From Darkness Won - Jill Williamson [138]
And he was, in Achan’s opinion. First born son of King Axel. But killing the king had lost him any birthright he may have claimed.
The good half of Lord Nathak’s mouth curved up with his smile. “The shock in Father’s eyes when I stabbed him was bittersweet. He refused to accuse me, even when bloodvoicing Sir Gavin with his dying words. He loved me, you see, even as his assassin. He would have raised me as his heir if not for his controlling wife. Now, Queen Dara… Never in all my life have I taken such pleasure in killing someone.”
Achan swung Ôwr so hard he knocked Lord Nathak’s block back enough to nick his shoulder. Lord Nathak sucked air between his teeth and shrank back into the wildflowers edging the road.
“You defend a mother you never knew?” Lord Nathak shook his head. “She doesn’t deserve such loyalty. She tried to bloodvoice my identity but only managed the word ‘stray’ before I silenced her forever. Bless her for that. It made hiding you so much easier all these years. I had intended to kill you next. But then Darkness came like a storm cloud from the west.”
Lord Nathak reached up and stroked the ruined flesh on his face. “It struck my face, crawled up my legs, and stopped only when I moved my blade away from your pudgy throat. The allown tree withered before my eyes. I knew Sir Gavin would be coming, so I took you and fled to Sitna.”
Achan’s thoughts clouded. His chest heaved. A stray had killed his parents. Lord Nathak—Luas Hadar—his father’s unclaimed child. “But why? Why not confront the king with bloodvoice mediators and make your claim? Why kill him?”
Lord Nathak growled a laugh. “One did not confront the king. Besides, the queen would never have allowed it. No, it was far too late for reconciliation. My father betrayed me. He deserved to die. And with his signet ring in my hand, the Council had no reason to doubt my story.”
“But Arman had not chosen you.”
Lord Nathak teetered in the thick moss. “Arman. The father god never favored me. I am Arman’s stray. Discarded, left to die.”
Pity pooled in Achan’s gut. He wanted to hate this man, not understand him. “That’s a lie. Arman has a plan for your life. But you hardened your heart because His plans did not match your own. I understand that. But one cannot rebel against Arman and succeed. And who would want to?”
Lord Nathak snorted. “Been listening to Sir Gavin, have you? Well, Arman took everything from me.” He gestured to his scarred face. “Still does.”
Achan squeezed Ôwr’s grip. “Why have you told me all this? Do you want me to kill you? Is that why you’ve come? Do you wish to die?”
“No! I want my son to live. I want Esek to let go of his vengeance before Arman ruins him too.”
“So you believe in Arman.”
“He is powerful. He destroys those who kill His anointed. If I had killed you that day, I would have died, I have no doubt. If Esek kills you, he will die. Unless you’ve sired an heir already.”
Achan shook his head. “Sorry to disappoint you.”
“We are family—you, Esek, and I. We must work together. You can appreciate that, can’t you? You’ve always been a noble sort. Let Esek rule. Spare his life.”
Achan blew out a long breath. He could not deny that these men were his family. As much as Prince Oren was. “But Arman wants me to be king, and that I cannot refuse.”
Lord Nathak snorted again. “Arman is the reason I don’t rule already. His wretched curses have nearly destroyed me.”
“It was not His curses but your choices that have undone you, Lord Nathak. You chose to defy Arman and ally with servants of evil. Your own choices have brought Darkness on your soul and all Er’Rets.”
Achan cut Ôwr hard toward Lord Nathak’s neck. Lord Nathak darted back, and Achan stabbed for the man’s chest. He pushed Lord Nathak back off the side of the road and past the bushes, stepping over spongy moss.
Lord Nathak would only parry—would not take an offensive strike. In no time Achan