“Sovaesh, please don’t,” Davahni rose from her chair quickly, causing it to fall behind her with a loud clatter. “Milord, please I beg mercy for my husband. He is a proud man,” she added, moving swiftly forward to bow deeply before the desk. Truce watched her silently and bit his lower lip to keep silent. Davahni had been a ward of House Avanti since before he was born and by rights, should have been nearly a sister to him, and yet she was obviously terrified of his Father.
“Your wife has better sense than you do,” Lord Avanti said, a smile forming as he gazed down at Davahni. “Beautiful and intelligent. Very few men are so blessed, Sovaesh. You should have listened to her before now.” He stood straight again as he spoke and looked down at the kneeling woman with pitiless eyes. “I have no more mercy for your husband. I’m sorry. Davahni. I’m afraid I’ve entirely run out of pity today.” His gaze trailed across his two sons and then lingered on Truce. “What do you do with a dog that threatens to bite its master, Truce?”
“If the dog is a good hunter and has been faithful in the past, you try to determine what is causing the aggression and fix the problem there. Such creatures are hard to replace, father,” Truce answered carefully, taking care to keep his eyes on his father and away from Sovaesh.
His Father regarded him coolly and then turned to Nate. “And your answer?”
“You find a stronger method of training the dog and if it still wishes to bite, you kill it and find one with better manners,” Nate replied with a slight smile.
“Ahh, well, it reassures me to know at least one of my sons has common sense. This is why your sister is in charge in Sanctuary rather than you, Truce. Too often lately, I have found you disappointing. Perhaps I should consider naming a new heir. Though you do have a head for business, perhaps you would make a worthy steward for your Brother.” He opened a drawer as he spoke and removed a slender wooden box from inside. It was barely bigger than a small book but Truce knew the sight of it too well. His gaze flicked to Sovaesh once again and then to the wooden box. Panic began to rise in his chest as his father started to undo the fastenings.
“Father, no, you can’t mean to use that on Sovaesh,” he protested, pulling his arm back from his wife and stepping forward.
Lord Avanti’s gaze rose from the box to his son and he smiled coldly. “Actually, I’m going to let Sovaesh choose.” He pushed the lid of the box fully open and turned it to where the Assassin could see the contents. Then he looked down at Dahlla who stood silently staring with wide eyes. “I no longer trust your motives, Sovaesh, so I will have insurance to your good behavior. I can either keep your wife and daughters here with me or you can choose the box. I have no doubt that you know what this is,” he said as he lifted the long silver chain from the desk and held it up.
“Please, no, Milord,” Davahni begged, though Truce thought he was the only one in the room that even looked at the woman. The others simply ignored her, despite the tears that were coursing openly down her face. Truce felt his heart go out to her and frantically sought for a way to avert this disaster.
To one unfamiliar with such devices, it looked innocent, merely a slender bit of metal. To those that knew the purpose of the chain, however, it was a creation of fear. “Dahlla has grown into quite the beauty. I’m sure you realize that a girl of her potential only rises as far as society will allow. She could have a very promising betrothal or a future much darker …” Lord Avanti’s voice trailed off ominously and his gaze returned to Sovaesh. “What will it be?” he asked sweetly, as if awaiting a selection of wine rather than a man’s future.
“Father, perhaps Dahlla could simply stay with Nallia and me and surely that would be insurance enough,” Truce offered stepping forward once more.
“Truce, if I thought you had a spine, perhaps, but no, I don’t think so.” His father’s voice was mocking and Truce felt his skin prickle with warning. If he didn’t watch his actions more closely in the future he could find himself standing in the same spot as Sovaesh.
The Assassin’s gaze never wavered from his father. He simply removed his coat and dropped it on the edge of the desk. Silently he pulled the mask and hood off as well. Truce stared in open astonishment at the man, not quite believing the choice he had obviously made. He had never before seen his Father-in-law without the mask and found it difficult to not stare at his face. While it was obvious Sovaesh had been handsome once, the thick scars marring both cheeks drew the eye and held it. Whoever had carved the sigil into the skin had used Tevrae and the herb had prevented proper healing. He knew the rune carved there well enough, it was the Firym mark for exile, or Sovaesh as they said the word.
“Sovaesh, no, don’t do this. We will stay here,” Davahni cried and rose to her feet, rushing to her husband’s side. She shook her head at him frantically and tried to pull him away.
“It’s OK, Davi. It will be fine,” Sovaesh told her quietly in a voice so filled with love it made Truce’s throat tighten. The rumors about what Sovaesh had endured to win the right to marry Davahni had always seemed too fanciful to his ears. Now, however, Truce found himself believing them all. Sovaesh kissed Davahni gently on the forehead and wiped the worst of the tears from her pale face. “Trust me and know that I love you and Dahlla too much to risk either of you.” He pushed her back gently toward their daughter.
“Momma, what is going on?” Dahlla asked quietly, tears beginning to form in her green eyes. It was obvious the child was confused but knew something very bad was coming.
“Hush, Dahlla,” Davahni whispered and clutched her daughter to her.
“How touching,” Nate mocked and Truce glared at his brother. There were times he found himself wondering if he was adopted. Now was definitely one of those times. It seemed he was the only one in his family that actually possessed a heart.
“Fetch the guards to hold him,” Lord Avanti ordered and Nate nodded quickly, a smile on his battered face.