He rose and smiled at me. I sat across from him on the north side, while he sat on the south. My back was to the path. Argh.
"Nobody will be coming up," he said and raised a bottle. "Wine?"
"Water."
"You don't drink much," he said.
"I drank too much for a while."
"I did, too," he said, and poured two glasses of water, one for himself, one for me.
The table held three platters: fruit, meat, and cheese. Everything a growing warlord needs.
"Please," Hugh invited.
I put some cheese and meat on my plate.
"Beautiful, isn't it?" He nodded at the sea.
It was. There was something ancient about it, something impossibly alluring. Thousands of years ago, people gazed at the sea just like we did now, mesmerized by the pattern of evening light on the waves. They had their own dreams and ambitions, but at the core they must've been just like us: they loved and hated, worried about their problems and celebrated their triumphs. Long after we were gone, the sea would still remain, and other people would watch it and be bewitched.
"The Volkodavi are lamassu," I said.
"I know," he said.
"When did you find out?"
"When I saw one fly out of your medmage's room. The Volkodavi have a good reputation back in Ukraine, but I've heard some stories. People disappearing. Monsters eating human bodies. I put two and two together. They came out of nowhere a few years ago, took over the local pack, and then the strange shit started." Hugh cut a piece of meat. "Your father hates the breed. He says they were badly made. I think they could be useful under the right circumstances, but they have very little discipline. Hammering them into usable soldiers would be difficult. You'd have to get them from childhood, and even then there is no guarantee."
"You're talking about them like they are pit bull puppies."
"Not a bad analogy, actually. It would take a few generations to breed the crazy out of the lamassu. Why bother? A properly trained German shepherd can kill as well as an undisciplined pit bull, and it's a lot easier to handle."
This conversation was getting under my skin. I drank my water.
"I like it here," Hugh said.
"It is beautiful."
"You should stay," he said. "After Desandra gives birth and the Beast Lord takes his pack home. Have a vacation. Live a little, swim in the sea, eat delicious food that's bad for you."
"I'm sure it would be a glorious vacation right up to the point where you serve my head on a silver platter to Roland."
"For you, I'd spring for gold," he said.
"Somehow that doesn't make me feel any better."
"Are you actually planning to fight him?" Hugh leaned forward.
"If it comes to it."
Hugh put down his fork and walked to the edge. "See that rock down there?"
I got up and stood at my edge of the table. He was pointing at a jagged boulder jutting from the side of the mountain.
Hugh opened his mouth. Magic snapped like a striking whip. An invisible torrent of power crashed into the rock. The boulder broke into shards.
A power word. Nice. When I used mine, it ripped me up with pain. Hugh didn't seem any worse for wear.
"I only have a tiny fraction of his power. You have no idea what it's like to stand behind him when he lets it go. It's like walking in the footsteps of a god."
I sat back in my spot. I'd heard that before.
Hugh studied the boulder below. "You've been alive for twenty-six years. He's been alive for over five thousand. He doesn't just play with magic; he knows it, intimately. He can craft impossible things. If I were to stand against him, he would crush me like a gnat. Hell, he might not even notice I'm there at all. I serve him because there is no one stronger."
Hugh turned to me. "I've seen you fight. I'm a fan. But if you plan to fight the Builder of Towers, you will lose."
I realized he wasn't bluffing. It hit home. If Roland came for me now, I would lose. Looking at it now seemed kind of absurd. I wasn't even thirty. I didn't know how to use my magic. What few tricks I had up my sleeve barely scratched the surface. In my head I always suspected that I wouldn't be able to hold him off, but the way Hugh said it made me pause.
"What makes you think he wants to kill you?" Hugh sat down.
"He tried to murder me in the womb, he killed my mother, and he sent you to find and kill the man I called my father. What makes you think he doesn't?"
"He's lonely," Hugh said. "It eats at him. He can age himself. It takes a lot of effort, and usually he stays around forty. He says it's a good age, mature enough to inspire confidence, young enough to not suggest frailty. He stayed at it for years, but now he is actively aging. Last time I saw him, four months ago, he looked closer to fifty. I asked him why. He said it made him appear more fatherly."
How sweet. "I'm not buying it."
"Think about it, Kate. You are deadly, smart, beautiful, and you are capable. Why wouldn't he want a daughter like that? Don't you think he would at least try to get to know you?"
"You're missing the point. I don't want to know him. He killed my mother, Hugh. He robbed me of the one person every child counts on for unconditional love. Do you remember your mother?"
"Yes," Hugh said. "I was four when she died. Three years later Voron took me off the street."
"I don't remember mine. Not a murmur, not a trace of a scent, no smudged image, nothing. Voron was my father and my mother. The Death's Raven was an undisputed authority in my life. The only authority. You knew him. Think about what that really means."
"So it's vengeance and a pity party at the same time," Hugh said.
"No. It's not vengeance. It's prevention. I want to kill Roland so there will never be another me."
"That would be a tragedy," Hugh said.
"That would be a blessing," I said.
"Let the shapeshifter sail off," Hugh said. "Stay with me for a while. No strings attached. No obligations or expectations. See if I can change your mind."
"I thought we already covered that ground. It wouldn't be a good idea."
"What's holding you to him? The man does care about you in his own stunted way, but you will never fit in with them, Kate. Deep down you know this. They'll always look on you as if you're a dangerous freak. People fear what they can't understand, but they can work with it. Animals can't. They shun the strange or try to destroy it. You can bleed for them for a hundred years and you won't change their minds. Make one small misstep and they will turn on you."