For whatever else he was, Gabriel knew better than to wage war alone. He would never have attacked Conor at his doorstep. He might have, if the need called for it, slaughter him in unclaimed lands. Politics were as much a part of his heritage as the madness. His malice for the boy’s father would not cause him to bring violence down on the young leader. He would never trust him. He would never be able to forget the terrible things Haku had done, and he would hold this above his children’s heads for as long as he lived.
Conor settled across from him. He was still very young, Gabriel reflected. Younger then he had been when Inferni had been turned over to him. Whether or not that inexperience would burden the boy was yet to be seen. Gabriel believed it would. He knew the weight. What would he do now, with the knowledge he was about to gain? This was a test. Gabriel would make certain it was. “Your father is dead,” he said.
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