The King (Black Dagger Brotherhood #12)(99)
Author: J.R. Ward

“My lord,” he choked out, “forgive me my cowardice.”

“In regard to what?”

“I knew … I knew what they would do and I did not…” A sob escaped. “Forgive me, my lord…”

As the male broke down, there were two approaches. One aggressive. The other conciliatory.

He knew he would get farther with the latter.

Walking over to the male, he extended his palm. “Rise.”

Abalone seemed confused at the command. But then he accepted the hand up and the direction that took him over to one of the carved oak chairs by the fireplace.

“Mead?” Wrath asked.

“N-n-n-no thank you.”

Wrath sat opposite the male, his chair groaning under the weight in a way Abalone’s had not. “Imbibe a deep breath.”

When the command was obeyed, Wrath leaned in. “Speak unto me the truth and I shall spare you whate’er you fear. None can touch you—as long as you bear no falsity.”

The male put his face in his hands. Then he breathed in deep again. “I lost my father before my transition. My mother, too, died on the birthing bed. In these departures, I am as you are.”

“It is terrible for one to be left without parents.”

Abalone dropped his hands, revealing eyes that were steady. “I was not supposed to discover what I found. But three dawns ago, I was down in the cellars of the castle. I could not sleep, and my melancholy caused me to walk in the underground. I was without a candle, and my feet were held within soft leather shoes—therefore, when I heard voices, they knew not of my approach.”

“What did you see,” Wrath asked gently.

“There is a hidden room. Beneath the kitchens. I had never seen it before, because its door has a facade to match the walls down below—and I would not have noticed it … except the false panel had failed to close properly. Caught upon a stone, there had been a crack through which mine eyes could focus. Inside, there were three figures, and they were circled about a cauldron o’er a flame. Their voices were hushed as one of them added greens of some kind into whate’er they were warming. The stench was horrible—and I was about to turn around and proceed about my concerns … when I heard your name.”

Abalone’s eyes fixed on a middle distance, as if he were seeing and hearing anew that which he was recounting. “Except it wasn’t you. It was your father. They were discussing how he had sickened and died—and attempting to determine the proper amount for someone of smaller stature.” The male shook his head. “I recoiled. Then hurried off. My mind was twisted by what I had witnessed, and I convinced myself … I must have imagined thus. Surely they could not have been talking about your father, your mate. It was just—they had pledged their troth unto you and your blood. So how could they have such things pass from their lips unto the ears of others?” Clear, guileless eyes met Wrath’s. “How could they do such?”

Tempering an inner fury, Wrath reached out and placed his hand upon the youth’s shoulder. Even though their ages were not that far apart, he felt as though he were speaking unto one of a vastly different generation than his own.

“Worry not of their motivation, son. The impure are confounding to the righteous.”

Abalone’s eyes appeared to well. “I convinced myself that I had been mistaken. Until the queen…” He put his face back into his palms. “…Dearest Virgin Scribe in the Fade, when the queen went down unto the floor, I knew I had failed you. I knew I was no different from them who had caused harm, because I did not stop that which I should have known—”

To prevent a complete unraveling, Wrath squeezed that spare shoulder. “Abalone … Abalone, arrest yourself.”

When there was a modicum of composure returned, Wrath kept his voice level, even though in his interior, he was seething. “You are not responsible for the actions of the nefarious.”

“I should have come to you—they killed the queen.”

“My mate is alive and well.” No reason to dwell on the near loss. “I assure you, she is very well indeed.”

Abalone sagged. “Thank the blessed Virgin Scribe.”

“And you are forgiven by me and mine. Do you understand? I forgive you.”

“My lord,” the male said, dropping anew to the floor and putting his forehead to the black diamond ring Wrath wore. “I do not deserve this.”

“You do. Because you came unto me, you can make the amends you seek. Can you take one of the Brothers down unto this hidden place?”

“Yes,” the male said without hesitation. Springing to his feet, he put up his hood. “Now I shall show them.”

Wrath nodded to Ahgony. “Go with him?”

“My lord,” the Brother said, accepting the command.

“There is just one thing before you go,” Wrath said on a growl. “Can you tell me who they were.”

Abalone’s eyes locked on his own. “Yes. Each of the three.”

Wrath felt his lips lift in a smile even though he knew no joy or happiness in his heart. “Good. That’s very good, son.”

THIRTY-NINE

There was an advantage to living alone and being disowned by your remaining parent: When you didn’t come home for an entire day, no one was gnashing their teeth over your possible demise.

Certainly cut down on the phone calls, Saxton thought as he sat across from the double doors of Wrath’s study.

Rearranging himself on the ornate bench, he looked over the gold-leaf banister. Silence. Not even doggen cleaning. Then again, something was up in the house, something big—he could feel it in the air, and although he didn’t have a lot of experience with females, he knew what it was.

Somebody was in their needing.

It wasn’t the Chosen Layla again, of course. But he had heard that one female going into her time could spur others along, and clearly that had happened.

God, he hoped it wasn’t Beth, he thought as he rubbed his tired eyes.

Things needed to be sorted before she—

“Do you know where he is?”

Saxton looked over the banister again. Rehvenge, the leahdyre of the Council, had managed to get halfway up the grand staircase without his presence even registering.

And apparently, something else was definitely up: As always, the male cut an imposing figure with his mink coat and his red cane, but his nasty expression put him into downright deadly territory.

Saxton lifted a shoulder to shrug. “I’m waiting for him myself.”