The Renegade Son (Winter's Blight Book 2)

by K. C. Lannon

  He was young—much younger than Kallista had imagined the voice’s owner to look. He looked no older than twenty, yet his voice carried the confidence of an older man.

  “Honestly,” he drawled, shaking his head at the woman, “you embarrass yourself. I’ve told you before, darling, if you cannot behave in front of my guests, then you’ll have to go outside! She isn’t here for you. If anything, she’s probably here for wine and the pleasure of my company.”

  The woman continued on like she had not heard a word.

  The man strode over to the wailing woman, cupped her face, and said softly and with assurance, “Thrall, you have no desire to go home. Your family left you here, and you’re glad of it. You’re much better off here.”

  The woman no longer shouted, but her tears had not stopped silently rolling down her chin. “I-I’m better off here.”

  “That’s correct.” He smiled, revealing an unpleasantly wide mouth. “You’re so brilliant, aren’t you? You can’t imagine why you would ever want to leave this place.”

  Her stomach in knots, Kallista watched as the woman eased into a docile state and went back to the broom she’d abandoned on the floor and began to sweep.

  “Brother, dear, have you been napping again?” Vera asked. “I told you we would have an important guest. She wants to bargain with you.”

  “Well, you know how wild my romping on the moors can get. What is the time anyway?”

  “It is now the next evening, brother.”

  “Is it, truly?”

  This is the Moorland Beast?

  This is the Master?

  She had thought it would matter to her if the creature were more human or beastly. But it changed nothing. He still owned her son, and he was still a monster even if he didn’t look it.

  The man looked at her for the first time, seemingly having forgotten she was there. When he pushed his hair back, his features were unremarkable, save for his unnaturally colored eyes that glinted like gold coins, which stared at her intently. “How terribly impolite of me—” He went to bow and perhaps introduce himself, but Kallista interrupted.

  She closed some of the distance in a few quick strides. Then she held out her open palm, revealing a scrap of paper curled there. Her hand did not shake nor did her voice when she demanded, “You will release whatever hold you have on my son and take me instead.”

  The Master raised his eyebrows and turned to Vera. “Sister, is this woman who I think she is?”

  “She is, indeed, James’s mother.”

  His smile faded, replaced with an ugly frown as he looked her over. He turned to Vera. “Did you hear that, Sister? She wants to take our little brother away from us before he’s even ours.”

  “He is not yours.” Kallista empathized each word as if she were talking to a child. “He does not belong to you. He cannot belong to you. That is what I am saying!”

  Vera went over and plopped down in the chair, crossing her arms. “What are you going on about?” she asked. “Of course he belongs to the Master. We’ve been waiting such a long time for him!”

  “No, I would like to hear what she has to say, sister.” The Master waved his hand dismissively.

  “But, Brother—”

  The Master turned to look at Vera fully, wagging his finger at her. She shushed instantly. Then he said with a sickly sweetness, “Why don’t you go and feed our pet? He must be simply starved.”

  Vera’s eyes lit up. “I’d almost forgotten in all this excitement! Oh, I hope he isn’t cross!”

  The girl quickly scurried off out of the room. She came back a few moments later with a silver tray burdened with a strange-looking fruit that seemed almost like a pomegranate. It did not occur to her what the fruit could be until she smelled it, and the scent of it almost gagged her.

  She hated that pervasive, honeyed rot smell; it reminded her of the poor patients she’d treated at the hospital sometimes that, when under the influence of the fruit, would either just lie there like broken dolls, dead to the world and passive, or fight her madly and refuse help.

  It was an evil thing, the fruit. Kallista wondered what kind of creature consumed it. She fought back a shudder as the thought chilled her.

  Then, as Vera climbed up the staircase at the other side of the room, the Master’s eyes glittered darkly as they found Kallista’s again.

  “Perhaps,” he said, “you have come to some kind of arrangement with your husband regarding the contract he made with me for your boy?”

  Kallista had doubled over without realizing it. She wrapped her arms tightly around her middle like she was suturing a wound. Every part of her ached with the effort of holding herself together.

  When she let out a labored breath, she heard the Master snicker.

  She searched for disbelief inside her—when she found it, she held on to it tightly. There was still doubt there. She could not bring herself to believe that Alan would do such a thing, even considering how cold and detached he had been recently.

  “Oh, it appears she was not aware. I do love it when they know nothing!”

  She slowly straightened up again, rigid as a knife. “What did you do to him?” she snapped. “Did you trick him? Did you use your magic?”

  “Such loyalty. That’s truly all one can hope for in life, is it not? Someone who looks for the best in them? I suppose even that wasn’t enough for him.” The Master walked over to the hearth and stood in front of the fire, warming his hands. “Honestly, he came willingly to me, seeking to make a fair trade.”

  “A trade for what?”

  “It is not obvious, darling?” He twisted around, his gaze a mockery of pity. “To destroy the Summer Court, of course. In return for your second-born child, I would give him what he needed to wage his war. It’s thrilling stuff, honestly! Sacrifice, betrayal, deception!”

  That, she could believe. Her doubt was slipping, but she held fast.

  The paper crinkled in her clenched fist, reminding her of her mission. She held out her hand once more to the Master. “As I have said, you do not own him. I was told that you needed a full name to possess him fully, and not even my husband knows James’s full name.”

  The Master squinted at her hand. “I know Jal just as well as I know James, darling,” he said smugly.

  Kallista did not falter as she said, “I learned as a child from stories my mother told me about the Fates that plot the destiny of a woman’s child. In those tales, a mother can prevent a cruel fate by confusing the creatures. Traditionally, a child has many names. One is his Christian name, given to him at baptism. Another is his Romani name, given to him by his mother when his personality begins to show. And the last name is only known by her to protect him from monsters like you.”

  Anger breathed behind the Master’s gold eyes. “You tricked me?”

  “It isn’t a trick,” Kallista corrected. “It’s tradition.”

  She wondered if this was the first time he’d been outsmarted. He had the look of a man who was not used to being told he couldn’t do something or told he had failed. That kind of man could be dangerous.

  “Perhaps my husband knew this. Perhaps he did not.” Kallista squared her shoulders. “Either way, you do not own my son.”

  The Master’s lazy smile was back in place. He took a step toward her, saying breathily, “I could take him anyway. Easily.”

  “But you won’t.”

  The Master evaded the issue. “It is not as if I would send our little boy off to the Winter Court to suffer and die horribly—at least not as long as he behaves himself. I have plans for our boy, you see. I would make certain he was content here.”

  “Content, you say?” Kallista asked flatly, pointing sharply to the thrall woman sweeping in the corner of the room. “A mind enthralled to be content, you mean. That is not contentment. That is slavery.”

  “That is perhaps a touch harsh.” The Master tut-tutted at her. “A great many foolish and simple people live their lives in blissful, content prisons without e
ven realizing it. Honestly, this life would at least be a little exciting.”

  Kallista fought the urge to slap him across the face.

  “I offer myself to you in his place with this.” She took the paper in her hand unfolded it slowly and then showed it to the Master. Her full name, all her names, were scrawled on the parchment for him to read.

  “Do we have a deal?” Kallista asked firmly.

  “The terms are as follows: you will be my thrall in your son’s place according to the agreement I struck with Alan Callaghan.”

  Kallista rolled the phrase around. If there was anything in the terms meant to fool her, she could not see it. “Agreed.”

  The Master chuckled, then reached for her hand, grabbing the paper and squeezing her hand in a shake at once. “Then we have an accord.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Present Day

  She had forgotten again.

  When the days and nights were indistinguishable, equally dark and misty, and bled into each other, sometimes she forgot. When the workload was so ruthless with so many injured thralls to tend to at the manor or with so many messages to deliver throughout the town, with so many clients to speak to, sometimes she forgot. Sometimes the strange, shifting house and the strange, shifting magic around her made her forget why she was there in the first place.

  When this happened from time to time, Kallista went to the hearth in the kitchen and knelt down to pray. No one questioned her when she did this, though once a thrall had shook his head and asked her, “Don’t you know God has forgotten you?”

  “He hasn’t forgotten any of us,” Kallista had protested. “I hope you will have faith enough to see that one day.”

  When she did pray like this, she could retrieve her forbidden items without notice. Behind a loose stone in the fireplace, Kallista had hidden parchment, ink, and trinkets.

  The parchment and ink she used to keep track of as many days as she could. She used to write to Marko but had since stopped—it only made her sad. The trinkets were to remind her of her old life, of her mission: a weathered photograph of her boys, a small iron cross her parents had given to her at baptism, and her wedding band.

  She left the ring at the back of the hollow to tarnish. It had been a few years since she’d worn it on her finger. She wasn’t even sure if it would still fit even if she could stand to wear it anymore—her fingers were either too thin or her joints too swollen.

  The items also served to defy the Master in any small way she could. Of course, religious items of any kind were not tolerated in the manor and nothing of iron either.

  She also seemed to tend to and care for the Master’s thralls too well for his liking. They had suffered less since she came to the manor, as she was able to use her nursing skills to set their bones and sew up their wounds and ease their fevers.

  Footsteps, light as a dancer, came up behind her. Kallista quickly hid the cross beneath her head scarf (which she wore now more to keep her hair clean and out of her face, rather than to show her marital status) and shoved the stone back in place.

  “Mother, won’t you tell me another story?” Vera asked. “I shall tell you a story in return! It’s a thrilling one!”

  Kallista flinched but did not bother looking up. It did not seem to matter how long Vera and the other thralls had been calling her “mother,” it was still unnatural. Every time she heard it, the dull pain that curled sleeping in her chest awakened again.

  “I am all out of stories.” She huffed. When she straightened up, her back ached in angry protest.

  Heavens, I must be getting old. Maybe I’m even going gray…

  “Well, I did not very much like the one you told last time—the one about the man and the Israelites.”

  “And why is that?”

  “Well, I don’t find it very believable.”

  Kallista chuckled despite herself, turning to look at the strange girl. “You were raised around magic, you can befuddle a room of people just with a few notes of your fiddle, and yet you find a parting sea too extraordinary to be true?” Kallista added thoughtfully, “Then I suppose not even the most powerful humans or faeries on earth can perform such miracles or save souls. That cannot be done by any magic.”

  “It isn’t the sea—it’s that one man could free all those people.”

  “On his own, no, he could not. But he was on a holy mission.” Kallista’s mouth twitched at a smile. “A single person can do anything if fate wills it.”

  Vera sighed, twisting a loose strand of hair around her finger absently. Then she leaned against the hearth mantle and rested her hands on her folded arms, her eyes sparking with excitement. “Oh! I just cannot wait to tell you my story! It’s a true one, and it’s just happened today!”

  “Well, get on with it.” Kallista was only half listening as she began to sweep ashes away from the hearth. She had lots more work to do before she could sleep, and she had no patience for Vera’s antics.

  “The Master’s seal was activated last evening! That only happens when someone reads or utters his name, you know.”

  “How on earth is this new then?”

  “The Master sent a thrall to investigate, as he always does. It was not just any silly mortal that read his name—it was your sons!”

  The broom clattered to the ground.

  It was an odd sensation, like a hawk in flight, feeling plummeting fear and then soaring hope.

  “—And you did not tell me that one of them is a soldier! The way you described them, I would have thought them to be much littler. But I suppose they would have been when you last saw them. Well, one of them is quite short, but—”

  A soldier! Iain… he did it after all. Just like he always dreamed he would.

  She wanted to kick up her heels and leap with pride, yet another thought stopped her.

  If they’ve read the Master’s name—they must be coming for me.

  If they’re coming for me… they have no idea what they’re getting into, what they’re up against.

  “You saw them? My boys?” Kallista breathed. “When? Where?”

  “This morning! I heard it from a thrall who saw them, and then I had to go see for myself since I’ve heard so much about your sons that I feel as if I know them.” Vera sighed happily, tilting her head and smiling up at the ceiling. “Of course, the Master was very interested to know about James.”

  “The Master shouldn’t have any reason to be interested in him!” she snapped so ferociously that Vera looked almost hurt.

  Vera scoffed haughtily. “The Master just thinks James is very clever, is all, to have figured out this much on his own.”

  “He mustn’t think anything of him,” Kallista insisted. “We had a deal.”

  Vera just shrugged. “Would it be so bad if he came here to live with us? You could see him again that way.”

  It would be the worst thing she could think of, her boy hauled away in the manor, unable to see the world like he’d always talked about, with his keen mind rotting away slowly under the Master’s cruel reign and the house’s cruel magic. It would be no life at all even if, selfishly, Kallista wished she could see him just once more, just to see how he’d grown.

  I have to do something.

  Even on the worst days, when she was so exhausted she could barely move, when her mind was so addled she couldn’t even remember her own name, she knew she could not leave. She refused to even consider leaving or breaking her bargain.

  Could she leave now? It meant breaking her bargain, giving up her sacrifice. But if she could warn her son, if she could help, somehow, then she knew she had to try.

  All she had was an iron cross. She needed more than that. The Master did not even keep knives in the house—she had checked all the kitchen drawers. But she knew where she could find one.

  Vera was walking away, humming to herself under her breath.

  “Where are you going?” Kallista asked.

  “Nowhere.”

  “I need you to unlock the garden
shed for me.”

  “Why?”

  Thinking quickly, Kallista lied, “I need more medical supplies. One of the poor thralls has a stomach bug, and I think certain herbs would help his condition.”

  She had never been inside the garden shed herself, with Vera being the only thrall trusted enough by the Master to access it, with her magic and her key being the only way inside. But she had caught glimpses of things beyond dried herbs. Items stored in the shed were mostly forbidden, and no thrall was allowed near it. Kallista supposed that meant there were weapons inside.

  “I’ll take you there.” Vera twirled around to look at her, her eyes bright. “Oh, I don’t know why I’ve never shown it to you before, Mother. It’s a beautiful, funny place, filled with beautiful, funny things!”

  “Wonderful. I just have one thing to do first.”

  It took her a while to find the room again. It changed so much, the layout of the house, the rooms, the décor… But she always knew the right door when she found it. The door that held the Master’s guest—his pet as he and Vera callously called him—was unmistakable with the strange symbols carved into the wood and the stains of blood smeared there to cement the binding magic.

  Kallista held a bowl of food in her hands as she stood in front of the dark wood door at the end of a shadowy hallway without windows or light of any kind. She only brought the man human food, the same food she fed the thralls, and none of that horrible fruit that the Master ordered Vera to bring him, which he would not eat.

  The first time Kallista had visited the man, she had steeled herself, expecting to see some horrible creature bound in chains, only to find a familiar—albeit green—face peering out a metal slit in the iron box he was locked inside: Puck. Seeing him again, unchanged after all that time since he stole that infant away to the Summer Court to save her life, was both a welcome sight and a dreadful reminder of a life she no longer possessed.