Fergus stews as he sits atop the highest point of their new camp. Not even his wife could pluck a word from him, and any soldier who approached risked his lightning strike temper.
Locking his daughter in a cellar had been the hardest day of his life. Not for guilt or love for Nephele, but for the conflict he felt within himself. He simply couldn't decide that day, whether to kill her or to lock her away.
Fergus always hated conflicted feelings. As a general, indecision could cost him everything. He learned to always make the swift but calculated choice, and he never hesitated.
But he hesitated the day he threw his daughter in the cellar.
If he killed her, she wouldn't be a problem any longer. She would be gone, and the threat of her rising against him would be eliminated. She couldn't embarrass him from the grave, and he certainly wouldn't feel remorse.
However...
A wise man doesn't kill the snake he finds in his garden. He doesn't release the serpent either. No, he takes the snake by the head, he extracts the venom until their is nothing left of the creature. Then, he lets death have her.
At the time, he had interpreted that to suggest that he shouldn't kill Nephele, but rather use her as a bartering chip. Now...
Now, atop that rock, he sees that he had misinterpreted the opportunity. Now, Fergus sees that he needs to extract Neph's venom, rob her of her power and claim it for himself before he would let death have her.
Before he would conquer Prynthian.
And whatever lies after that.