Lord Morvan of Delen sat in his elaborate tent on the fields outside Ossol, enjoying a glass of wine as the rain hammered against the cloth of his shelter. The weather was miserable. Heavy clouds had pervaded the skies all day only to let loose as dusk settled, accompanied by a strong wind sweeping over the fields and swaying the trees of the nearby forest. None of this mattered for Lord Delen. His pavilion was made of thick, durable cloth that could withstand most of what nature had in store, and a brazier kept it warm enough.

Whether his army had enough tents to keep them warm and dry, he didn't particularly care. Had he expected the siege to last through the winter, things might have been different, but he knew for a fact it wouldn't. Really, he was just waiting for word that the king had been disposed of, and the siege would soon be over. The crown was nearly his. It was so close he could almost feel the gold against his fingertips.

He just needed his useless stepdaughter to do as she'd been told. No one denied the Son of Deva, so he didn't really foresee any problems there. All he had to do was wait. And he hated it. Waiting was a fool's game. Men like him didn't sit around, they acted. Which was why he had marched on Ossol before the Son of Deva had told him to. That, and he preferred the crown to himself rather than some useless child of the late king's. Why would he settle for being the unofficial ruler by proxy while the child grew up, when he could take the crown for himself?

Son of Deva had underestimated his prowess. He'd shown him, though. By marching sooner he'd moved the plan ahead, and any day now he would be the new king. Everyone would bow to him. The thought made him grin. He would have preferred to kill the insolent whelp everyone called king himself, but that wasn't practical, so this would have to do.

He looked up as a gush of wind rustled his dark hair, smiling widely as he saw that his stepdaughter had entered the tent. In the dim light at the edge of the pavilion, her face looked drawn, her eyebrows knitted and her eyes shaded. Her golden-red hair was plastered to her head and shoulders, drenched from the pouring rain. Water was dripping all over the bear rugs covering the ground. She hadn't bothered donning a cloak.

"Is it done?" he asked, unable to keep the excitement out of his voice.

She shook her head, making him scowl. When she didn't elaborate, he snapped, "Well stop standing there like a witless ogre and tell me what's going on! You're getting my furs wet."

When she still made no attempt to speak or move, he fidgeted a little in his seat before standing up. There was something different about her tonight, and he was feeling uneasy. She finally took a step forward, and as the flickering light of the lamps reached her face, he took an involuntary step backwards as he saw the pure hate burning in her green eyes.

"You've been working with Son of Deva all this time," she said, and her tempered voice caused a chill to travel along his spine.

"So have you," he pointed out.

"Against my will. You're doing it out of sheer greed and hunger for power."

Placing his hands on the back of his chair to brace himself, he leaned forward slightly. "And you're telling me that the years you spent with him didn't teach you anything?"

She smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. "Of course it did. But it also showed me I wanted nothing to do with him and his plans. I see he told you about us."

Us? Lord Delen frowned. "You and... Son of Deva?" He knew he was staring, but he couldn't help it. "I didn't realise you had been quite so... close to him. I assumed you were one of his followers."

"No, I was his partner. He picked me up at Highglaive after Deva took Messina all those years ago."

"Highglaive? Where the sorcerers live?" Maybe he should have kept track of where she went after she'd run away, but he'd been angry enough not to care what happened to her, and so he'd only ever sent people looking for her after being contacted by the Son of Deva.

Rhiannon raised a mocking eyebrow. "Oh? So, they didn't tell you? Maybe you're not important enough."

Her taunt made him want to lash out, but the suppressed rage he could detect simmering just below the surface of her words, made him restrain himself.

"I kept it hidden all the years I lived with you, of course," she continued. "But I thought someone would have enlightened you."

Staring at his stepdaughter and the mix of fury and disdain on her face, he took a step backwards. Then another.

"I promised you I would show you what I did to your friend who attacked me."

Before he could react, he was flung across the room with such force that he knocked over the brazier as he collided with it. He screamed as the hot metal burned through the fabrics of his clothes and quickly rolled away. On all fours, he lifted his head to stare at his stepdaughter. She was still standing just two steps into the tent, an arm raised as if she'd just slapped him. And for the first time in his life; he was afraid.

Rhiannon wrinkled her nose at the acrid smell of burnt flesh. Lord Delen was staring at her as if she was an abomination, huddled on the floor next to the turned over brazier.

"You're a sorcerer!" he shouted accusingly.

"No," she replied. "Sorcerer is a title that was never given to me. But I did study as an adept at Highglaive, and had Deva and his army not taken the city, perhaps one day I would have become one."

Instead, she had made another choice. A terrible choice. One she would regret for the rest of her days. But she had no time to dwell on the past now. After Ailla attacked, she'd had to neutralise her and after that she'd come straight here, knowing that the only way to stop this plan was to stop her stepfather.

"What are you doing?" Lord Delen growled. "You're meant to be killing the king!"

She shook her head. "That won't happen. If Son of Deva's minions want to tell everyone about me as punishment, then so be it. But I will not kill Baudwin."

Her stepfather snorted. "You've fallen in love with the cripple? Never trust a woman to do a man's job."

In a flash of anger, she swung her arm out, and Lord Delen went tumbling backwards, hitting his back on a tent pole, making the entire construction shudder.

"Don't speak of him in that tone!" she snapped.

"Why? What are you doing to do? Kill me instead? Get on with it then! If you don't, I promise you the cripple king will die."

"Silence!" She wasn't sure if it was tears or rain streaming down her face as she held her arm out. Clenching her hand, she watched her stepfather stare at her as he clutched at his throat, his eyes wide and terrified. His lips were slowly turning blue and his eyes bulging out of their sockets. Maybe she was crying, because the wetness on her cheeks didn't seem to let up, despite being out of the rain.

"Stop!"

The anguished cry made her lose concentration, and she whipped around to find her mother had just entered the tent. She wiped her cheeks as the older woman ran across the pavilion to help her husband stand up. He was taking big, gulping breaths. With her arms around Lord Delen, her mother looked over at her, tears streaming down her worn face.

"Please," she cried. "Don't hurt him."

Rhiannon shook her head. "Why not?" she asked, struggling to come to terms with the realisation that her mother cared so much about this man. "He would have no qualms about killing me and wants to have my husband murdered!"

"Because I have no one else," her mother sobbed.

"That was your choice. You chose him over me. When I fled, you could have come with me, instead you stayed with the man who publicly flogged me. What kind of mother does that?"

Her mother shook her head, at a loss for words. She should feel anger, but she found that all she had left was pity. Pity for such a weak woman who couldn't stand up for her own child.

Lord Delen seemed to have recovered, as he pushed her mother away and took a step closer, making Rhiannon raise her arms. "I should have known," he spat. "I should have known you'd be a filthy magic user, just like your father."

Her arms fell. "What?" Eyes darting to her mother, the other woman averted her gaze. "My father knew magic? Why did you never tell me?"

When her mother wouldn't answer, she raised her voice, "Speak, woman!"

A gust of wind whisked through the tent, making their hair flutter, but the tent flap remained closed. Rhiannon took a deep breath. She was losing control.

"I..." Her mother hiccoughed in fear. "Yes. He knew magic. Not a sorcerer, he never went to Highglaive, though he probably should have. His brother did, though. Your father, he... He stayed with his family, worried about their safety. This was when the Dark Disciple was causing mayhem, but before he marched on Messina, and many people didn't trust magic users. Some still don't."

"Filth is what they are," Lord Delen muttered, but Rhiannon ignored him.

"Are you saying my father's family all knew magic?"

"No, not all. But magic runs strong in their veins. Their family was well known for it, and with the unrest your father sent his brother to Highglaive, but remained himself. Even untrained he could do remarkable things."

"Terrible things," Lord Delen interjected. "Magic should be outlawed. Or at the very least restricted to the Sorcerers and those they deem worthy. The Gods must have chosen them for a reason. Anyone else should be purged."

Her head was spinning with all this new information. So her magical abilities were inherited. Remembering something her mother had said the last time they met, she fingered the medallion around her neck. "When you said my father was killed because he spoke back against authority... Did you mean because of his magic?"

After a moment's hesitation, her mother nodded. "Anyone in his family with abilities was long gone, other than him and his brother... But I suspect it wasn't enough for some."

"He deserved to die," Lord Delen growled. "Who knows how magic works if not given by the Gods? Anyone could be corrupted and turn evil. Look at the Dark Disciple and all those who follow him. They were once good people."

"He did not deserve to die," Rhiannon ground out. "Magic is always a gift from the Gods."

"It's unnatural! It gives them a power that few can measure up to! It's not fair!" Her stepfather stood tall, having forgotten his fear of her. "It's why he had to die."

Feeling as if all the air had left her lungs, Rhiannon stared at Lord Delen. "He had to die?"

"Yes." He snorted, looking pleased with himself. "I killed the bastard. We can't have people like that running arou—"

He was abruptly interrupted as his head whipped around in an unnatural angle and an odd gurgle erupted from his throat before he fell to the ground. Rhiannon stared at his limp form on the ground as her mother screamed, then slowly lowered her hand.

"Quiet!" she snapped. "Or you will bring the entire army down upon me!"

Her mother was beyond reason, crawling on the bear furs to her husband's body while wailing loudly. Hearing the sounds of people stirring outside, she cast a final, disgusted look at her mother crying over the death of her late husband's murderer, before quickly leaving.

It was time to tell Baudwin everything. 

~~~~~~