Beneath a Midnight Moon

Chapter 42


Bourke sat on the tall, intricately carved throne, his hands resting on the arms, which were covered with rich purple velvet.

“He’s alive, I tell you. Someone saw him leaving the castle. With Kray. And Sharilyn.” Bourke dragged a hand across his brow. “And the wolf of Argone.”

“It’s impossible!” Selene exclaimed. “I was with him when he died.”

“Then he must have risen from the grave.” Bourke was practically shouting now. “What say you, my Lord Interrogator? How is it that Kray managed to escape from the dungeons?”

“It is obvious to me that his wife took on my shape and effected his release,” Renick replied calmly. “Never fear, my lord, we will have them.”

“You’re a fool, Renick,” Bourke retorted angrily. “We’ve lost everything.” He ran a hand through his hair, then drummed his fingers on the carved arm of the throne. “We’ll have to flee the country. Find sanctuary. He’ll never forgive me—”

“Stop babbling, you fool!” Renick snapped. “We’ve lost nothing!”

Bourke glared at the man who had held the title of Lord High Interrogator for the last twelve years.

“If you think that, Renick, then you’re a bigger fool than I imagined. The people have always loved Carrick. Now that he’s returned, they won’t rest until he’s restored to the throne.”

“This is all your fault, you spineless dolt. If you’d killed him in the first place, as I suggested, we’d have nothing to worry about now.”

Bourke stood up, his face flushed with rage. “You dare to call me such names! Jance! Arrest this man!”

“There will be no need for that, Jance,” Renick said.

A slow grin spread over the Interrogator’s face as he drew his sword and climbed the three steps that led to the throne.

“Jance!” Bourke screamed, staring past Renick to the guard who stood at his right hand. “Arrest this man at once!”

“I’m afraid Jance no longer takes orders from you,” Renick said with mock regret. “I bought his loyalty a long time ago.”

“This is an outrage!” Bourke sputtered.

“Indeed?”

With a cry, Bourke reached for his sword.

It was the move Renick had been waiting for. Face void of all expression, he drove his sword into Bourke’s heart and gave it a short hard twist.

For a long moment, Bourke stood there, his body impaled on the Interrogator’s sword, his eyes staring at the blood that dripped from the blade, and then his eyes glazed over and he fell forward.

Renick put out a hand to stop Bourke’s fall. Withdrawing his sword from Bourke’s chest, he gave a gentle shove and the body teetered backward and dropped with lifeless grace onto the throne.

Slowly, Renick turned to face Selene. She was watching him, her face drained of color, her eyes wide with disbelief.

“My lady,” Renick said, holding out his hand, “how would you like to share the throne of Mouldour?”