J.R. Ward the Black Dagger Brotherhood Novels 5-8 - J. R. Ward [210]
I want Wellsie to come back.
“I figured that’s why you left.” The Brother rubbed a hand over his skull trim. “Here’s the thing, though. I believe there’s a hand that guides us. It just isn’t always a gentle one. Or one that seems fair at the time. But I dunno, I try to trust in it now. When I freak, I just try to…shit, I guess trust in it. Because at the end of the day, what else can you do? Choice only gets you so far. Reasoning and planning, too. The rest…it’s up to someone else. Where we end up, who we know, what happens to the people we love…we don’t have a lot of control over any of it.”
I miss Tohr.
“We all do.”
Yeah, John wasn’t the only one who suffered. He needed to remember that.
“So I have something for you.” Z went over to a cabinet and opened it. “Phury gave it to me yesterday. We were going to save it for your birthday, but fuck it. You need it tonight.”
Z came back to the desk with an old, battered leather book in his hands. He laid it on top of the piles of paper, his big palm over the front.
“Happy birthday, John.”
He lifted his arm and John looked down.
All at once his heart stopped.
With a shaking hand, he reached out and traced the worn lettering that read: DARIUS, SON OF MARKLON.
He gently opened the cover…. In a beautiful, formal flourish were words and symbols beyond measure, the reflections of a life that had been led long ago. His father’s writing in the Old Language.
John snapped his hand back and covered his mouth, terrified he was going to break down sobbing.
Except when he looked up in shame, he found that he was alone.
Z, with his characteristic grace, had allowed him to have his pride.
And now…having given him his father’s diary…some joy as well.
Right after First Meal, Vishous materialized to the Scribe Virgin’s courtyard. He was a little surprised that he got permission, considering the way things were, but he was glad he did.
After he took form, he frowned and looked around at the white marble mountain and the colonnade and the portal into the Chosen’s area. Something was different. He wasn’t sure what, but something—
“Greetings, sire.”
He turned around. A Chosen was standing by what he’d always assumed was the door to the Scribe Virgin’s private quarters. Dressed in that white robing with her hair twisted onto the top of her head, he recognized her as the one who’d come to check on Cormia after the presentation ceremony.
“Amalya,” he said.
She seemed surprised he remembered her name. “Your grace.”
So this was the one Cormia had recommended as Directrix. Made sense. The female did seem kind.
“I’m here to see the Scribe Virgin.” Although he figured she knew that.
“With all due deference, sire, she is not receiving this day.”
“Not receiving me or anybody?”
“All comers. Is there a message you would like to proffer her?”
“I’ll come back tomorrow.”
The Chosen bowed low. “With all due deference, sire, I believe that she will as yet be indisposed.”
“Why?”
“I do not inquire why.” Her tone was ever so slightly disapproving. As if he shouldn’t ask either.
Well, shit. What did he want to say exactly?
“Will you tell her…that Vishous came to say…”
As words failed him, the Chosen’s eyes were wells of compassion. “If I may be so bold, perhaps I shall tell her that her son came to thank her for her generous gift and for her sacrifice for his happiness.”
Son.
No, he couldn’t go that far. Even with Jane back, the label seemed disingenuous. “Just Vishous. Tell her Vishous came to say thank-you.”
The Chosen bowed again, her face saddened. “As you wish.”
He watched the female turn away and disappear behind the small, ornate door.
Wait a minute. Had she said sacrifice? What sacrifice?
He looked around again, focusing on the fountain. Abruptly the sound of the water struck him as odd. When he’d come before—
V slowly turned his head.
The white tree with the