Pellin looked at his wife. “Do you see now, Revna? There is only one choice if we are to save our position here at court. We have to purge the shame, swiftly and cleanly. We have to take immediate action, provide our new king with a strong, tangible demonstration so there is no doubt where our loyalties lie.”
Revna stepped up beside her husband, hands clasped tightly in front of her. She looked at Tor for a moment, her eyes almost black in her pale face, and then she looked back at Pellin.
She was quiet for a long moment, but then she dipped her chin firmly. “Yes, husband. You’re right, there’s nothing else to be done. The Hawks are responsible for the death of King Geraint, and Ballanor blames Tor and his squad. I didn’t want to accept it… but there really is only one option left.”
Gods, he was tired. Tor ran a dirty hand around the back of his neck and gripped the tight muscles as he tried to understand the sudden change in the conversation. “What is our only option?” he asked.
Pellin and Revna stood side by side, staring back at him.
The silence stretched painfully as they watched each other—Tor on one side, still covered in the king’s blood; his parents on the other, pristine in their lavish court costumes. The room was so quiet that he could hear his own ragged breathing, even the sound of his heart thudding.
Pellin cleared his throat and then turned away, so that his back was to Tor, and took Revna’s hands. “Wife, I’m sorry to tell you that Tor, son of Pellin, son of Bar-Ulf, died this day in the massacre of Ravenstone Meadow.”
What?
“What are you saying?” Tor asked slowly. But no one answered.
His mother sniffled and leaned against his father. “My son is dead. Gods. My oldest son.” A genuine sob rocked her body.
It was as if a vise had clamped over his lungs, squeezing his ribs with a malevolent grip that drove the air from his body. He had obviously misheard. Obviously. They wouldn’t renounce him like this. Would they? Surely their position at court wasn’t so valuable to them that they would… what? Disown him? They weren’t even looking at him, for fuck’s sake.
He had to force his words past the blockage in his throat. “I don’t understand.”
Neither of them answered him.
“Mother—” He fought for the right words. How could he possibly convince them that his life had value? That he was worthy of their protection. Their love. That this failure shouldn’t mean his death in their eyes.
He had heard of other noble families where the children had been cast out for bringing shame on their parents. But he had never, not even in his worst nightmares, imagined that it could happen to him.
Pellin wrapped an arm around Revna, holding her close as he spoke into the room. “Our son is dead, and we may grieve his loss. The new king will reward this huge sacrifice made in his name. And then, when we have mourned, we will bring our remaining sons back to court and present them to King Ballanor as his servants.”
“No. Gods. I’m standing right here!”
Pellin ignored him completely, but Revna glanced at him through her tears. She was genuinely upset. Surely, she would do something. Anything. She could change Pellin’s mind. Couldn’t she? If she wanted to?
His mother’s voice was muffled and watery. “Ballanor will see what our family has lost. You’re right, husband; he will understand this sacrifice.”
This sacrifice? Who was making this sacrifice? Not them.Him. Gods. He had to stop this. Had to show them, somehow.
Tor stepped forward, reaching toward his parents. His family. The foundation of who he was in the world. The people who were supposed to stand beside him. He supported them, and they supported him. Didn’t they? “Don’t do this. Please.”
His mother flinched back, body arching as she avoided his touch and turned her face away, and he froze, hand still hanging in the air.
“Mam?” His voice broke on the word, the desperate plea that tore out from deep inside him, taking him back to a time when he was a little boy and she was his mama. But she still didn’t look at him.
“Father, I—”
Pellin cut him off. “We don’t want strangers in our rooms. Can’t you see that you’re upsetting my wife? If you don’t leave, we’ll call the guards.”
Tor clasped his hands in front of his belly, trying to hold himself together. “The guards? I’m your son!”
Pellin shook his head. “My sons are in the country with their tutor. You are no one to me.”
The words buzzed in his ears as the need to retch forced its way up his throat. “Iam your son. You can’t do this.”
Pellin spun toward the door, face set cold and hard. “Guards!”
“No—”
