Dixon moved forward. “Rowena. Rowena, I’m here.” Gently, he shook her.
Mara watched, her eyes riveted, expectant.
Upon touching the woman, Dixon’s eyes turned quickly from the soft glance he’d given her, to a kind of madness. He jumped up and glared. “What have you done?” he hissed.
“What have I done?” Mara crouched down, pulled away the blanket that covered Rowena, then carefully took into her arms first Reigna, then Eden. She stood back up, holding herself as tall as she could. She glared. “What have I done? Oh, nothing! Oh, well that is, except—ahhh . . . well . . . let me think here . . .”
She hesitated, playacting. “Oh, yes, I remember now. I took down a full pack of grut, helped Rowena birth these beautiful children, accepted them as my charge, saw to it that she released her power with her dying breath, comforted her in her last moments . . . Shall I go on?” She took a deep breath. “What have I done? Who are you to accuse me of anything? I have done my duty!”
“I am her Oathtaker. That’s who I am!”
“Were,” Mara snapped. “You were her Oathtaker. She’s dead. Or did I forget to mention that? So I might ask—what have you done? Where were you when she so clearly needed you? The truth is, if I hadn’t arrived when I did, I expect we would have lost them all!” Her eyes remained fixed on him.
Click Follow to receive emails when this author adds content on Bublish