Page 438 of Warlords, Witches & Wolves

"How long?" Boris demanded.

Both men stared at him.

"How long ago did your two saints die?"

Neither man seemed inclined to answer, so it fell to Rossa. "Two hundred years," she whispered.

"No! I swore I would bring them justice. That I would execute the man who ordered them killed. He can't be dead. He can't!" Boris rose so quickly, he knocked his chair over, but he did not stop to right it before he stormed out of the room.

Rossa rose to follow him.

Father put a restraining hand on her arm. "Let him go. It's a lot for any man to take in."

Rossa shook him off. "You knew, or at least you suspected. You should have told him, instead of letting him find out like this. And you." She pointed a damning finger at the king. "You laughed at him, before the whole court. A court that should be his, not yours, stolen by your ancestor's treachery. That man is our rightful king, and I will not just let him go!" She marched out the door, across the throne room, and out into the main square.

She had to find him. She had to.

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