Malefic’s hand clasped viciously around Rontu’s throat.
He squeezed, cutting off the air to his filthy tongue.
Before the Representative knew to evade him, Malefic had his back against the purple and black wallpaper, feet off the floor. The further cinching of his muscular hand ended Rontu’s patronizing and overly-familiar breath altogether in a choked gasp.
That was soon followed by a swine-like squeal.
“Call my sonitone more time, you magic-less pretender,” Malefic warned coldly. “Call him abomination. Creature. Monster. And you will know exactly howpracticalI can be, you urine-sucking mealworm.”
It had long been a rumor the Obeah drank urine inside their Sanctum.
Malefic didn’t necessarily believe it.
Nor did he care.
They stood just outside his wife’s birthing chamber.
The door to her sat on one side of an adjoined sitting room, one which stretched to cavernous heights in one of the oldest structures still owned and occupied by a single family in any Communion of the Ancient Race, much less the United Kingdom.
England’s largest and grandest castle, including of those no longer standing, and better protected than that of the current King, Roland the III, or that of The Ethnarch himself, the Bones ancestral home, dubbed “The Black Tower” by one of Malefic’s forebears, Raughloch Jorich Moreland Bones, some seven hundred years previous, had no equal. Family mythology told that Raughloch was drunk when he dubbed it thus. Thatsame mythology also claimed the name arose partly from some quarrel with his wife.
Whatever its roots, the Black Tower had been known, by rumor and reputation, throughout civilized Magique, for longer than it had carried the name.
Malefic knew what was said about the Tower, and the family who lived inside it. He knew of every whisper about what these walls had seen and overheard.
He also knew which of those whispers were true.
Malefic Nox Anguis Bones II, direct descendant to Eustacia Morwormer Ava Bones, Raughlock Jorich Bones before her, High Sorcerer Huntah-keh Mak Reknat before them, current Lord of the Black Tower, and most powerful mage among those dubbed “the Royals,” mostly by commoners, did not take kindly to being questioned in his family home.
Mirrors reflected and amplified the torchlight, as did the tall, night-darkened windows, but the guttering flames did little to penetrate the high-ceilinged gloom. Malefic could hear his wife panting under the sleeping inhalants she’d been given, still in pain despite the work of the mephysicians, their attendants, and the many potions, serums, and spelled foodstuffs they’d used to try and ease her suffering.
He had known there was something different about the whelp, of course.
He wasn’t blind.
He had seen the effect the pregnancy had on his wife.
He’d seen her try to hide those things from him, until the pregnancy nearly ended her, wasting her down to less than half her previous size. That didn’t even get into the odd “occurrences” that had taken place once the fetus became more fully formed.
“It…” Rontu began in a gasp. At the sharp dig of Malefic’s talon-like fingers, he immediately amended his words. “…He.He.He cannot be cured, Malefic!” he rasped. “Do you understand me? There is no way tofixthis, old friend! I seek only to protect you… a-a-and your family. You would be seen asresponsible,Malefic. If it were to come out, and it assuredlywouldcome out, cousin, there would belegalrepercussions, not to mention––”
“You think I need a lecture from you on the law? Or my familial responsibilities?” Malefic’s stare turned glacial. “Are you really offering mehelpin protecting those whose hearts and veins are given life by my and my ancestors’ blood?”
Rontu continued to sputter out words as if he hadn’t heard him.
“––once the Council of Ancients knows, they’ll beforcedto report it to the Federation Europa, brother Malefic, and then to the Authority of Magical Enforcement. There is no possible way tohidesuch a thing––”
“You think they would force me to murder my own son?” Malefic sneered. “That band of sniveling bureaucrats who dare to pretend to rule the Ancients of our Isle? As well as that of all of Europe? Not all of us are so cowed by your pretend authority,cousin––”
“It is an old law,” Rontu gasped.
His feet once more rested on the stone floor, but Malefic’s fingers still gripped him enough that his voice struggled.
“It predates them. It predates all but our earliest forefathers’ original magical codes. It isstill on the books,Malefic.Wyverm Ignishas not been seen in either of our lifetimes… or even in our grandfathers’ or great-grandfathers’ or great-great grandfathers’ lifetimes. But I can tell you, the authoritieswould not balkat the remedy, given what is known. The fear of this affliction isvisceral,truly. It is nearly animal in its intensity. Moreover, it is existential. Particularly if he has the gift of phasing, which iswritten of in those accounts. Given the needs of our holy society, it cannot be permitted to––”
Malefic’s fingers tightened viciously.
“He!Hecannot be permitted!” Rontu squealed. “And it wouldn’t only be his death! It would beyourstoo, cousin, if it came out you tried to hide it!”
