Keir Read Free Page A

upright. “Keir, what’s wrong?”
    “What do you want of me, Quin?” he demanded. “Can I not even die in peace?”
    I’ve already seen too many wasted lives…
    “I don’t want you to die,” she said, the words catching in her throat at his plight.
    Keir’s head lifted, as if drawn by her wish. “There is not a soul in this world who would not wish me dead.”
    “Why? I don’t underst–”
    Keir crumpled to the sand with a sigh. She darted forward with outstretched hands and managed to catch him.
    Pain lanced through her at the contact and she gasped as his mind bled into hers. The flash of red-tinted blades. The screams of a child. Anger. Fear. Bitterness.
    Oh, Hades, what the hell am I going to do with you?
    * * * *
    In a room atop the North Tower, an elderly lady sat in a high-backed, elaborately carved chair as if it were a throne, regal despite her advanced age. The walls of the apartment were pearly-white plaster, divided into sections and decorated with pastel scenes of colorful landscapes and elegant figures–children at play and courtiers poised in formal dance. A large marble fireplace dominated one wall, unlit during daylight hours and surmounted by a wide family portrait framed in gold. Thick, dark-red drapes swathed the large four-poster bed and bordered the three windows that trickled sunlight into the room and revealed views across the city.
    The woman sat motionless in her dark-blue robes, the complicated silver knot symbol of the Corizi emblazoned on the front panel of her bodice in solid silver beads and tiny white pearls. The high collar framed a masculine jaw line and an oval face that was lined and haughty. Her long hands lay folded in her lap and she took slow, deep breaths, listening to her city speak. Her eyes snapped open at the sound of irregular footsteps and a pounding at the door.
    “Enter,” she commanded.
    A gray-haired soldier limped into the room and slammed the door. He sketched a perfunctory bow, which she acknowledged with the merest inclination of her head. “Mother.”
    “Well?” she snapped. “Is my palace about to fall?”
    “They are making repairs as we speak.”
    “How long will this take?”
    “Two days.”
    The Matriarch grunted, unimpressed. “And the cause?”
    “An explosion in the lower levels, causing the sewer beneath the palace to collapse.”
    “Yes, I heard the explosion,” she retorted. “I should imagine the whole city heard it.” With eyes as piercing and cold as those of her son, she leaned forward. “No explosives are stored beneath the North Tower, Rialto. What were you hiding down there? The truth, my son.”
    For the first time, something other than anger flickered across his face. “Prisoners.” He did not meet her gaze.
    The Matriarch made as if to stand, hands clenched like talons on the arms of her chair. “Since when are prisoners kept below the tower?” she demanded. “Why were they not in the holding area?”
    “I did not want these two to be seen.”
    “Why? Who were they?”
    His ensuing silence allowed the distant commotion of the bustling city and the nearby rebuilding work to flow through the window. The everyday sounds of civilization filled the room, marking the passing seconds in irregular beats.
    Rialto swallowed hard, his long face twisted as if in pain. “The Blue Demon.”
    The Matriarch made herself sit back, though her anger had grown to match her son’s perpetual rage. “Why?”
    “He has been allowed the freedom of our city for too long!” the commander spat, his look slightly wild. “I would rid us of him, once and for all.”
    “Have you not tormented him enough for the sin of his birth, without resorting to murder?”
    “The removal of such a creature is not murder. It is a cleansing.”
    “He is no creature, Rialto. He is–”
    “Enough!” He took a step forward and his eyes blazed with a fury approaching madness. “I know well who he is. It matters not. He will be brought to