Xochil floated on a moonbeam and watched the children sleep in a grassy valley high in the mountains. Anger coiled in his heart when he saw the whelp Tavi curled up next to Tarek. He couldn’t help but think that if the brat had died along with his parents, Tarek might have been a little more amenable to advice.
He ignored the other fools and focused on Tarek. The flame of his anger surged, becoming a bonfire. He tried to kill me! He’d seen murder in the boy’s eyes when he said, “Die.” Had it been aimed at anyone else, Xochil would have been greatly pleased.
He gritted his teeth, reliving the moment over and over again. He hadn’t felt that kind of pain in centuries. Had he not stolen a bit of his brother’s blood and drunk it nearly a thousand years before, Tarek’s command would have been the end of him. Even still, it had been a very uncomfortable few days. The green moon was an unforgiving mistress, and her healing was not gentle.
“Die,” the boy had said. As if he had any idea what that meant. As if he had the right.
Xochil clenched his fists, squelching the desire to do the same to the idiot lad and see how well he dealt with it.
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No, I can’t. Damn you, boy, but I can’t. But I can very well teach you not to cross me. Ugly ideas raced the fertile field of his mind, and he entertained each one with gusto. I may need you sooner or later, big brother, but there’s a bit of time yet before everything falls to pieces. Plenty of opportunity to teach you a lesson.
With a twist of his lips, Xochil plucked Tarek’s sleeping form out of the midst of the others and pulled him into the moonbeam, still fast asleep. He cast his thoughts to everywhere the moon shone, looking for the right place to put him. When he found it, he nearly laughed out loud. Yes, that’ll do. Stew in that pot for a bit, big brother. You’ll beg for my forgiveness when I come to fetch you.
He cast the boy on the beam and watched him dwindle in the distance. Let it never be said that young idiots are the only ones who can make rash decisions.
And maybe next time you’ll listen to me.
Xochil nodded in satisfaction. He needed to return to his hut in the Yura lands to fetch the vial of Tarek’s blood he’d saved since the lad’s childhood. The boy was just enough different from his long-dead brother that his blood magic landed a square blow once he’d tasted Xochil’s blood. He’d not be caught in that way a second time. He looked down at the other sleepers as he rose toward the moon and dismissed them. Without Tarek to hold them together, they’d splinter and die in the wilderness. That was what these mortals inevitably did.
And really, who cared?