The Cursed Blood, стр. 45
High King Rain stood in silence; his hand preemptively raised to stay any reaction from his hunters before it happened. It was obvious the powerful Wizard was far from used to being addressed in such a way and was finding the new and uncouth experience unpleasantly tiresome.
He also was likely painfully aware that all of his magic was all but useless against ascended ones of our bloodlines like Gramps. And should any undue harm befall one of us that he risked a deadly personal war with all Darklings that couldn’t be easily won and wouldn’t end until his skull was added to the catacombs.
“You don’t think he did it, do you…err…My Lord?” My question broke the uncomfortable silence that had icily gripped the room as both of them turned to regard me in surprise.
“Who, did what?” Gramps had obviously missed it, and as angry as he was, I wasn’t surprised. I’d caught on quick enough though.
“You said ‘accused’ Vraad.” I expanded as best as I could at the time. I’d heard that word tossed about a lot on tv or when my parents had talked and it always seemed to hint that they thought that the guilt was somehow in question or needed further proving.
I wasn’t sure how I felt about that in this situation and, by the way Gramps rounded again on the Elvish royal neither did he.
“So he did,” Gramps grumbled as he put his fists on his hips and fixed the lot with another dirty look, one puffy brow raised quizzically. “What of it? Is what my Grandson says true? You doubt the Vraad’s guilt?”
“Darklings now determine guilt or innocence on the weight of their own opinions and preconceived notions on a species alone, I see? Things have changed since I’ve been gone. I seem to remember justice used to matter more than that.” The King turned his back and made to leave with a disappointed shake of his head, hands clasped behind his back.
“It matters to me.” I don’t know why I said it as loudly as I did, or why I stood with my fists balled and eyes brimming. I think by this point I’d just had enough. Needless to say, even the hunters took a hesitant step back and made to raise their bows. Again the King waved them off, regarding me over his shoulder with a curiously arched brow.
“Why?” the King asked softly.
“Because it’s what we were made for, at least that’s what the books say. And that sounds a lot better to me than just hunting things, killing and fighting over things that happened ages ago. I want to KNOW who killed my family and why. If you know something, please, tell me.”
It was an impassioned little speech for a thirteen-year-old, I’ll give myself that, but it all came bubbling out in a long emotion cracking sentence that seemed to please the ancient Elf King more than a little all the same.
“You don’t approve of the feud, then?”
“I read about it, I understand it, I think it’s a waste.” I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand and sniffed. It’d been a hard, emotional day and my head hurt and I wanted answers. Any answers that could account for all this mess as long as they were honest, then maybe I could get some sleep.
“Just like that?” he asked incredulously, a ghost of a smile on his lips as he turned about and peered down at me, arms now folded across his chest as one finger ran along his jaw in a curious, thoughtful way. Something like hope and something deeper and cunning shone in those odd, other worldly eyes of his.
“It’s got to start at some point, doesn’t it? Why not with me?” I shrugged, rubbing at my throbbing head with my fingers as I tried to figure out why adults found this subject so hard. “I read about the Vraad, I know what they were before this blood feud with us Darklings. I even understand why they were afraid of us. I don’t like what they did, but it was ages ago and nothing anyone can do can change it. Only thing I can do is try to make things better. I just don’t think keeping on killing each other does that, do you?”
The High King seemed amused by this. Even one of the hunters, the one who had opened the door for us, seemed to find this odd and was contemplating me with that maddening, head cocked to the side, with the sort of perplexed look one has when trying to decide if a snake or spider one happened across is venomous or not.
“And you would do this, find peace if you could then? Even if all the others of your kind opposed you?” the Wizard king asked, looking meaningfully at Gramps then back at me. For some odd reason I felt that a lot rode on my answer to this. I’d no idea then how much but I remember it felt like this was a test of some kind and I was being called to the front of the class to answer a difficult question very publicly.
I remember reddening with unease, looking at Gramps who appeared deeply uncomfortable, resigned, pensive, and distant and decidedly avoided looking me in the eyes as he fidgeted with the ends of his flannel as he does when put in a squirmy spot. As if tugging out his old plaid flannel’s wrinkles would somehow smooth things over more comfortably for him.
“Of course,” I answered, and I meant it.
“No matter the cost?” he asked curiously, again eyeing Gramps as he continued to run his finger along his chin. The room had gone silent at this as all the Elves seemed to be listening intently.
“What