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<span style=”font-weight: 400;”>The Lady’s breath caught in her throat as her eyes landed on him.  “Brendin–”</span>

<span style=”font-weight: 400;”>“He’s dead.”  The words were soft.</span>

<span style=”font-weight: 400;”>“What?”  </span>

<span style=”font-weight: 400;”>The man lifted his eyes to meet hers for only a moment.  His irises were grey, grey and dull with no shred of joy or peace, only pain.  Gone were those mirthful grey-blue eyes.  “Your son is dead,” the man repeated, his voice taut and hoarse.  </span>

<span style=”font-weight: 400;”>“Dead?” she asked, still bewildered.  </span>

<span style=”font-weight: 400;”>“Yes.”  He turned away, as if looking at the Lady was painful.  </span>

<span style=”font-weight: 400;”>Margery’s jade green eyes became misty and her throat tightened.  “You’re certain?”</span>

<span style=”font-weight: 400;”>“Beyond a doubt.”  After a moment of her silence he added: “I wish it weren’t so, but to say otherwise it would be a lie.”</span>

<span style=”font-weight: 400;”>The Lady Warin swallowed with some difficulty.  “I see.” </span>