his mother had finally and fully nestled into the bosom of madness, Tobias had been burdened with the duty of ruling the gift his sister possessed, lest it rule her. At that age Lunetta had doted on him, and he had used that love to convince her to listen only to the Creator’s wishes, and to guide her in moral conduct, the way the men of the king’s circle had schooled him. Lunetta had always needed, in fact embraced, guidance. She was a helpless soul trapped by a curse that was beyond her ability to expunge or her power to escape.
Through ruthless effort, he had cleansed the ignominy of having one with the gift born into his family. It had taken most of his life, but Tobias had returned honor to the family name. He had shown them all; he had turned the stigma to
Similar Books
My Grandfather Would Have Shot Me: A Black Woman Discovers Her Family's Nazi Past
Jennifer Teege, Nikola Sellmair
