The TwiceBorn

World On Fire

"If I have learned anything in this long life of mine, it is this: in love we find out who we want to be; in war we find out who we are."--Kristin Hannah

Lucan stared in horror at the scene unfolding out on the grasslands. Lord Kenric had left, gone to the Sanctuary to grant absolution and Lucan knew he should be there too, his blade and soul at the ready to be purified before the unholy battle.

Instead, he'd snuck into Lord Kenric's chambers and out onto the observatory because he'd felt an inner pull around his heart to see what it was that Islinn had sacrificed everything for.

Islinn hadn't known The Twiceborn was still alive

The thought was more bitter than sweet, and Lucan briefly wondered how all of it had come about. Islinn with the demon bitch, the filthy boy and his vainglorious claim, and all of it winding up with Islinn dying with nothing but her professed love on her lips for what she had thought was dead but instead was very much alive and now standing on the grasslands.

The Twiceborn wasn't very frightening, not compared to all he'd heard about her. A young girl, pretty even, sitting on her horse facing the town. But now...

Now...

The grasslands were nothing but jumbled dirt. Fire blazed haphazardly here and there, red tongues licking the grass black, as –things—rose from the earth, bellowing at the sky. Lucan instinctively knew that these were monsters never seen before, never spoken of, the only acknowledgement of their existence being symbols drawn in sand by trembling fingers. And she had summoned them. The pretty girl on the horse. She had summoned evil from the deepest depths of the UnderRealms and now they were all going to pay dearly for the things they'd done.

For the things he'd done

Lucan looked down and listened to the world around him. Running feet, people screaming, shouted prayers, and the wild hoots and caws of the things on the grasslands and he suddenly had the feeling that while he could pray to Brede until one of the things on the grasslands snatched him up in its claws or the pretty girl on the horse ran him through, his prayers would not be answered.

His holy prayers would go unheard because he had ended the life of one of Brede's most favored. Perhaps the only one favored. He still didn't know who Islinn was and now he would never know. He had dumped her screaming and bleeding into the small room and left, unable to bear her whimpering any longer.

But maybe...she was still alive.

His heart began to beat a little faster. It was possible, he supposed. And if she was, he would tell her that The Twiceborn was alive. And had come for her. Turning away from the scene before him, he hurried from the room.

The halls were almost bare, he could hear his brothers chanting and shoring themselves up in the Sanctuary. He knew Lord Kenric would notice his absence before long. He would have to hurry. He picked up his pace until he reached the door to the room where he'd dumped Islinn.

After he'd finished with her.

The thought made him cringe. There was no way to be kind when it came to death. He had mistakenly thought that by sparing her upper body, he had somehow shown her mercy, but now he realized, ashamed, that the only mercy that had been shown was to himself.