Son of the Shadows. Nancy Holder
Houses have maintained clear boundaries. There has never been a child of two Houses before—and of Bouvard and Malchance, of all things. Those two are mortal enemies.
Unlike we Shadows, who have no enemies, Alain observed dryly.
And fewer real friends, Jean-Marc pointed out. I was going to change all that after I became Guardian. I dreamed that I would rein in our manipulating and scheming.
Alain smiled grimly. You might as well have told our entire House to leap off a cliff. That has always been our way. Had he the chance, I’m sure Machiavelli would have chosen to become a Devereaux in a heartbeat.
He would be Malchance, Jean-Marc argued. He had a taint of evil, or so our grandmother said.
And she should know, his cousin replied, since she was his mistress for a time. A beat, and then, Thanks be to the Grey King that you did not die, cousin.
I haven’t forgiven you for what you did to Isabelle, Jean-Marc reminded him.
Better that you never forgive me, than that I did not dare anything and everything to get you back your soul.
A soul that is unclean.
We will remedy that, Alain promised. On this I swear a blood oath.
Jean-Marc lifted his right arm at the elbow. Alain clasped his hand, sealing the bargain. But Jean-Marc was not convinced that they had agreed to the same thing.
Alain, you must temper your loyalty to me. Promise me this. If the darkness overtakes me, and I become dangerous to those around me…to her…that you will end me.
Alain set his jaw and shook his head, his dreadlocks bobbing. You can’t ask that of me. I’ll never do it.
Jean-Marc sighed heavily, frustrated and wary.
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