Every death.
Every tragedy.
How could so many lives have been shattered by one stupid mistake? He had let his emotions lead him and, in the end, he had destroyed not only his own life but those of the ones he loved.
He winced at the truth of it.
Agony seared him so deeply that he cursed aloud from the force of it.
"You were born cursed," Gara's gnarled old voice whispered in his head. "Born bastard to a union that should never have been. Now get out and take the babe with you before the wrath of the gods falls to my head."
At age seven, he had stared in helpless disbelief at the old crone his mother had worked for. When his mother and Tress had taken sick, Gara had allowed him to do his mother's tasks.
After his mother's death, the old woman had turned on him.
"But Ceara will die if I leave. I don't know how to care for an infant."
"We all die, boy. It's no concern of mine what becomes of the child of a whore. Now get out and remember how quickly our fates change. Your mother was a queen. The most beloved of the Morrigantes. Now she is a dead peasant, like the rest of us. Not even worth the dirt that covers her."
The cruel words had torn through his child's heart. His mother had never been a whore. Her only mistake had been to love his father.
Feara of the Morrigantes had been worth all the treasures of the earth to him. Her value was beyond measure...
"Push it away," he said, taking deep breaths to calm himself.
Acheron was right, he had to keep his emotions buried. They were what had led him astray to begin with. The only way he could function was to not remember. Not feel.
And yet he couldn't help feeling. He couldn't seem to repress the memories that he had buried fifteen hundred years ago...
"So the son of the whore has returned to beg you, my king, for his shelter. Tell me, King Idiag, should I cut off his head, or just slit his nostrils and then turn this pitiful wretch out into the storm to die like the worthless dung he is?"
Talon could still hear the laughter of his mother's people. Feel the fear in his young heart that his uncle, like everyone else, would forsake him and Ceara. He had clutched his sister close to his chest while she squalled, wanting the food and warmth he had been unable to provide her.
Barely two months in age, Ceara had refused to suckle the bladder he had tried to feed her with.
For three days as they traveled without stopping, she'd done nothing but scream and cry.
No matter what he tried, Ceara would not be placated.
Idiag had stared at him for so long that he was sure his uncle would send them to their deaths. The fire in the hall had crackled while the people held their collective breath, waiting for their king to pronounce judgment.
Talon had hated his mother then. Hated her for making him beg for his sister's life. Making him suffer like this when he was just an untried lad who wanted only to run away and hide from his humiliation.
Hide from the screaming baby who never took pity on him.
But he had made a promise and he never broke his word. Without his uncle's help, another sister would die.
When Idiag finally spoke, his eyes were blank. Unfeeling. "No, Parth," he'd said to his guard. "He has suffered much to travail the winter's harshness to reach us, especially with nothing more than rags on his feet. We will give them shelter. Summon a wet nurse for the babe."
Talon had wanted to collapse in relief.
"And the boy?"
"If he survives the punishment his mother ran away from, then he will be allowed to stay here as well."
Grinding his teeth, Talon remembered the grueling torture they had meted out. The days of beatings and starvation.
The only thing that kept him alive was the fear that should he die, Ceara would be turned out after all.