Read Online Vengeance of the Hunter by Angela Highland - Free Book Online

state before his final interment. Ealasaid had no compunction at ordering them right back to their beds when she and Deglis arrived, on the grounds that she wished time to pray over the body of her grandson—and the High Priest’s blessing upon him. None of them would have dared argue with her on her own, and with Deglis at her side, they scrambled all the more quickly to vacate the preparation chambers. Soon enough the two of them were alone in the catacombs, and the Bhandreid paused beside the table where Padraig’s body lay, frowning down at his slack face.
    He was immaculate; the attendants had done their work well. They’d washed him and garbed him in his Hawk’s uniform, for he’d done his royal duty and served three years with the Order before he’d fallen ill. Were it not for the extreme pallor of his features, she might have thought him sleeping. Indeed, she had to trust that the drugs he’d been given to simulate life’s passing without actually killing him were doing their work, for still-living blood was required for the sacrifice.
    For his death. Her back ramrod-straight, Ealasaid forced herself to think the words while she took in every detail of Padraig’s unmoving form. She wouldn’t go through with the task before her without acknowledging his presence, the form that had been tall and strong in the height of his health, and the last few embers of life that she and Deglis were about to extinguish.
    “Gods help us. Gods forgive us,” she murmured, all too aware of the irony of calling upon the Father and Mother, here and now. “We have no choice, do we, Deglis?”
    Over Padraig’s body the High Priest watched her, stark sympathy gleaming in his gray eyes. “None, my lady. The Voice refuses my commands to speak, and won’t tell me if She learned anything of this priest who summoned Her. The spell upon Her grows dangerously thin. If we wait much longer, She may find the strength to break free of it at last.” He paused, and after a moment finished, “New blood must be shed to renew the spell tonight. I’m sorry.”
    She waved aside the apology; it galled. Nevertheless, she couldn’t quite bring herself to leave Padraig’s side. “Margaine has been kept suitably distracted?”
    “As you commanded. She could go into labor at any time, and though she’s demanded her husband’s presence, the royal physicians have sternly advised her not to risk the birthing by exposure to Prince Padraig’s...unfortunate illness.”
    The Bhandreid nodded curtly. “Had they chosen a name for the babe to come?”
    “Methias if she bears a son, Your Majesty.” Deglis paused. “Princess Margaine has refused to say what she will name the child if it is a daughter.”
    Ealasaid scowled at that, but there was little she could do for it tonight. Later, perhaps, she would go to the side of the woman her grandson had married, and be there for her when the babe arrived, boy or girl. It was a meager penance for what they were about to do, and no salve at all for how the knowledge that that child would never known its father stabbed into the deepest part of her heart. There was no justice here, and there never had been.
    “Bring him, Deglis. Bear him with honor. Should he begin to stir, I have a dose of laudanum we can administer. He is a prince of the blood, and he will not suffer as he lays down his life for his realm tonight.”
    The sympathy in Deglis’s eyes grew more pronounced as he hefted the prince into his arms, and Ealasaid could not abide the sight of it. She wanted no sympathy this night. She spun away from the old man and the young man he bore, bitterly reproaching herself for not even being able to utter her grandson’s name. Padraig. Forgive me , boy. I would have warned you if I could .
    But no. To warn a sacrifice of the blood risked refusal of the holy duty, and that was a risk their people would never bear.
    With almost desperate swiftness she strode out of the preparation chamber, not bothering