Except…that look in Uncle Stancil’s dead eyes.In all their eyes.
Revenge was an empty promise.
Riven wept silently, letting the tears slide down his face.What he really wanted, really craved, was an end to his pain and grief.Revenge had given him focus, driven him forward.Seeking enough power to achieve that had been a balm, a distraction from his pain.
He’d never once given a thought to the cost.
His stomach cramped, and he discovered he’d curled up on the cot once more, hands clenched into fists, breathing ragged.The craving raged through his body.
He bit his lip, forced himself to concentrate, to relax each tightened muscle, slow each breath.There was no letheon here to deaden his pain.
He’d found other ways to suppress it, hadn’t he?By pursuing his studies, for instance.Though through those studies, he had crushed others in pursuit of his desire to punish the ones who had caused his anguish.
What did that make him?
Riven covered his face with his hands, flinching away from the truth but unable to deny it.He had done this.He’d kidnaped, tortured, killed, done whatever needed doing to achieve his goal.He’d drowned in his need for vengeance and never given a thought to “after.”What comes after revenge?
After life?
And here it was, the “after.”It had arrived with resources that lured him in and allowed him to ignore the fact that he would kill again, and again, and bond…enslave…five innocent lives.For what?
The door clicked open and he flinched from the light, plucking up the blanket.
Avice stepped in, closing the door behind her.“I thought I’d check on you,” she said.Her voice was soft and warm but her eyes were cold and hard.“I understand you had taken ill.”
Riven smiled weakly.“Too much excitement, I guess.”
“So Mira said.”Avice smiled, but not with her eyes.“Can I get you anything?Water?Food?Or do you wish to see the scroll?”
“I don’t want to risk damaging it.”Riven said.“Think I just need sleep.”
Her stiffness eased.“Sleep then.We will check on you later.”She turned to go, and as if to drive a point home, his mage sight rose.
He saw again the golden net with flecks of red that held her prisoner as she slipped out, the door locking behind her.
The red sparks…the blood red flecks.He should have seen it before, recognized it for what it was.The blood of the sacrifice that had been used to seal their bond, when Avice and the others were but six months of age.
Avice wasn’t free to make her own choices, enslaved as she was.Enslaved in ways she probably wasn’t even aware of.
Riven, on the other hand?He’d made all kinds of choices, hadn’t he?Choices he’d justified, admittedly, but choices he’d been free to make.
He couldn’t justify them now, could he?Couldn’t look at those decisions with the same cold, driven, uncaring eye.
The remembered taste of letheon formed on his tongue, and he swallowed the echo.Oh, for the sweet oblivion, the forgetfulness.
But that thought was what had gotten him here, wasn’t it?
Riven choked back a sob, then gave in to the pain, and the loss, and the conflict, and cried himself silently to sleep.
“Master?”
Riven stirred, opening crusty eyes to find Witless standing over him, rocking slightly, looking worried.
“Witless,” he rasped, “I’m fine.”
“You look awful,” Nora said from the doorway.“You’ve slept almost the whole day away.Kavage?”
“No.”Riven grimaced and rubbed his face as he sat up, Witless reaching to help him.
