Free The Prodigal Mage: Fisherman’s Children Book One by Karen Miller Page B

Darran. His clouded eyes were full of tears. “You loved him… like a brother. But you did… hate him… a little bit too, Asher. Don’t try to… deny it. I’m dying, but… I remember. We… both do.”
    Aye, he remembered. He wished he didn’t. He’d thought he’d found peace in the months after Gar’s death. While Rafel grew in Dathne’s belly he thought he’d found a way to live with what happened. Turned out he was wrong. Turned out some wounds were just too deep to heal proper. And now, feeling the changes beneath Lur’s green and growing skin, all he could think was it had all been for
nowt
.
    “Why are we talkin’ on this?” he said. “It don’t matter now. Gar’s gone. You’ll be gone soon. What are you doin’, Darran? Makin’ me pay one last time, while y’still can?”
    Panting, Darran straightened against his pillows. “I
never
… blamed you, Asher,” he said with dreadful effort, the chamber’s sweet air thick and rasping in his throat. “I know… it wasn’t your… fault. Gar… went his own way. He never… told me what he planned but… I knew there was… something. Hadn’t I been… watching him… from the moment… he was born? I
knew
him, Asher, better even than… his own flesh-and-blood. I knew… he was keeping… secrets. I… could see it… in his eyes.”
    Ten years since that moment in Dorana City’s Market Square, before the steps of the great Barl’s Chapel, and the pain was still so raw. The words of UnMaking blasting through him. Gar falling dead as stone at his feet. Ten years and so much silence. He and Darran had wept over Gar’s coffin and never talked of it after. Not even once. Not even nearly.
    “You ole
bastard
. Then why didn’t you
say?
” His hands were fists, and they wanted to
pound
. “Why did you let him throw his life away like that? The magic was
mine,
not his. The prophecy was for
me
.”
    Strength spent, Darran slumped. “You… know why,” he said, almost too faint for hearing. His palsied cheek writhed. “Because… he’d not have… forgiven me. Because he was… my king. Because you might… have loved him, Asher, but you… were still blind.
I
wasn’t.
I
could see it. And I was… sworn to serve him. Not… my will, but… his.”
    Rage was a storm, battering him near to sightless. “
Blind?
What are you talkin’ about? What did you see I didn’t?”
    “That not… dying for Lur… would have… killed him,” whispered Darran. “That what he… did to you, breaking his… oath to you, handing you over… to Jarralt—to Morg—what was… done to you… by that monster…
was
killing him.” Darran coughed again, his lungs heaving for air. “He never… wept for himself, Asher, but he… wept for you.”
    “Don’t you tell me that,” he said, turning aside. “Why tell me that? It’s over, it’s in the past. Why drag it up now?”
    “Over?” said Darran. His fingers plucked at the blankets. “It will
never
… be over. Not while you… remember him. Not if Lur is… in peril. He left… his kingdom… in your hands, Asher, to keep… safe. But if you turn from… your gift… how is it… safe? How is that… loving… him?”
    “I never said I wouldn’t keep Lur safe. But that don’t have to mean WeatherWork. Ain’t no surety in that!”
    Darran’s laugh was breathless, and wry. “Ain’t no… surety… for Lur… if… you won’t do… what’s… needful.”
    “How would
you
know what’s needful, you silly ole crow?” he said, nearly choking on outrage. “How would you know
anythin’,
with nowt a drop of magic in you? Fussin’ and bossin’ and tellin’ me what to do! Tellin’ me what to think! What to
feel!
All that’s over now, d’you hear me? We ain’t goin’ back to them magic days, Darran. We ain’t goin’ back to hoity-toity Doranen and us Olken bendin’ our knees. This ain’t the old Lur, that old Lur’s dead like Gar. And I ain’t about to kiss its corpse awake, I ain’t about