The man finally turned and looked at him, and Padric saw the pain of the memory flood his mouth as he spoke. “It changed. The skin would split, grow scales and then…turn back into the son that should have been mine. I wanted it dead, but Bel…but she ran. She knew I would follow. I caught her. Caught her giving the changeling monster to that coburn. I fought him and should have died, but she begged for my life and begged him to take her child. She called it her child. And he took it away, leaving us alone.”

“And you killed her,” Padric accused.

Kederic shook his head. “Worse. I exiled her. Put her on a boat. To the Isle of Mad Women.”

Padric wanted to strike the man. He saw in Kederic’s face no regret for what he had done, only a festering remorse for the life he felt was stolen from him. But Padric knew he could not judge him. His own village had sentenced women to that same isle, and more than once he had voiced his approval of such acts. In truth, he was fortunate his own mother had not been sent there. The enmity of the village was directed at him, and, for the first time, he was grateful for it.

“Did you know?” he asked Kederic. “Who she was, did you know?”

Anger flashed in Kederic’s eyes, clearing them. “What? A witch, a sorceress! How could I?”

Padric leveled a harsh stare at him. “How could you have not?” he asked, throwing the words back.

Kederic returned his gaze, quivering with fury.

“You are still taken in by them!” He pointed up at Castle Gaunt. “Even as they try to destroy us! Had I known what she was I would have slain her, for the good of us all. Do you not see? They used her, these immortals. Through her they created that boy! The power of the warlocks and the Fae! He was the most dangerous thing alive in this world. And the most evil!”

The seax was suddenly in Padric’s hand, and he had hold of Kederic, pressing him roughly against the paddock beam, the blade at his throat.

“And if I feel the same of you?” Padric demanded, his breath mixing with that of the struggling Thegn. “Should I deal with you now, for the good of us all? Ask yourself this question, Winetongue. Did Beladore know? Did your wife know what she was? That boy didn’t!”

He released his hold, pulling the knife away.

“I am not a warrior,” he said. “I am not a Thegn or a sorcerer or a king. But I know something about your wife and her son. I share something with them. None of us should be blamed for our birth.”

His words spoken, he turned and walked away.

Bantam Flyn was tying the last of the loads to the mule’s back.