Kinshield's Redemption (Book 4) (49 page)

Gavin found he had no appetite and only stared pensively at his plate while everyone chatted around the table. He owed Cirang much, for her gift of carving that enabled him to save all those people in Ambryce—people she was responsible for corrupting in the first place. But without her, they would still be lost. There was no denying that.

“Are you all right, sweetheart?” Feanna asked, rubbing his knee under the table. “You haven’t eaten a thing.”

He nodded because it was easier than explaining his dilemma. The meal was over before he’d come to a final decision. He couldn’t force Cirang to ask him to spare her life, but he could change his mind about fulfilling his promise. He was good at breaking promises. Hell, he was the champion of it.

Would you deny a battler the honor she’s earned?

He looked up to find that everyone had eaten and left, except for Daia, watching him with those strikingly pale-blue eyes. “O’course not,” he said, still uncomfortable with the intimacy of sharing their thoughts. Whatever had happened when they were struck by Fabrice Canton’s lightning had grown stronger in the weeks that followed. “Cirang’s due no honors, though.”

“But she’s due this, and she’s returned to claim it. You shouldn’t feel bad about it.”

He’d executed dozens of men and women in his years as a warrant knight—people who’d committed crimes and refused to yield to his authority. This wasn’t so different.

Except that Cirang wasn’t evil anymore. Except that she had worthwhile contributions to make to society. Except that she was a danger to no one.

Could he do it? Could he swing his sword against a person that defined goodness in this realm? Everyone had a past, and Gavin himself had made terrible mistakes that caused the deaths of many. Was he in a position to judge her?

Mistakes aren’t murder, though, and you’ve never purposely killed an innocent.

“Daia, stop. I don’t need to wrestle with your thoughts added to my own.”

She was right though, he had to admit. Cirang might have been zhi-pure now, but she was guilty of heinous crimes—theft, torture, abduction, and murder.

He walked through the corridors with heavy steps and a heart filled with dread. There would be no public display this time, no gathering of victims to see justice done. She deserved some dignity at least.

Cirang was sitting on the chopping block when they got there, kicking her feet and gazing up at the night sky like she was waiting for the barber. She looked up at his approach and stood respectfully. “Good evening, my liege.”

He couldn’t meet her eyes, for the burning in his own would overwhelm him.

She approached and spoke softly so that only he could hear. “Please don’t feel sorry for me, King Gavin. I’ve earned this, and I’m ready for it. It was my honor to serve you, and I ask only for forgiveness from the families of the people I’ve slain so that they can let go of their hatred and live fulfilling lives. There were more than the four you knew of. As Tyr, I murdered thirteen and sold countless children into slavery. If it helps, keep in mind you’re executing that person, not the one who stands before you now. To this woman, Cirana Delusiol, my death will be a mercy. The remorse I feel every moment of every day and night is a burden I wouldn’t wish on anyone, the least of whom is you. Don’t grieve for me, my lord king. I’m a murderer.”

Several of the First Royals stood by, ready to assist. Gavin motioned for everyone to step back to give him space. He’d worn his ceremonial scabbard for this, and he drew Aldras Gar from it, flexing his hands around its jeweled hilt. He cleared his throat, trying to get rid of the lump forming there. “Do you have any final words?”

“I’m sorry for everything I’ve done, everyone I’ve hurt, and for the lives I’ve taken. Above all, I’m sorry for disappointing you, my liege.”

For disappointing him? “You haven’t,” he whispered. “Don’t... don’t say that. You haven’t.” Why was this so hard? “Cirang Deathsblade—”

“Would you mind terribly using my true name? Cirana Delusiol.”

“Cirana Delusiol, for the murders you’ve committed...” He cleared his throat again. “I hereby fulfill your sentence o’death by beheading.”

“If you will permit me, my liege,” she said, “there’s another option I’d like to propose.”

He cocked his head and wrinkled his brow. Would she ask him to spare her? “What option?”

“I offer my essence. With it stored in one of your gems, perhaps I can assist you even in death.”

He raised his eyebrows. Accepting her gift would enable him to draw upon it to perform any magical tasks he needed in the future, probably for years to come. “That’s kind o’you. I accept your sacrifice.”

“Thank you, my liege.” She lay down atop the chopping block with her knees bent over one side and folded her hands across her belly.

Gavin turned his sword so that its hilt was at chest level, blade pointing down. His eyes blurred with regret. She had to die for her crimes. It was the law. “I’m sorry,” he said softly.

“Don’t be,” she said, gazing up at him. “I’m at peace.” She closed her eyes.

With Daia’s fiery tendril fueling him, he began to pull her essence into the bloodstone in one of the snakes’ eyes, draining her. It flowed effortlessly, filling the gem with a soft glow. He drew the last of her essence as she exhaled her final breath.

Epilogue

Feanna gritted her teeth and screamed, hair plastered to her face with sweat. She dug her nails into Gavin’s hand, but he barely felt it.

“One more, my queen,” the midwife urged. “He’s almost here.”

Every muscle in Gavin’s body was tense, and he clenched his own abdominal muscles in sympathy. He wished he could share her pain, or at least reduce it, but she wasn’t actually injured. Still, his hold on her hand would enable him to begin healing her immediately in the event of the slightest rupture.

She panted and writhed, grabbing onto the back of one knee while she cried out in pain. “It hurts. It hurts.”

“I know, Majesty,” the midwife said, “but you’re almost done. One more big push. Wait for the contraction and then—”

“Aaaaaaaaaggggggggghhhhhhhhh!” Feanna cried. She seemed to fold in half. She let go of Gavin’s hand and pushed down on her belly.

“Here he is. Here he is.” The midwife stood. Her hands were moving, but Gavin turned his head, unable to look at what she was doing. He’d never been squeamish when it came to people being torn to shreds by beyonders or having limbs cut off in battle, but this he couldn’t manage. This made his heart ache and his toes curl.

And then a tiny wail filled the room, the most beautiful sound he’d ever heard. Gavin sucked in his breath. Feanna looked up at him, exhausted and exhilarated and her eyes filled with love.

The midwife whisked the baby to a nearby table where she and her two assistants washed him and swaddled him in the softest linens. She brought him to his mother, who held him lovingly.

“Heavens! He’s so beautiful, Gavin. He looks like his papa. What name have you chosen?”

The Kinshield men usually gave their first sons their own middle name, but the Beresfards, from whom he was descended, had chosen names differently. In naming his son, Gavin wanted to acknowledge his family history. “Samuar Dasurien Beresfard Kinshield.”

“Samuar. That’s perfect. Welcome to the world, Sam. I’m your mama, and that handsome buck is your papa.”

Gavin offered his small finger, and Sam wrapped his tiny hand around it. “Brought you something, little prince.” Gavin shook the rattle Cirang had crafted for him. “A gift from a...” He was about to say “friend” when he noticed an old Farthan proverb carved into the rattle’s surface.
A promise made to a king shall transcend death.

He stared at the words, remembering his promise that had started a two-hundred-year journey.

“Here,” Feanna said, startling him out of his reverie. “Would you like to hold Samuar before I feed him?”

Gavin cradled his tiny son in his arms. Sam’s blue eyes gazed into Gavin’s. “At last we meet,” he whispered. He placed a gentle kiss on the baby’s soft forehead. It had been a long time since he felt love so deep that his heart threatened to melt. He looked into Sam’s face, memorizing every curve, every imperfect blemish.
I’ll never let anyone hurt you, my little king. I swear it on my immortal soul.

He felt a gentle whiff like air on his face. He opened his hidden eye and was amazed by what he saw.

His son’s tiny blue-white haze was stroking his own.

An alien thought came to Gavin’s mind, not a word so much as a sentiment:
trust.

The End.

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Just a little note from the author

Well, here we are at the end of the story. It’s been a journey of about twelve years for me—more if you count the very first draft of The Kinshield Legacy that I wrote back in 1993 and then put aside. It’s bittersweet. I’ve thoroughly enjoyed writing this story, watching it unfold in my mind as the words came out, but it’s also time to explore the other (many) stories that have been patiently waiting their turn to be told.

I hope you’ve found a few hours of enjoyment within these pages or pixels. Reading has been a life-long love for me, so I suspect we share this, at least, in common. Passion for writing grew out of my love of stories, and I knew when I was just a kid that I wanted to write novels like the ones that swept me away.

Anyway, I just wanted to say thanks for reading. I truly appreciate your time and your willingness to take this journey with me. As an independent author, I don’t have a team of publicists and marketing specialists to spread the word about this book. I’m just a writer sitting at my keyboard searching for readers like you. If you enjoyed the story, please tell a friend! If you’re so inclined, a review or rating on the ebook site of your choice would also be greatly appreciated.

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