The End of Hatred Page 3

  “It’s not you,” he said. He stood firm in his belief in her goodness. “Whatever you think now you would never be able to falsely negotiate a truce and then betray it. You’re too noble.”

  “My grandfather was noble too and look where it got him. Where it got us!” she said, her anger palpable. “He finally took a stand and murdered those bastards.”

  “And look where we are now. Ravaged by war.” Placing his hands gently on her shoulders, he continued, “You’re better inside than any person—any leader—I’ve ever seen. You have more integrity in your little finger than anyone I’ve ever met, including your father or your grandfather. I won’t let you talk yourself into doing something that isn’t worthy of you.”

  “I’m tired of being worthy while my people suffer,” she said and pushed his arms away. “Either you’re with me or against me on this.”

  “I’m not going to waste time arguing with you when you’re agitated,” he said. His cool composure furthered her ire. “There are other options and we need to look at all scenarios before we make a decision.”

  Before either of them could speak a voice bellowed from the hallway. “Miranda!”

  “Shit, it’s Father,” she said. “He must’ve found out about the Vampyre.”

  “Don’t engage with him now, Randi,” Kenden warned. “You’re not in the right state of—”

  “I’m in exactly the right state and don’t start fucking speaking to me like a child, Ken. I’m the princess of this realm and I’ll be damned if I let you or my father or anyone else keep us on this path of destruction. Someone has to take the offensive and I plan to be the one to do it.”

  “Miranda!” her father’s voice beckoned once more.

  “Go,” Kenden said, shoving her toward the door. “I can buy you ten minutes to cool down.”

  “Screw your ten minutes,” she said as she walked out the door. “It’s about time he saw me angry.”

  Excerpt from The Ancient Manuscript of the Slayera Soothsayers

  Book 5 – The Prophecy of the Death of the Deamon Lord Crimeous

  Before the great King Valktor took his life in the Purges of Methesda he had a great vision: The Dark Lord Crimeous, King of the Deamons, would be killed by one of Valktor’s own lineage.

  This Slayera descendent of Valktor would kill the Dark Lord with the Blade of Pestilence.

  The Blade would strike him down with one sure thrust.

  Knowing this prophecy was abiding and true, King Valktor sacrificed his life to the Purges of Methesda.

  Chapter 3

  Her father stood in his royal office chambers hunched over the window, his palms resting flat on the sill. Fury emanated from his stiff, hunched shoulders. Miranda stilled and took a moment to silently observe him. Sadly, this had become the norm for them. Their relationship had deteriorated so badly that she sometimes feared it was beyond repair.

  Her first memory of her father was of him smiling at her as they had their weekly tea parties. Sitting on the floor across from her, the tea cup where she deposited her pretend liquid always looked so small in her father’s large hand. He would lift his little finger and smile at her with love shining in his eyes as he sipped the nonexistent drink.

  Even after thousands of years, she still remembered how he would shower her with affection. “You’re so beautiful, my darling girl, just like your mother,” he would say, and she would beam with his praise. “You are all that is good and just in this world. Daddy loves you with all his heart.” He would slide his fingers in an X across his chest and then lift his hand to blow her a kiss. She would mimic catching it with her tiny fist and giggle up at him.

  Those first years had been so precious and so few. When she was eight years old her mother had been kidnapped by Crimeous and her grandfather had murdered the Vampyre royals. All had changed in the blink of an eye. Her father, who had loved her mother with intense passion, had quite literally become another person. Consumed with despair that he couldn’t locate his wife and new threats from the Vampyres, he channeled all his energy into defending his people. Miranda devolved into an afterthought of his; a daughter he still cared for but whom he had no time to nurture.

  Miranda had never blamed her father. She still didn’t. He had dedicated his life to saving their people. How could she fault him for that? Knowing that he hadn’t the capacity nor the time to focus on her, she became independent very quickly. At just thirteen years old she approached Kenden, asking her cousin to train her to fight. At first he resisted but she had been so steadfast and resolved that he began training her at night so her father wouldn’t find out. The Slayers were a traditional people with long-standing defined roles for women. Being a trained warrior was absolutely not on the public agenda for Miranda.

  On her eighteenth birthday, she had been surprised to find a small, wrapped box on her bed with a pretty black bow on top. Thinking that it was from her father she was thrilled, as this was the first time he’d remembered her birthday since the Awakening. Instead, she was horrified to find that the box contained a severed finger. Inside there was a small piece of folded paper that read:

  I have decided to kill your mother slowly as she no longer pleases me.

  To say that her innocence was shattered that day would be a vast understatement. She ran to find her father but he was held up in a meeting with the military leaders. When she finally cornered him later in the day he’d snapped at her.

  “What’s so important, Miranda? I have too much work to do to have dinner with you this evening. Just have the cook prepare something for you.”

  “But Father—”

  “Not right now. We think the Vampyres might attempt another raid tonight. We’ll talk in the morning.”

  He had placed a quick kiss on her forehead and stalked off to the war room.

  In that moment she realized several things. One was that her father would never see her as an equal. She couldn’t be sure if this was due to the fact that she was female, or that she was still so young, but it was true nonetheless. Second, she realized that she was an inconvenience to her father. A distraction from his true job of protecting his people. Lastly, she realized that with her mother’s kidnapping and the threat to her people, he might not have any capacity left to love her.

  Vowing to be strong as a princess should be, she kept the devastating “present” to herself. A few days later, during one of her evening training sessions with Kenden, he had noticed her mood.

  “Your heart’s not in it today, Randi. What’s going on?”

  “Nothing,” was her quick reply. “Let’s go another round.”

  “Not until you tell me what’s up,” her cousin had prodded, his worry for her evident in his deep brown eyes.

  Deciding that she needed to tell someone, she’d led him to her bedroom and pulled out the tiny box. Allowing her weakness to show to him, whom she trusted fully, she had cried on his shoulder as he’d held her. Afterward, they’d trekked to Miranda’s favorite spot by the river. The moonlight cast a pale shade under the gnarled branches of the nearby tree as they buried the small digit in the soil of the grassy riverbank. Saying a soulful prayer of remembrance, he’d held her shoulders with his firm arm, giving her strength. Water flowed in tiny ebbs over the smooth rocks as they stood in stony silence. An unbreakable bond had formed between them.

  Every year on her birthday, she would find a small wrapped box with a pretty black bow on top of her bed. Every year it would contain a finger or toe from her mother’s hand or foot. Twenty years, twenty digits. And then the boxes stopped coming. Miranda knew that her mother was dead.

  She and Kenden would still take time each year to visit the riverbank. They would stand mostly in silence, lost in their thoughts, taking solace in each other’s strength. After saying a prayer for her mother, they would then return to the compound to rejoin her father, who never knew of the boxes or the ritual.

  Miranda figured she should be alarmed that someone was able to penetrate their compound eac
h year and leave the boxes on her bed. Who were they from? Were they delivered by Crimeous himself or one of his minions? Instead, she’d always felt a bit grateful. Someone was delivering a piece of her mother to her that she could bury and remember. Fear no longer had a place in her world and losing her ability to feel that emotion would bring heartache down the road.

  As the centuries wore on, they fell into a pattern. Kenden continued to train her and her father continued to rule the kingdom and ignore her. Eventually her father found out about her secret training sessions and had scolded her in his ever-condescending manner. But he didn’t make her stop. Perhaps he realized that if she was occupied with becoming a soldier she wouldn’t have time to bother him.

  Looking at him now, both angry and dejected, caused a small bit of guilt to pinch her gut but she dismissed it. Now was not the time to be timid. Inhaling deeply, she came to stand in front of his large mahogany desk.

  “Father,” she said.

  “Goddamn it, Miranda,” he said, not turning from the window. “What the hell are you doing?”

  “If you give me a minute, I think you’ll see that we have a great opportunity here—”

  “We?” he yelled, rotating to face her. “We?” He began to approach her slowly. “We had no part in sheltering a Vampyre on this compound. How dare you keep this from me? If you were anyone but my daughter I would have you executed for treason!”

  Her chin jutted up and she looked her father in his coffee-colored eyes. They were so much like Kenden’s except they lacked the warmth she always saw in her cousin’s. “She is the sister of the Vampyre King. We have a huge opportunity to negotiate her release.”

  “You misunderstand your place here, Miranda. I am the king of this species and I make all negotiating decisions. You had best remember this and explain to me why you didn’t notify me right away of her presence on this compound!”

  “These are my people too, Father!” she said, exasperated. “I only want to help! I’m so tired of the endless war and abduction. Don’t you see that we’re slowly killing ourselves? We have to find another way out of this mess, especially with the Deamons attacking us too. I thought we could figure out a way to negotiate her release to help us defeat both species.”

  His responding laugh was full of anger and indignation. “And what do you know of negotiating? You were just a child during the Awakening. You know nothing of the cost of war.”

  “Of course you relegate me to the position of child even though I’ve been a woman for centuries. A fully grown, strong, smart woman who could help you rule this kingdom if you gave me half a chance!”

  “Not again, Miranda. I’m not getting pulled into this age-old argument we always have. You have the blood of Valktor running through your veins. It is time you got married and produced an heir so that he can fulfil the prophecy. That is how you can help your people.”

  She shook her head and gave a humorless laugh. “Because the one who frees the Blade must be male.”

  “Of course he must be male,” he said.

  “The prophecy states that a descendent of Valktor’s will kill Crimeous with the Blade of Pestilence. It never mentions that the descendent must be male. What if I am the one who will slay the Dark Lord?”

  “Ridiculous,” he said, bringing his index finger and his thumb to pinch his nose in frustration. “You are no soldier. I let you fight with Ken because it seems to make you happy. However, you will always be a woman, smaller and weaker than any man. Women have no place fighting in combat. Do you really think that you could slay Crimeous, who killed your mother and has evaded us for centuries?”

  “Yes.” She nodded firmly, crossing her arms. “If I had the Blade of Pestilence I believe I could.”

  “This is nonsense,” he said, dismissing her with a wave of his hand. With a long exhale he sat on the edge of his desk. “Your decision to harbor the Vampyre woman, and to hide her from me, is inexcusable. I’m sending out a royal decree that you are to be sanctioned. I’ll be sending you to the Restia where you will stay with Kalil’s mother. She’s already expecting you and I’ve promised her you’ll be biddable and willing to spend time with Kalil. It is time you married and produced an heir, Miranda. That is your duty to your people and I have let you shirk it for too long.”

  “How dare you,” she said. Her arms slid to her sides, her fists clenched so hard her fingernails must be drawing blood. “You have no right.”

  “I have every right. I am the king of the species and you are their princess. If you won’t choose to do the right thing then I’ll force you to. If it takes a royal decree, then so be it.”

  She studied her father’s expression, so impassive, so firm. How had it come to this? She had placed herself on the front lines countless times during the raids over the past centuries. She had fought valiantly, showing her love for her people in a way that she considered much more powerful than jailing herself in a loveless marriage.

  “How can you doubt my love for our people?” Emotion crushed her throat and she fought to keep it out of her voice. “How can you think that I don’t strive every day to protect them?”

  “When you harbor the enemy under our roof and keep it from your king, you are harming your people. Not to mention committing treason.”

  “Treason,” she said, her tone mocking. “You really want to go there?”

  “What choice have you left me? Your constant defiance cannot go unchecked. I won’t allow our people to suffer because you are an impetuous child who refuses to grow up.”

  “And I won’t allow our people to suffer because they are ruled by a king who refuses to do anything but constantly go to war. If you won’t even consider negotiating I will have to consider the detriment you’re causing our people.”

  “Meaning?” he asked.

  “Meaning that I will no longer support you as king.”

  As she said the words, her heart constricted and sadness swamped her. She loved her father intensely and thought him a magnificent and strong leader. Her support was important to his rule and tiny pangs of hurt fluttered in her belly as she contemplated how her words must have wounded him.

  His face contorted into an intense expression of fury.

  “You forget your place, Miranda.”

  “No,” she said, shaking her head firmly. She straightened and lifted herself to her full height. “I think it’s time I finally remembered my place, Father. If you choose to banish me by royal decree I will have no choice but to publicly separate from you.”

  He scoffed with rage. “So this is the path you choose to take? Although you are my daughter I have no qualms about banishing you from Uteria.” He stood and loomed over her. “I will give you the night to think it over. Tomorrow I will send out the royal decree. It will either detail your sanction to Restia or your banishment from our realm altogether. Don’t force me to choose.”

  A dull, ringing sound pounded inside her ears. Heart beating furiously in her chest, she understood that she was at the crossroads of the most important moment in her life. One path led to giving her standard apology to her father and having him send her to Restia. Once there she was sure that she could eventually figure out how to get out of marrying Kalil and find her way home.

  The second path was obscure, unclear. Filled with self-doubt and unknowns. It was the path that would force her to do the one thing she had never been able to do: defy her father. It also opened the door for her to accomplish what she coveted above all else: peace for her people.

  “We always seem to get here, don’t we?” she asked. Lifting her hand, she laid her palm over his heart. “For centuries we’ve danced the same dance. I defy you, you scream at me, I apologize and you forgive me. That’s some sick, twisted form of love in itself, isn’t it?”

  Placing his hand over hers on his chest, he sighed. “I’ve tried to love you as best I could. It was just so hard when your mother was taken and after the Awakening. I see now that I’ve failed you in so many ways. This is not a punishme
nt, Miranda. It is my attempt to do the right thing. You must know that.”

  In that moment, she knew he spoke the truth. He was attempting to do what he thought was right. Unfortunately, she thought as her heart splintered, she and her father no longer shared the same definition of right and wrong. Knowing what she must do, she leaned in and hugged him with all her strength.

  “I’ll be ready to go to Restia in one week’s time,” she said, her cheek against his chest. “What do you plan to do with the Vampyre girl?”

  “Kill her, of course.” His words vibrated from his throat against the top of her head. “I’ll tell Kenden to drug her and shoot her with the eight-shooter after she’s unconscious so that she won’t suffer or feel any pain. It’s the least I can do for an innocent woman who had the misfortune to wash up on our riverbank.”

  “That’s very kind,” she said, her voice hoarse. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”

  “I know, darling,” he said, kissing her on top of her head.

  “I love you, Father.”

  “I love you too. You will make Kalil a fine wife and have so many beautiful children. Your mother will look down from The Passage and be so proud of all of the children you spawn.”

  “Yes,” Miranda said, knowing this was what he perceived her value to be. A brooding mare for Slayer heirs.

  Disengaging from him, she walked to the door, then turned back to look at her father for what might be the last time. “See you tomorrow.”

  It was the first outright lie—not just a lie of omission—that she had ever told him.

  * * * *

  As soon as she left her father’s office, Miranda knew what she must do. She had little time and even fewer people she could trust with her plan.

  She found Kenden in his shed, which sat near the compound wall quite far from the main castle. This was his private place where he came to be alone with his thoughts. Over the centuries he had lined the wooden walls with rare weapons he had collected. Some human, some Vampyre, some Deamon…they all were precious pieces to the Slayer commander. He was a thoughtful student of history and strived to understand the outcome of every war that had been fought so that he could strategize more effectively for his people.