But strange to say, the fearless disdain she showed him was not
without reward. In truth it was the one emotion he still respected. It
at once cut through his predisposition toward women as weak and
spineless manipulators, and gave her a separate identity. She was his
daughter, and she was not afraid.
There could be, for the moment, no thought of killing her.
"Well, girl," he said, settling back in his chair as the servant
closed the polished doors behind them. "If you have hard words to say
to me, say them."
"I hate you," she hissed.
"And why is that?" His face remained immobile, whatever the underlying
emotions.
"You raped my mother."
"Yes, though she did not ask me to stop. And if I hadn't, you would
not exist." The thought staggered her, but she pressed on.
"You burned her body! You denied her Christian burial."
"Your mother was not a Christian. By the look of her hut, I'd say she
fancied herself a Daughter of the Trees. Such as she are not buried,
as you must know."
"If not for your countrymen, and their accursed King, my cousins.
Pages:
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197