An elven son of prophecy tries to save his wicked kindred from the wrath of the god they have angered.
“A sudden pain stabbed at Tabir as he turned quickly away from Luck’s chamber door. He kept walking, pretending he hadn’t just drastically altered his course. “Did he see what he thought he saw?”, he wondered. If so, why did it sting him so sharply?
His beloved sister Analeah lay nuzzled warmly in Luck’s arms, her head perched peacefully upon the bandit’s hairy chest. Tabir had never seen Analeah look so peaceful, so content. A cascade of thoughts tumbled into his mind too quickly for him to sort them.
Why was he so stung by what he already perceived was happening between Winton and Analeah? Was it that Luck was a half breed?
Tabir stopped at an intersection to another passageway when he felt he was far enough from Luck’s room to do so. Sweat dripped from Tabir’s armpit beneath his loose tunic and startled him as it touched the skin of his side. The thought that he, after everything he had seen, would still harbor prejudice against the man who had been his rescuer, and was fast becoming his close friend, simply because of his mixed blood was revolting to Tabir.
Perhaps, even worse still, Tabir resented Analeah for her happiness. Darkness, brooding, and rage had been her companion for many years. To see he laughing and smiling, perhaps even in love, was a shock to Tabir’s system.
Was he jealous? Tabir had known for some time that the romantic prospects for the fabled 10th son were bleak. Having any serious relationship, or even the thoughts of marriage, were foolish. Now, with his a fugitive of his people, it seemed very unlikely that he would find love. Could he find love here among the refugees, as Ana had done? He was not sure.
He stood for a while with his hand resting on the cool stone over the arched passageway thinking and trying to steady his breath.”