A Time of Blood (Of Blood and Bone #2) - John Gwynne Page 0,10

you are going to survive the next moon,” Ellac said. When Riv didn’t answer, he continued, “I am old and have no use for long words and fine-flowered sentences. I will speak the truth as I see it.”

“I’ve gathered that,” Riv grunted. “Go on, then.”

“We are too few to fight the Ben-Elim. And I am thinking you will find it hard to be making new friends anywhere within the boundaries of the Land of the Faithful. The Lore of Elyon—the Lore that you have lived by, and that rules this land—declares you an abomination, fit only for the executioner’s axe. Am I wrong?”

An abomination. Riv felt a chill shiver through her—part shame that not so long ago she would readily have called for the execution of any Ben-Elim or Kadoshim half-breed. She had believed Elyon’s Lore unquestioningly.

And now I find that I am one of those half-breeds. Am I an abomination? Do I deserve to be slaughtered like a feast-bull? Is my blood polluted, corrupted?

“Careful.” Vald growled, resting a hand upon the hilt of his short-sword. “That’s my friend you’re calling an abomination.”

“Are you an idiot?” Ellac snapped back, staring flatly at Vald. “I am not calling her that. Your Book of Elyon calls her that.” He paused, looked from Vald to Riv. “A person is made by their heart and their wits.” He touched his one hand to his chest and then to his temple. “And by the deeds that they do. Their choices. Not whether they have pale skin or dark skin, wings or no wings. One hand or two.” A twitch of a smile threatened to crack his cold-face. He looked Riv up and down. “I like your wings, maybe even wish I had some of my own.”

Riv found herself liking Old Ellac.

“You are right,” Fia said, “Riv is named as an abomination by Elyon’s Lore, as is my son.” She hugged her baby more tightly to her chest.

“So we are surrounded by a thousand leagues filled with those who would see you dead,” Ellac said.

“Sounds about right,” Riv acknowledged.

“We could take you to Arcona,” Ellac said. “The Sirak would give you safe harbour.”

Riv looked at Bleda and he nodded.

This is his idea. Bleda must have talked of it to Ellac. They would take me to their homeland, put me under the protection of their Clan. They must know that would start a war. We were all there when the Ben-Elim crushed the Sirak, putting their heel upon the neck of Bleda’s people. Riv felt a rush of emotion, that Bleda would risk so much for her, for their friendship. And Ellac obeys his wish. A loyal shieldman indeed.

“What, and invite a war with the Ben-Elim?” Riv snorted. “We all remember how that ended last time.”

“We have learned from the past,” Ellac said. “We will not be so easily defeated next time.”

Next time. Does he know something I don’t?

Riv sucked in a long breath, thinking over his words.

“I could not do that. Would not,” she said. “Win or lose in a war against the Ben-Elim, many of your kin would die. They will not die for me. I’ll not have that on my shoulders, too.”

What should I do? All my life I have obeyed orders, followed where I’ve been led, my heart’s desire to be a White-Wing, to do the bidding of Elyon’s Lore and the Ben-Elim. Following, obeying, is so much easier than choosing, than determining what is right.

What should I do?

She felt a frustrated anger bubbling, wanted to scream with it, but settled for grinding her teeth instead.

What are my options? To run, to Arcona or somewhere else, to live a life in hiding? And what of my friends, of Bleda, Vald and Jost? Would they run with me? Should I let them? Wouldn’t that be condemning them to a lifetime of misery? Should I choose to go back to Kol, swallow my pride and ask his forgiveness for the sake of my friends. Perhaps he has changed, now he is safe from Israfil’s judgement.

Riv’s mind was filled with an image of her mother lying in the dirt a handspan from Riv, blood trickling from her mouth, eyes empty, Kol standing over her, his blade red.

“No,” Riv snarled, all thoughts of running, hiding or begging forgiveness evaporating in the flames of her anger. “I will not run, I will not cower in hiding here, and I will not crawl back to Kol. He slew my mother.” The long years of obedience to Elyon’s Lore and