So sometimes from the Nats comes pitiless
fury, and men run mad and kill and none knows why.
Maya the Queen stiffened to meet the danger. Joy swept through
her soul; her weariness was gone. A fierce smile showed her teeth
- a smile of hate, as she stood there and drew her dagger for
defense. For defense - the man would rend the boy and turn on her
and she would not die. She would live to triumph that the mongrel
was dead, and her son, the Prince again and his father's joy -
for his heart would turn to the child most surely. Justice was
rushing on its victim. She would see it and live content, the
long years of agony wiped out in blood, as was fitting. She would
not flee; she would see it and rejoice. And as she stood in
gladness - these broken thoughts rushing through her like flashes
of lightning - Mindon saw her by the pillar and, screaming in
anguish for the first time, fled to her for refuge.
She raised her knife to meet the staring eyes, the chalk white
face, and drive him back on the murderer. If the man failed, she
would not! And even as she did this a strange thing befell.
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