Chapter 6

Did her hatred, her disgust at herself as well as them, reflect within her voice?

The emotions tearing through her were chaotic and left her filled with dread.

“They are innocent,” he said softly, his gaze on the Griffon babes rather than her. “Such innocence did not deserve such a fate.”

Should she excuse him for not seeing the shaft of agony he drove into her heart? Did this mean, in his reasoning, that she and the Sorceresses of Covenan were somehow guilty of some crime and undeserving of life?

Could she forgive such a thought in exchange for the actions of saving the cubs?

Nay, she would forgive him nothing.

“What of my princess and my queen?” she demanded wearily then, coming to her feet to pace slowly toward him, to stare down at him, wishing she had the strength to expend her fury. “Were they not innocent enough, Talagarian Wizard? Did they deserve whatever fate you sent them to?”

His head turned slowly. The look on his face—was it guilt or was it horrified confusion? At that moment, how she wished she had the gift of the Justices to divine the truth.

“What say you, Sorceress?” His voice rasped, as if a great illness tore at his throat. “What is this you accuse us of?”

Her chin lifted, but still her tears fell as she stared down at him. Her anger, her certainty that he must lie, that he must know how he had destroyed not just her queen but also her cousin and her friend, drove spikes of agony through her chest.

“Queen Amoria and Princess Serena did naught to you,” she stated, painfully aware that she could not strike him down, that she could do nothing but leave and pray to the gods she had the strength to never return.

“Why?” She could not stop the plea from passing her lips. “Why, Torran, would you take them from us? Did you hate the princess so much for denying your request to question men you had given orders to? Was it the fact that she denied you? Did you know how she stood before the Justices, before you petitioned to speak to the accused and raged at them for their refusal?

“That she begged and all but went to her knees before them to allow you the questioning you sought. For what?” she cried out desperately. “So you could destroy her and her mother? Take from us all we hold dear?” She battled back her tears once again. “Ah Torran, fine warrior of Talgaria, how I wish I could drive my sword through your heart for such an evil act.” Sobs tore from her. “How weak am I?” She wanted to fall to her knees in shame and pain. “How weak am I to allow you to live when you have taken them from us?”

Her hand refused to pull her sword free. Her arm refused to make the killing blow. All that seemed willing to obey her commands now were her legs. And she used them to turn and run as fast and hard as her weakened body would allow from the warrior who brought her magick alive in a way she had prayed she would never know.

In a way that proclaimed her the natural Consort of a traitor.

As she turned to run, Torran sent his magick, weak at it was, to cover her. To protect her should she actually leave them alone, without her warmth and her tender care.

To protect her.

He could not risk harm to her. He could not allow her to travel alone, with naught to defend her but her own sword.

Nay, not his Consort. His Consortress. The Sorceress destined to be Consort to both himself as well as his younger brother, Rhydan.

The woman created by magick to match him perfectly, to ease the heart and complete the soul of himself and his brother.

As the magick left his body and cleaved to her, he fell back to the furs, his hands clenching in them as he stared at her, ached for her.

Long before, he had known of love, its mysteries and its charms. And much longer before he had known the agony of her belief that he and Rhydan had betrayed all she held dear, he had ached for her.

He had watched her weep as a young child, had watched her plead with a cold and unforgiving mother. Each time, he and Rhydan had sought to comfort her, their spirits holding fast to her, their warmth wrapping around her.

He’d only wanted to hold her. To ease her tears, to ease the pain that raged at her. How it had torn at him and Rhydan to see her pain and to be unable to comfort her with nothing more than the ghostly warmth they had provided.

Then, to feel her pain these past weeks, to feel her magick reaching out to them, filled with such confusion and betrayal, had burned through their souls like a white-hot blade.

Her magick had not been the only one reaching out though. Their power had reached out for her as well. She had the ability to put a stop to the game the Veressi had all but forced them into. Her magick and her place as their Consortress afforded her the power to reveal her place as their chosen one, and as the woman they could not turn from.

Yet she had not used the power to do so.

She had ached. She had raged. She had watched them in anger and in hope and her magick had reached out to them, stroking them, torturing them with need. But she had not revealed herself to them, nor forced them to do so.

And now, she ran from them.

From them, from her fears, her desires and the crimes she had feared they had committed.