THE THREE GIFTS

Connor,

My son, heir to my empire.

Here is the first of three gifts to mark this auspicious first night of blood-taking. Come to my cabin when the clock strikes midnight, and I will present you with your other two gifts.

Your blood father,

Sidorio

Connor stood at the captain’s door. Instinctively, his hand dropped to his belt, his fingers seeking out his sword, resting in its sheath. Connor squeezed the sword hilt, as he often did in times of stress. It reminded him of the moments when he was utterly in control — when his sword was drawn and he was in the midst of battle. If only he could achieve the same simplicity and clarity in the rest of his life as he did when he was engaged in combat.

Adrenaline surged through his body. Adrenaline is a strange thing, he thought. You need it to fuel you in times of pressure. Yet too much of the stuff almost paralyzes you. His life had changed and he knew there was no going back. He couldn’t even be sure that his sister, Grace, would still be alive by morning. When he had last seen her, she had observed that they were in control of their own destinies. She could not have been more wrong, Connor thought bitterly now. They were no more than flies, caught in a steel web.