Gena Showalter Bundle. Gena Showalter
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the same devotion for you that I have for Jorlan. Always.”
“Liar!” He closed the distance between them there in the quiet of the white sands. His rage grew hungry, and without warning, he struck her. Hard. Putting all his strength behind the blow. Her head snapped to the side, and a small trickle of blood flowed from the corner of her lip. “You are a liar.” He spoke slowly, softly. Harshly.
Silence weighted down like an oppressive shadow, and he watched his mother’s cheek redden and swell. He had put that mark there, and the knowledge cut deeply, shamefully. He held his breath until his chest burned in agony, for the gentle fragrance of her perfume taunted his nostrils. He waited for her next words, the words that would at last confess her hatred of him.
They didn’t come.
Tears pooled in her eyes; her chin wobbled. “Please believe me when I say that I am devoted to you. Not because you are my son, but because I love you.”
These words were somehow more offensive than if she’d slapped him in retaliation. For how long had he waited to hear such a wondrous declaration? Forever, it seemed. Yet it meant nothing to him now. Nothing! “Your actions belie your words, Mother.”
“’Tis not true.”
“You claimed to love me spans ago, and yet you left me, deserted me as if I were garbage when you life-joined with the mortal king.”
“I left you with the Druinn because I loved you. How can you not see that? I could not take you from them, knowing you were destined to become high priest.”
“What does power or sovereignty matter without love? All I’ve ever desired is the feel of your arms around me, comforting me. The sound of your voice soothing me to sleep. But you denied me those things as surely as you granted them to Jorlan.”
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice broken and disjointed like the winds of the third season. “So sorry. I didn’t know, didn’t think—”
“No.” He cut her off, scowling. “You didn’t think of me. You have never thought of me.”
“Percen, please stop this. I love you. I truly do.”
Again, those words. How they cut into his soul, making him bleed inside, leaving a hollow ache where his heart had once resided. “As I said, your actions belie your words. You claim to love me now, and yet you sent Jorlan away, preventing me from obtaining my greatest desire.”
Her eyes closed; her lips pressed together. “Aye. ’Twas I who sent him away.”
A long silence stretched.
“Tell me, Mother,” Percen said. “If I give you another chance, will you at last prove your love for me?”
“Whatever you wish, ’tis yours,” she said hopefully, though she still did not face him.
He knew exactly what he wanted. “Bring the statue back to me.”
“Nay. Not that.” She gave a firm shake of her head. “Never that.”
“Curse you, why did you take him from me? Why? A loving—” he sneered the word “—mother would have left me to my vengeance.”
At last her eyes met his. He pierced her with the full fury of his gaze. She did not look away from him this time, and in fact, held his stare with a proud tilt of her chin. “Jorlan is my son, just as you are, and I would not see him suffer for my sins.”
Hearing her words of devotion for his most hated enemy cut deeper than a sharp-edged talon. “By sending him to another world, you punished me. Does it please you to see me suffer?”
“Your happiness means as much to me as his does, but I could not allow you to sentence your brother to a life of imprisonment.” Like a dark angel amid the white sands, she sank to her knees and scooped a handful of the tiny crystals, letting the grains sift between her fingers. One lone tear dripped into her palm, blending and thickening the sand. “Had I the power to break your curse, I would have done so instead of simply sending him away.”
Percen’s nostrils flared. All of his childhood he had always prayed for this woman’s love, had craved it with every fiber of his being, yet he had found only emptiness. Always emptiness. He supposed he shouldn’t have blamed Alana for leaving him. What mother could adore a son so hideous to gaze upon? He knew his scarred, haggard exterior was, at times, too much to bear.
’Twas one of the reasons he hated Jorlan so passionately. Jorlan possessed the beauty of ancient legends and the strength of a warrior. With brawn unlike any other, the handsome giant felled his enemies with a deadly determination few possessed. Praise met his every action, unlike the dismal recognition Percen received when his own mystical powers were required. His magic should have been praised, his skills exalted.
“He is your brother, Percen,” she said softly. “Set him free.”
“He is my greatest foe, Mother. I will see him die first.”
Her lips parted on another sigh, and she once again reached to touch him. He backed away. He would not accept comfort from her now.
“You need a woman.” Absently, she scooped another handful of sand. “Someone to heal the hurts within you.”
“What woman would have me?” He laughed, the sound harsh and bitter in his ears. “What woman would have a man whose skin is marred with so many scars? Whose body is twisted and bent?”
She answered without hesitation. “The woman for you is the woman who can look beyond appearance and see the wonderful man inside.”
“This from the woman who not only abandoned her first son, but also destroyed her second—”
Her chin jerked up, and she spoke over his last words. “Do not say it. Do not say those words aloud.”
“What? Do not speak your sins aloud for all of the Druinn to hear? I know what you did to the—”
“Percen,” she once again cut him off, desperate this time. She stood to her full height. “That is enough.”
He paused, considered her plea. “You are right. Your sins against the mortals matter little to me. In fact, I welcomed your deed.” His head fell back and he gazed up at the heavens. Twin moons glowed, creating shafts of violet light. Why could life not be simple? A man was supposed to live and love and die. Instead, he lived, he suffered, and he continued suffering. “To what world did you send Jorlan?”
Her eyelids fluttered to a close, but not before he caught a glimpse of her relief. “I sent him far away where a loving maiden will one day set him free. He deserves a life of happiness.”
“And I do not?” Percen slammed his fist against his palm.
“I did not say that,” she gently assured him. “But your happiness does not lie in Jorlan’s suffering.”
Aye, it did. Or mayhap…mayhap his redemption lay with another’s suffering. “I hardened Jorlan as surely as your neglect hardened my heart,” he said, more to himself than to her. “But mayhap I should have hardened you instead.”
Once the words were spoken, he realized just how much he meant them. If she were stone, she could not say things that hurt him. Could not leave him alone and destitute. Could not choose Jorlan over him once again.
She must have read his intent in his eyes, because she said, “Percen, do not do this,” and backed away. She even clasped her amulet to send herself to another plane.
His powers were much stronger than hers; the Druinn had seen to that. By Elliea, she had seen to that. With a curl of his fingers, he froze her feet in place, making it impossible for her to move, physically or mystically.
“It is past time you thought upon your actions and your choices. Were even Jorlan here, he could not save you from my spell. We both know he has not my magical abilities, yet you have always chosen the weaker of your sons. Think on that.”
“Percen—”