Chapter 962: Cousin’s Reunion (Part Two)
"So it really is you," Ian Hanrahan spit as he stared up at the crimson-eyed woman glaring down at him. "Who do I thank for prettying-up your face? The Inquisitor, Diarmuid? Sit Tommin? Or did that Lothian brat actually manage to hurt the famed Crimson - Oof!"
Whatever Ian had been about to say was cut off sharply when Sybyll lashed out with an armored boot, kicking the hog-tied man in the gut hard enough to crack a few of his floating ribs and sending him into a pained coughing fit that only made him glare more fiercely at her.
"Useless all of them," he said once he could breathe again. "Inquisitor, Templar, Holy Disciple... none of them could do the least bit of good to stop you. So now what? You’ve come to kill me with that axe of yours?"
"Oh, ye’ll die," Sybyll said. Her fists clenched tightly on the haft of her axe and there was a part of her that deeply wanted to swing that axe right now. A part of her that could still remember her helpless mother’s voice shouting at her to run as far as she could to get away from this place and never return. A part of her who had listened to countless stories at her mother’s knee about her father’s hopes and dreams for Hanrahan once the War of Four Templars had ended and he could finally give back to his people for all of the hardship they had endured during the bitter years of war.
Sybyll had never known her father, but the stories she grew up on had left her with a deep yearning to return to the lands of her birth. She wanted to see the places her mother talked about so fondly and she wanted justice for what had been done to her father.
It wasn’t until Aiden Hanrahan died that her mother was willing to bring her home to meet Ian. At the time, Sybyll had to promise, not just once but several times, that she wouldn’t blame Ian for what his father had done and that she would treat him as family so they could live under the Hanrahan name openly again.
Again and again, Caitlin told her daughter that Ian had been too young when Brighton was murdered to have anything to do with it and she had to accept that. In the end, she had accepted it, and she’d foolishly believed that she could have the fairytale reunion with her cousin. That she would transform into one of the beautiful ladies of the march to be courted by a handsome knight... She could find the kind of happiness her mother had once found in the arms of a husband of her own.
But fairy tales were only stories, and Sybyll’s life had been no fairy tale.
"Ye’ll die, Cousin Ian," Sybyll said as she knelt down to look the pudgy lord directly in the eyes. "But not before ye confess yer crimes," she said. "Ye’ll list them all out, and recite them good an’ loud fer all yer people to hear. Not just what ye’ did ta’ me an’ me mother," she added as a faintly pinkish tear slid down her scarred cheeks.
"No, ye’ll tell tha’ people all of it," she continued fiercely. "Every stolen sovereign, every cheated merchant, every deflowered maiden, every bribe ye took, every innocent ye had put ta’ tha’ sword..." she said in a voice that grew louder and louder with every word she said. "Ye’ll spill it all out, every last bit of it for the whole world to hear. Ye’ll tell them all how ye squeezed the life blood out o’ our beloved Hanrahan...."
Armored boots scraped against the cobblestones beneath Sybyll’s feet as she stood quickly, striding away from her cousin as the fury threatened to overwhelm her rapidly fraying restraint. She had to pace all the way to the back of the stables, lashing out with a fist and shattering a wooden stall before she could restrain her desire to pummel her cousin’s putrid face until it was unrecognizable.
Even then, it wasn’t until she stepped back into the pure, perfect darkness of the tunnel that she could begin regaining control of her rapidly beating heart and the fury that threatened to overwhelm her.
Just weeks ago, she was certain that she’d never have lost control like this, but the Reawakening of the Heart that Mistress Nyrielle had bestowed on her brought back all of the pain as well as all of the joy.
"You do not have to accept this gift before you claim your vengeance," Nyrielle had told her. "But if you are strong enough to face the wounds in your heart when you face Ian Hanrahan, then I think you will be a better ruler for your people afterwards."
"Ye never promised me an’ ’afterwards’ before, Mistress," Sybyll said. "I never dreamed of much beyond claiming his life wit’ me own hands an’ puttin’ an end ta ’is putrid line. It don’a matter much who rules after he dies, so long as I’ve put an end ta’ him."
"I think you’ll feel differently when you meet my darling Ashlynn," Nyrielle said with a cryptic smile and dark eyes that twinkled with mirth. "She has a way of making you yearn for ’afterwards’ many times over. We didn’t call you away from Airgead Mountain just to help her train or to claim your vengeance... we called you back so that you could claim your birthright."
"After all," Nyrielle said gently as she cupped the face of her fiercest progeny. "It wasn’t just what he did to you and your mother that filled your heart with scars. So speak with Ashlynn, and let your heart begin to dream about what you could do for all those other people who have suffered under your cousin’s rule if you were the one sitting atop the Hanrahan throne..."
Hearing a vampire talk about dreams was strange enough that Sybyll almost asked her Mistress to repeat herself, but she took the words seriously. Even if she couldn’t truly dream, when she spoke to Lady Ashlynn about her hopes for what the Vale of Mists and the lands around it would become, she allowed herself to believe that it could be possible, and even to hope that she could be part of building the better future the young witch seemed to see so clearly.
But those days of shining hope only made the wounds that she and her people had suffered hurt even more. During the day, she was haunted by memories of her mother’s last moments, or by the countless scenes of neglect and cruelty she’d witnessed each winter when she returned to her father’s barony to move among his people and help them where she could.
Worst of all, however, was the guilt that clawed at her when she thought of all the things she’d let go of over the long years of exile as time ground away at her heart. She’d seen much, but acted on little because it might have provoked the Church or the Lothians or... or some kind of response that the people of Airgead Mountain couldn’t endure.
She could only protect them at night, after all, and there were always people who died before she could find invaders on the mountain slopes. Now, the ghosts of the Soft Paws clan joined with the countless people of Hanrahan who had suffered under Ian’s cruel rule, begging her from the darkness for the justice and the vengeance they were owed.
She had carried them in her heart all this way, and the distant drumming echoing across the valley now called them to the surface of her heart, eager to witness the final moments of the man who had profited for years off the raiders who pillaged their mountain home.
In the stables outside the tunnel, the dozen or so members of Captain Lusia’s Lightfoot scouts made themselves as quiet as mice and twice as invisible as their commander struggled to restrain her fury. None of them were afraid that she would lash out at them. Even in the brief time that they’d served under her, they had all come to understand the fierceness with which their vampire commander protected innocents.
Rather, it was clear to all of them that she was consumed by hundreds of hurts, large and small, that had piled up on her over several decades, and during all of that time, she’d been unable to move against the man who was responsible for it. They couldn’t imagine how that hatred must have gnawed away at such a powerful champion, but now that she finally had the man responsible for it within her reach, none of them wanted to intrude on this moment.
For several minutes, Sybyll stood in the darkness of the tunnel, allowing the demands of the dead to wash over her and promising them, along with herself, that Ian Hanrahan would meet his end soon... but not until his victims knew the fullest extent of his crimes. She owed them that much and a great deal more for making them wait so long when she had the strength to do something more.
When she finally returned to her hog-tied cousin, his gaze was still defiant, as if he had firmed up his resolve to deny her the confession that she so clearly wanted as a final, petty act of cruelty toward the woman whose life he’d destroyed so many years ago. Dame Sybyll, however, still had other means at her disposal.
"Hello, little cousin," she said as she knelt before the unconscious figure of Bastian Hanrahan, slapping him lightly across the face with the back of her darksteel gauntlet to rouse him from his slumber. "Wake up. It’s time to see how much you know about your father’s deeds..."