His right hand throbbed, as if with the memory of the slap to his vatarh’s face. He looked at the hand in the dying light of the day: an adult’s hand now. The slap to his vatarh’s face had severed him from his childhood forever.
He would not be his vatarh. That much, he promised himself. He would be his own self. Independent.
Varina ci’Pallo
Varina stood alongside Karl in the Archigos’ plush reception room, but-as was nearly always the case when Ana was in the same room-she seemed invisible to him. All his attention was on the Archigos. Varina wanted to lean over to Karl and slap him. “Can’t you see what’s in front of your face? Are you that oblivious?”
It seemed he was. He always was, and he always would be where Ana was concerned. Over the years, Varina had come to that conclusion. It would perhaps have been different if Varina didn’t like and admire the Archigos herself, if she didn’t consider the woman a friend. Still.. .
“You’re sure of this?” Karl asked Ana. He was glancing at a parchment that Ana had handed him, a forefinger tapping the words written there. “He’s dead?” There was no trace of sadness in his voice at all; he was, in fact, smiling as he handed the paper back to her.
Ana frowned. If Karl found the news pleasant, it was obvious to Varina that Ana’s own feelings were more conflicted. “Hirzg Jan’s dying,” Ana said. “And likely dead by this point, I suspect, if this information is accurate. The teni who sent this message has the healing touch; he should know if the man’s beyond saving.”
“About time the old buzzard passed on,” Karl said. He glanced around the room thoughtfully, but not at Varina. “Have you talked to Allesandra? Will she contest Fynn’s claim to the throne?”