The Eunuch's Heir Read Online Free PDF Page B

Your mother, Fionvar, Elyn—a few others, I guess.” She spread her hands.
    “I knew they lied to me—they have to—but you?” His tongue wet his suddenly dry lips, retreated into his parched mouth.
    “I’m sorry, Wolfram, truly I am. It wasn’t my choice.”
    “It wasn’t? Every day I swept up your studio, every day you told me the story of the war—you didn’t make a choice every single day, not to tell me my father lives?” He wantedto crush his pounding head between his hands, but he dared not move.
    “It’s complicated,” she replied awkwardly.
    “Oh!” he cried. “Oh, I bet it is, keeping the truth from me. Wait a minute!” he said theatrically, thrusting up one finger. “No, it’s not hard, not if the one you’re lying to is a trusting fool!”
    “What can I say, Wolfram?” She took a step toward him, hands out, pleading. “I’m sorry, I really am. I know there’s no way to make it up to you.”
    “Why would you want to?” he shot back. “Why make it up to me, why not just go up and laugh with your brother and the queen? Tell them how well you fooled me.” He turned away, arms braced against the table. His chest ached so that he could hardly breathe, and his cherished dream, his star of love plunged into darkness with her every word. His father’s stone face smirked up at him, compassion exchanged in an instant for cruelty. Alive!
    “Listen to me, Wolfram.” Lyssa’s voice came low, still pleading.
    “No! You listen.” A terrible inspiration leapt to his pounding head. The sense of triumph ringing in his ears in a thousand goading voices. He could hurt her as deeply as she hurt him. “Listen to this.” With both hands, and a strength almost beyond him, he pulled the stone head toward him, clutched it a moment to his breast and let it fall.
    The finely worked stone crashed into tiles of malachite, shattering the swirling green, gold wire springing from the inlay like sharp spiderwebs. The sound echoed its earthquake in the tiny space.
    The nose cracked and fell aside on impact, skittering across the floor to tap against the toe of Lyssa’s boot.
    Echoes reverberated in the temple and died away.
    Stone dust disturbed from the table eddied about them, settling again in the quiet.
    Wolfram’s heart quaked. His hands dangled useless and treacherous at the ends of his wrists. He stared down at the back of his father’s ruined head. She had betrayed his secretlove; but what he had broken lay at the very center of her being, her own skill used in the dedication of the Lady.
    Lyssa did not even tremble. Her powerful hands curled and uncurled at her sides. Her lips pressed together, breathing slow and normal. Over and over, her green eyes traced the shattered tiles, shying away from the instrument of their destruction.
    “Lyssa,” he whispered, when he regained his voice. “Great Lady, Lyssa, I—”
    A hollow, heavy voice answered. “Go.” Her lips formed the word with the precision of one of her chisels.
    The sound shot through the last of his anger, sending the ragged shreds of it fleeing from him. “Lyssa.” His voice close to cracking.
    “Go,” the dreadful voice repeated. “Now.”
    He sucked in a deep breath of the dusty air, and, coughing and sputtering, ran as far from her dead voice as he could.

Chapter 3
    DRAINED AT last, Wolfram found his way back to his own chambers. As he wearily approached, trying to work out what to do, his manservant Erik dashed up to him.
    Erik hovered, opening and closing his mouth several times, unsure what to make of his prince’s disheveled appearance. “Ah, Your Highness,” he began, blinking rapidly.
    Worn-out from his rage, Wolfram couldn’t muster his customary annoyance. “I know, I was out, I’m back now, I’m sorry.”
    “Ah, not that, Your Highness.” His stubby legs worked hard to keep up with his master’s long strides. “But, ah, thank you, Your Highness.”
    Wolfram pressed a hand to his forehead. The queen of all