Dreams Made Flesh

want to fight after all…at least, not with words. But as he turned away from the desk and headed for the door, his own pain pushed him into making one more reckless verbal jab. "So you don't have to worry about the SaDiablo bloodline being diminished by a witch who hasn't got the education or the accomplishments to…"
    The door slammed shut with a force that shook the room.
    Lucivar spun around in time to see Saetan slowly rising from the chair behind the desk.
    "You will not do this," Saetan snarled softly as he came around the desk. "You will not use me like this."
    Wary now, his heart pounding because of what he saw in his father's eyes, Lucivar said, "Like what? I…"
    That deep voice became thunder. "You will not use me as a weapon against your own heart!"
    "I'm not. I didn't."
    Saetan slipped into the Hayllian language. Words poured out in a hot
    river. Lucivar didn't understand most of it, but he caught a few phrases here and there, as well as the name Peyton.
    I lanced an old wound, Lucivar thought with regret as a rage and pain he couldn't begin to match flooded the room. I wouldn't have pushed at him if I'd known I'd open an old wound.
    "Father." No response. "Father."
    The words stopped, but the rage still vibrated through the room.
    "I didn't mean that. I'm sorry I said that." His own temper rose. "I'm not the one who used you as a weapon. And those excuses are nothing but shit." Since he couldn't get out of the room until Saetan let him go, he paced. "Just shit. Like that'I'm just a hearth witch' crap she was spewing. I thought we'd gotten past that. Guess I was wrong." Beaten, he stopped pacing. "The truth is, she doesn't want an Ebon-gray Warlord Prince as a husband. She's willing to bed one, but not marry one. That has nothing to do with me being your son… and everything to do with me, with who and what I am."
    He turned toward the door. "Let me go."
    "Where?" Saetan asked too softly.
    "Just away from people. Out on the land."
    The door opened. He fled the Keep…and wondered what that blank-ness in Saetan's eyes meant.
    Marian scrambled out of the way as Luthvian pushed past her into the eyrie's front room.
    "You wouldn't listen, would you?" Luthvian growled."Wouldn't heed the warning. Well, I hope you're satisfied, little witch."
    "I did what you asked," Marian cried. "I told him I wouldn't marry him when he asked me this morning."
    "But you intend to stay here, don't you, pouring salt on the wound? Keeping just enough of a tie so there's no clean break that will heal."
    "No." She felt beaten, battered, unable to stand against the words.
    "You stayed long enough for him to ask instead of resigning your position and getting out. So what happens to him now is on your head."
    "What are you talking about?"
    "He's gone to fight the jhinkas. Gone alone to face a savage race that
    hates Eyriens. And he'll throw himself into that fight with your rejection ripping at him, keeping him unbalanced while he tries to survive odds that are against even someone with his unusual strength and skill. If he dies…"
    "No!" Marian cried. "He can't die. He can't."
    "Everything has a price," Luthvian said ruthlessly. "If he dies, that's the price for loving you!"
    Weeping, Marian sank to the floor.
    "Go away, Marian. Disappear. If he manages to survive, your presence will only be a torment to him."
    Lucivar dying? Because of her? She should go to the Keep, find the High Lord. No. He'd blame her for this. If Lucivar got hurt, he'd blame her. And why shouldn't he? Who else was there to blame?
    Luthvian was gone long before Marian was able to stagger to the kitchen and splash cold water on her face. She'd pack. She'd go away. She didn't want to be a torment to the man she loved.
    She looked around the kitchen.
    But first she had to deal with all the food she'd cooked. It would spoil if she left it out, and if he was wounded, he would need the meals she'd…
    Tears spilled from her eyes, and her head ached from that cobwebby feeling that had almost gone away. Still, she went about the business of doing everything she could for him before she disappeared from his life.
    As the afternoon waned, Saetan paced, trying to push the past out of his mind so that he could consider the present.
    Something wasn't right here. Something didn't fit. And his son's heart was bleeding because of it.
    He called in his cape. Whipped it around his shoulders as he strode out of the room.
    Something wasn't right. And he was damn well going to