The Misbegotten King Read Online Free

it, even thoughwhen I was there, she did not share his bed. So I ran away because I could not bear to see them together. But her image is
     burned into my memory—I have carried it with me wherever I’ve gone, all these years, and I only need shut my eyes to see her
     again.”
    Deirdre picked up a long stick, reached into the heart of the flames, and poked at the burning logs. The wood split with a
     hiss and a loud crack; the better, she thought, to cover the voice of such naked need. “Why are you telling me this?”
    “Because the woman I loved was Nydia—the monster who saved us all from Amanander and his Magic last summer.”
    “The witch?” Deirdre whispered. The stick fell out of her hands into the fire.
    “Yes.” Vere looked back into the flames, his voice shaking with some suppressed emotion. “My father, Abelard, forced her to
     use the Magic for him—so that his Queen would conceive his son, Roderic. In consequence, Nydia became that horror. And from
     that day to this, I have wondered what my part in it was…”
    “What makes you think you had a part?”
    “Don’t you understand, Deirdre? We are all part of the pattern. All our actions impact upon the whole. If you leave here,
     because you love Roderic—” He held up his hand as she opened her mouth to protest, and the words died on her tongue. “If you
     desert him, now, at the hour of his need, because that love imposes too high a price, is that love at all?”
    Deirdre glanced down. Her worn, battle-scarred boots clung to the muscles of her thighs, hardened from longdays spent on battlefields and in the saddle. The tunic she wore was patched and mended, as were the trousers beneath. Her
     knotted hands reminded her of other scars which marred the smooth muscles of her arms and legs, and the red, puckered line
     which was all that remained of her left breast. She was nothing like the woman Roderic loved.
    And yet he had agreed to the terms she had offered him, to father her a son in exchange for her men, even though he had seen
     her naked body one rain-soaked night in the course of those agonizing negotiations made necessary by Amanander’s mischief.
     Roderic’s nobility clung like a second skin; he could no more pretend not to be a Prince than she could pretend to be the
     soft, delicate woman who was his wife. But even then, she had wanted him. Even then.
    Deirdre raised her face to Vere and saw genuine sympathy in the deep lines of his weathered face, the look in his gentle eyes.
     “And if I stay?”
    “I won’t lie. If you stay, it will be hard. But look at what Roderic faces: Atland’s sons and Missiluse in full rebellion,
     the lesser lords throughout the South likely to rise to their support. The Harleyriders will surely see this as an opportunity
     to advance into the central plains. And now—” Vere patted the pouch where he had slipped the crumpled parchment, “—now, there
     is clear evidence that Ferad himself has surfaced. He’s finally made the move we’ve been waiting for. And he did not do it
     without much preparation—I promise you, right now, he holds all the cards. You know what the Magic can do. Brand scoffs, but
     he wasn’t at Minnis last summer whenNydia brought the siege to an end. You’ve seen the Magic work. Nydia’s dead. Now there’s no one who can use the Magic for
     Roderic. He needs every friend. Please, don’t make a mistake you might have your whole life to regret.”
    Deirdre took a deep breath and got to her feet. “All right. I’ll stay. But only until J’ly. I must be over the Saranevas by
     the first snow. Whatever I am, or am not, to Roderic, I am the M’Callaster to my people.”
    She pulled her plaid close, threw the end over her shoulder, and knew he watched her as she stalked away into the dark night.

Chapter Two

    T he gray afternoon had faded completely into a dull twilight, and Roderic sighed surreptitiously, wondering whether to interrupt
     the First Lord of the Arkan