Free The Nemisin Star by Elaina J Davidson

shall step back into
the shadows and cease my interference here, but if you cannot, I
earn the right to talk to both my sons without your meddling. What
say you?”
    Tymall’s eyes
flickered. Both. He lowered his blade to look at Margus.
    “You desire
simply speech with your sons? Come now, I am not that
gullible.”
    “And you are
not a father. This is what I want.”
    “Why should I
grant you what you want?” Margus folded his arms.
    “You owe
me.”
    “Indeed, and
it is known as revenge.”
    “You stole my
son and, revenge or not, I am now owed.”
    Silence
reigned. “What are these swords?” Margus demanded of Tymall.
    “One is for
the Dark to wield and the other the Light,” Tristamil said.
    Margus sneered
at Torrullin. “And you believe I cannot lift a relic of the
Light.”
    “I know you
cannot.”
    “You lie,
Enchanter. You are not convinced and this window of yours allows
you the opportunity to gauge me, to see how far I have come in
twenty-six years.”
    Torrullin
inclined his head. “That is a bonus. I want to speak with my
sons.”
    “Master, this
is a game,” Tymall said. “Be careful.”
    Torrullin’s
face tightened.
    “Of course it
is a game. Fine, Enchanter. If I am able to touch it, you get to
speak with Tymall,” Margus said expansively, as if the whole
scenario was his idea.
    Torrullin said
no more, simply waiting.
    Margus stepped
closer and kneeled before the blue blade. He took a quick sharp
breath and reached out. His left hand hovered there; he hesitated
and glanced at Torrullin, who shrugged.
    An innocuous
piece of metal, but both knew well the power that could be infused
into an object, no matter how large or how tiny.
    Margus drew
back. “I say we make it fair.” He gestured for Tymall to pass his
sword and laid it alongside the other. “Same deal. If we are both
able to touch, the deal stands.”
    Torrullin
kneeled opposite Margus without equivocating. “Come now, Darak Or;
you know what I am. This presents no problem for me.”
    “Father, no,”
Tristamil’s tone was anguished.
    “Your son does
not see it that way.”
    “My son is
afraid I shall touch the blue sword.”
    Margus clapped
his hands. “Interesting.”
    Tymall
approached to stand at Margus’ left shoulder. He was pale.
Tristamil took up position at Torrullin’s right. In his pocket the
scroll rustled to remind of the potential confrontation
outside.
    Margus said,
“Why do you need to talk to them? Every action has an underlying
motive.”
    “Why should it
matter to you?”
    “I am
curious.”
    Torrullin
shrugged and was truthful - to a degree. “Tymall got you here, and
it is already a vengeance I feel to the marrow of my bones. It
hurts as you intended. I desire an opportunity to stop the madness,
I want to sway him. He is my son. Is that so strange?”
    Tymall inhaled
and the twins looked at each other. They wanted nothing to do with
each other. Never did they want to co-exist in the same space.
Tymall dropped his gaze down to his father. He did not know what to
think, for this man had cut him away.
    Margus
ruminated for a while. “Not so strange, I guess, but certainly
misguided. It is too late, can you not see that?”
    “I would
try.”
    “And in your
failure I would find another kind of revenge, one almost as sweet
as denying you the opportunity. Very well. You first.”
    “Both
swords?”
    Margus
laughed. “Why not?”
    Torrullin’s
expression stilled. He closed his eyes and then snapped them open,
gazing directly into Margus’ blue orbs. His own were black -
without iris or pupil, just black. Margus’ smile vanished and
Torrullin snatched up the green sword in both hands and squeezed
it, causing blood to flow.
    Tymall
shuddered and ice enveloped Tristamil. There were three darak
entities inside Linir.
    Torrullin
dropped the sword and held his hands out, fingers splayed. They
were unmarked.
    “Impressive,”
the Darak Or drawled.
    Torrullin
lowered his head and stared up from lowered