Itlaughed,and Ban asked, “You forged her yourself?”
Curan nodded. “She was ready, and you are sure to need her.”
“I do already.” Ban squeezed the leather-wrapped hilt. He set the edge of the blade against his left forearm, holding the sword flat to inspect every inch.
Thunder rumbled overhead.
The vibration made the sword ring, settling down through Ban’s bones. His pulse raced, and he knew, absolutely knew, for one clear moment, that he would die with this sword in his hand.
This sword would destroy; it would cleanse; it would change everything.
No, it was Ban himself who would do all those things. Soon.
Now.
As if prompted, Connley and Regan swept in exactly then. Ban could hear her skirts against the rushes, and Connley called, “Ban the Fox, we’ve come, as you asked.”
Ban turned. Wet wind shoved at his back as he made his way forward. “My lord.” Tension edged his voice. He glanced at the iron wizard, who nodded and left.
“What ails you, sir?” Regan asked when they were alone. She reached for him with a lovely hand decorated with several slender silver rings that set off her winter-brown skin. Today she wore a silver-threaded violet gown, edged in white fur he suspected came from his animal namesake. Despite Regan’s distraction, her grief—the pink rimming her irises—Ban thought she was everything a queen of Innis Lear should be: powerful, sharp, beautiful, like a raw ruby mined from the guts of the island, set into smooth iron.
The lady touched his face tenderly. “Tell us,” she coaxed.
Connley put his hand against Ban’s other cheek, casual and intimate. “Tell us,” he said, more commanding.
Ban removed a letter from his coat. Unlike the last time he’d betrayed a family member with a letter, this one he’d not needed to forge. Once Errigal had returned to the Keep, the Fox had stalked the young star priest out of the Steps. He leapt upon him, killed him quickly, and took the letter Errigal had written to align himself with Aremoria, Morimaros, and Lear.
“My father has betrayed us,” he said, relishing the sharp stab of guilt and the thorny pull of triumph all at once.
Connley took the letter and spread the paper so his wife could share the view. She read more quickly than he did, or perhaps rage blinded Connley. Before Connley did more than drag fingers through his fine slick hair, Regan lashed out, catching Ban unawares. Her nails cut his cheek; her rings would leave a red bruise. “He names you, too, in this dangerous missive, Ban Errigal,” she said.
“Regan,” Connley said, voice strangled. “The Fox brought this to us.”
Ban held his gaze on Regan’s, face hot. “He does name me, but that man cannot speak for me anymore than your father can for you.”
Her smile was a vicious creature. “Well said, Fox.”
The duke crushed the letter in his fist, strode to the strong fire, and cast it in. “We shall see what your father will claim for his loyalties, or if he will lie.”
“We should hang him instantly,” Regan hissed.
“Leave him to my displeasure,” Connley said. “Ban, you may go. You need not witness this.”
“Thank you, sir, but I will stay.” He wanted to look in Errigal’s eyes and show the earl exactly what he’d wrought by never choosing Ban.
“Brave boy,” said Regan, lovingly, but Ban knew this was not courage.
Just then Errigal dashed through the open doors from the courtyard, cursing the rain that plastered his hair to his face, dragged at his beard, and turned his leather coat dark in long grasping streaks. “What is this storm? Unnatural, I say.” He looked to any of the others for an ally in commiseration.
They would not need to summon him, in the end, to his end.
“Not so unnatural as your actions,” Connley coolly returned.
“What?” Errigal stopped short, shaking off his hair like a wet dog.
“You have betrayed us,” Regan said.
Ban’s heart beat hard enough to break. Every stab against his ribs fueled Ban’s anger, drummed up his turmoil.
