He watched the sleeping face of his son, lying pale and sharp against the pillows. The face itself was unrecognizable. A stranger, but his eyes. His scent . . .

“You are certain that it is he, are you not, Soldana?”

The beautiful woman’s lips were drawn into a pale, bloodless line.

“Are you doubting? Only now?”

He brushed a hand through the boy’s short, cropped hair, feeling the bristled strands scratch at his skin. She was right. And he was being ridiculous. This was his son. This was Harow.

It had to be. He’d done everything right.

“What measures have you taken—” Soldana spoke stiffly, eyes fixed on the rich, blue drapes hiding the window from sight, “—to ensure that the Queen of T’cor won’t cause trouble to take her son back?”

“Harow is not her son,” he stated. “He is mine.”

“She bore him.”

“She acted merely as a vessel.”

Soldana glared at him ferociously. “In everything but the soul, he is hers.”

“In everything but the soul, he does not matter.” He pulled the blankets up higher around the sleeping Harow’s chin. “The body is a shell that is quickly replaced by another when the time comes. The soul is all that matters. The soul is what is eternal, and those things which are not eternal are not important.”

“Not to a mother.”

“T’cor shall not begin resisting us because of this, I am sure of it.” He rested his hand on the child’s thin chest, which rose and fell with shallow breaths.

“Their Queen and I made a deal.”

“Considering that she kept her son out of your grasp for twelve years, I would hazard that she is rethinking this deal.”

He stood up from the bedside and began to wash his hands vigorously in the basin of water that had been left at his disposal upon the map table, and grimaced at the sight of the red blood that stained it. Red was mortal.

“She no longer matters. It is Abaekus who has the authority to speak the word, and he shall not. He is a coward.”

“They won’t play along with the invasion for much longer,” Soldana warned. “Even cowards like King Abaekus shall fight for their thrones once they can no longer deny they are in danger. You know this.”

“And while we wait—” He placed his hands on either side of the basin and stared within it, where his face reflected at him through the water’s mirror; rusted from the hint of blood. “While we wait, we shall find her. Once we have found her, it shall all be over.”

“You cannot know when you shall find her,” she said. “The continent is large. Towns, islands, and villages. Women are plentiful.”

“That is why I have you.” He smiled at her, holding her icy gaze for a moment, before telling her she must tend to his son while he was away.

“And where shall you be?” she demanded.

He called for Sorel, who entered the room nervously and helped him on with his coat.

“Saddle my horse, Sorel.”

“Yes, Lord.”

“Do I have no rights?” Soldana’s hands were clenched into fists at her sides, and the anger which usually lay hidden was raw in her eyes. “Am I to be a nursemaid now, as well as your Seer, and your bedfellow? Am I to be left here with this injured child without even knowing where you have gone, or when you are to return?”

“I am going,” he paused before opening the door, “to see an important man. And no.” His eyes were cold and sharp as two fragments of blue ice. “No, you do not. Seers have no rights. Whores have no rights. Mortals have no rights.”