Chapter Twenty-four
The next morning, Ran-Del woke early to find Francesca sleeping soundlessly beside him. She was so still, he wondered if the medicine the doctor had given her would allow her to wake.
He rose and showered, moving quietly so as not to disturb her. Once he was dressed, he took a seat by the bed and watched Francesca sleep. Finally, she stirred, her forehead wrinkling in a scowl as if she were having a bad dream. Even in her sleep, Ran-Del could sense her distress.
“Francesca?” he said.
She sat up abruptly and glanced wildly around the room as if she weren’t sure where she was. Her gaze came back to him. “Did you kill Hans, or did I dream it?”
“I killed him,” Ran-Del said. “He needed killing, and I didn’t think you really wanted to do it.”
She shuddered. “I thought I wanted to. But it was different when he was sitting there, bound and helpless.”
Ran-Del nodded. “I knew it’d be difficult for you. It’s always easier to kill when your blood is hot.”
She stared at him, wide-eyed and emanating distress. “Have you ever done that before, Ran-Del?”
He shook his head. “Not like that, no. I killed men in fights before, but I never had to execute anyone.”
She looked at the scar on his arm and then she looked into his eyes. “We’re so very different. I always knew it, but somehow, it only made you exciting, before.”
Ran-Del stared back at her. “And what does it make me, now, Francesca?”
Her eyes sparkled with tears, although none had fallen yet. “It frightens me. How could you kill Hans like that, without a moment’s hesitation?”
Ran-Del leaned forward and laid a hand on her stomach. “He was a threat—a threat to you, and to me, and to our children. It was a good time to kill him. He wouldn’t feel it so much because he was drugged, and no one else would be put at risk by the manner of his death. It may have shocked you and made a mess on the carpet, but that kind of death should be shocking and messy. Otherwise, we’d grow too used to it.”
Francesca drew in a long, deep breath and put her arms around him. Ran-Del could feel the rush of her thoughts and fears as she touched him, momentarily overwhelming even the control his grandfather had taught him.
He held her tightly and stroked her arm. “It’s all right, sweetheart. I’m not a savage who takes pleasure in killing. I just didn’t want to make anyone else do my work for me.”
She clutched him tightly back, and they sat for a long time before Francesca finally pulled away.
“Thank you, Ran-Del. Thank you for giving me justice.”
The Sixth Discipline Page 97