“What do you gain from my suffering?” Alric asked, his voice as low and cold as Lilly had ever heard it. She repressed the shiver that wanted to run down her spine.
“Pleasure,” Osmian replied immediately. “The pleasure of denying the King something most everybody takes for granted. Just as you and others have denied me the position I should have had as first-born.”
“First-born? I don’t understand.” Alric sounded concerned.
“It’s simple, really. My mother used her powers to seduce your father and get pregnant with me. She was hoping for some of the fabled magic of your line to breed true in her offspring, but I wasn’t born with even the slightest magical gift. I was a disappointment to her. Non-magical in every way. But I showed her. I left her tender mercies when I was still a lad and apprenticed myself to an Alchemist. I have achieved more through science than anything she ever did with her magic, and I made sure she knew it before she died.”
“You’re saying you’re my half-brother?” Alric shook his head in denial. “My father would never have done such a thing. If he’d known he had another child, he would have claimed you.”
“Ah. But he didn’t know, did he?” Osmian raved, sounding less in control with every word. “My mother was a witch. She brewed a potion that made him insensible and unable to remember their encounter. She was so proud of that. Selfish woman wanted a magical child to carry on her art but didn’t want to involve the father beyond conception. If there’d been any way to prove to your father who I was, I would have tried, but there was not one scrap of evidence that my mother’s story was true, and she vowed to deny it if she was ever asked. She would have destroyed my chances of being taken seriously. All for her own selfish reasons.” He shook his head, spitting mad by the look of him.
He must have really hated his mother, Lilly realized. That hatred for his origins had spilled over to Alric. She could see it now. Despised by his own mother for not inheriting any magic and unable to claim his birthright as the son of a King, he’d been consumed by his anger and hatred, lashing out at the innocent half-brother he’d never be able to claim as family. It was sad, really. Of course, Osmian had done terrible harm to Alric, which Lilly could never forgive, even if she began to understand the reasoning.
“But I got my revenge on our dear father,” Osmian went on, raving now. “Him and his wife.” He made that last word sound like a curse. “I killed them both with my alchemical skills and blinded you.”
Lilly wanted to gasp, but she didn’t dare break the silence that followed Osmian’s criminal admission. She edged closer to Zallra, positioning herself to take down Osmian, if necessary. She wouldn’t let the bastard hurt Alric any further, if she could help it.
“You admit to killing my parents?” Alric seemed to want to clarify that point, his voice cold and almost aloof. Lilly had heard that tone when Alric was truly enraged, and his anger burned like cold, white fire.
“Happily,” Osmian replied. “And I’ll do the same to you, once I’ve finished having my fun with you.”
“Your agents have already tried and failed,” Alric said quietly. “And, as you can see, my situation has changed. I have allies you can’t subvert, now. What have you got?”
Osmian laughed, but the sound was brittle to Lilly’s ears. “I’ve got the cure for your blindness,” he taunted.
“Which you claim you won’t ever give me,” Alric reminded his half-brother. “It’s not really a bargaining chip unless you’re willing to negotiate for it.”
Osmian paused, and the man in the green robe cleared his throat. “Remember, Osmian, the prophecy.” His old voice had a decided quaver but was stronger than Lilly had expected. Luc and Shilayla were watching him closely while Lilly kept her attention on Osmian and Alric.
“What prophecy?” Alric demanded.
The old man shuffled to one of the many bookshelves that lined the room, searching on a dusty shelf for something. After a moment, he pulled out a scroll and opened it. He cleared his throat and read from the parchment.
“Black and white shall fly side by side, bringing together the tainted son with the pure. The lover will transform from warrior to beauty, and the Blind King will be blind no more.” The old man lowered the scroll and looked around the room. “This looks like most of it right here, though interpreting these things is sometimes best left to others.”
“Who are you, sir?” Alric asked the question Lilly had been wondering about herself.
“My name is Dieffenbacher. I am the holder of the green tower to the west, a fellow Alchemist and leader of my own school of alchemy. I came here today to reason with Osmian, who was a student of mine for a short while, early in my career, but there is no reasoning with a madman.” Dieffenbacher shook his head sadly as Osmian made a rude gesture in the old man’s direction.
“Your time is over,” Osmian scolded the green-robed Alchemist. “It was over when I left your school, though you didn’t yet realize it. Mine is the vision of the future for our brotherhood, not yours. It’s time you realized that, old man.”
“I supported you for Grand High Alchemist, against my better judgment, but no more. You have gone too far.” Diffenbacher shot the younger man a disgusted look and sat heavily on top of a low bookcase right behind him. “I suspect these people will have a say in your future, as well.” The old man subsided and said no more for the moment.
“This is not the prophecy,” Osmian said, a crazed look in his eyes that Lilly didn’t like. “That prophecy will never come true. It’s nonsense! Pure nonsense.”
“Whether it is or not, I intend to have the cure from you, Osmian. I did not come here to leave empty handed,” Alric told the Alchemist in a calm, powerful voice.
Lilly watched as Alric slid down from Zallra’s back. That wasn’t the plan. He was supposed to stay mobile, not let himself be caught on the ground. Lilly moved to stand beside her King, as did Jimnel as Zallra stepped back. Alric faced the man who had intentionally blinded him and killed his parents. Lilly felt the tension in the air ramp up even higher. Something was going to blow here at any minute.
The three gray-robed men rushed at Alric, but the dragons intervened. Zentailleron skewered one with his talons while Grennulf’s tail barb took down another. It was Zallra who shifted into her human form in the blink of an eye to stop the fastest of the three men with a sword stroke that removed his head from his shoulders in one clean swipe.
Zallra turned casually and walked to Alric’s side, taking his hand in a show of solidarity that wasn’t lost on anyone in the room. Osmian began cursing and reached behind him to grasp a light blue bottle off a shelf behind him. It had been kept at the back of the shelf and was covered in a layer of dust.
“This is the cure,” Osmian shouted, holding up the bottle and showing it to those who could see. “If I smash this now, you’ll never see again, brother,” he taunted.
Osmian placed the bottle on the table in front of him and reached for something in one swift move. Lilly held her breath and moved to intercept should Osmian bring out a hammer to smash the bottle. No way would she allow that bastard to deprive Alric of the cure any longer than absolutely necessary.