did. “How did this happen?”
She opened her mouth to say.
“That’s all right,” Haught said. “You’ve told me.” He still had his hand on the
Stepson’s ankle, and closed it down till his fingers went white. “Hello,
Straton.”
Straton’s eyes opened. He made a small move to lift his head from the wadded
cloak, and perhaps he saw Haught, before the pain got him and twisted his face.
“Oh, damn,” he said, letting his head back, “damn.”
“Damned for sure,” Haught said. “How does it feel, Rankan?”
“Haught!” Moria cried, as the Stepson made a sound nothing human ought to make.
She jerked with both hands at Haught’s shoulders. “Don’t! Haught!”
Haught stopped. He stood up, slowly, the globe still beneath his arm. And Moria
flinched in the first backward step, then stood her ground, jaw clenched,
muscles shaking in the threat of this utter stranger who stared at her with eyes
that held nothing of the Haught she had known. There was something terrible
inside. Something that burned and touched her inside her skull in ways that ran
constantly through her nerves.
“Oh, I know what you’ve done, I know everything you’ll say, and what you really
think. It’s more than a little trying, Moria.” He reached and brought a finger
under her chin. “It can be a damned bore, Moria, it really can.”
“Haught-“
“Ischade doesn’t own you anymore. I do. I own you, I own Stilcho, I own this
house and everything in it.”
“There’s a dead man in my bedroom! Dammit, Haught-“
“A dead man in your bedroom.” Haught’s mouth tightened in the ghost of an old