Among the shades sat his father and older brothers, the very first victims of his imperialism, some of the very few that fell by his own hand.Among the shades sat his father and older brothers, the very first victims of his imperialism, some of the very few that fell by his own hand. He sneered at the image of his father, wondering Have I proven myself a man to you yet, Father? Now that I hold sway over an empire greater than anything you could have dreamed of? An empire I have carved out of the land and its people, with my own hands, and paid for with my own blood? Am I finally good enough to be the fruit of your loins? And what of you, my brothers? What pale glories of yours could compare with the splendor I have created? What magnificent destiny could any of you have brought our tiny kingdom of Guhrya to? Not the majesty I hold now, not, I think not! Next were the nobles and ladies of his father's court whom he had known since childhood. They were pillars of the moralistic, pure-hearted and enlightened society, who had turned against him to side with his older sisters in a short-lived rebellion. Fools, he admonished them with a scowl as he recalled some of the more prominent faces, both before and after his ascension to power. The superstitious contempt they had held him and Zara in, as if they could have helped being twin-born, the arrogance behind their facades of righteous chastity when the twins were revealed, the pompous dignity as they fawned over the more favored princes and princesses crossed his mind. The burning rage he had felt most of the time he was growing up came back, only to be quenched and soothed by the memory of how they had begged and whimpered so pitifully before him, and pleaded the virtues of mercy before he had sentenced them to the hands of his new executioners and torturers. |