Full-Blood Half-Breed by Cleve Lamison Read Free Book Online Page A

Santos. I hope to see you there, Señor Von Hammerhead, for true.”
    His headache dwindled as he watched her walk away. She had a slight limp but it did nothing to impede her grace. She melted into the crowds of youngling competitors. He had to admit her arguments were compelling. What did he truly know of the Viles—or Santosians—beyond what he had been told? All he knew of them he had learned through rumor, gossip, and speculation. He had never actually studied any of their doctrines. Perhaps he should visit the temple and research the teachings of Vicente Santos. Though in truth, he was more interested in studying Pía Del Whitewraith of House Ximena than any holy text, Santosian or otherwise.

Chapter Six
Feliz Cumpleaños

    Paladin marched quickly down Calle de Comerciante, a long narrow street cramped with rows of tall tenement houses called
viviendas
. He hopped up the single step onto his porch and reached for the doorknob, pausing to take in the festive sounds inside. “Blood and Thunder. I forgot about my birthday.”
    Even without the news of temple and Torneo, his parents would be furious with him. He was late for his own
fiesta de cumpleaños
! He gazed skyward. It was a clear night and he could see every constellation and its relation to Grandmother Moon. There were Schöpfer’s Scales balanced brightly in the northern sky, Muumba’s Web hanging over the south, Seisakusha’s Tail flashing in the east, and directly above, putting the time between the eighth and ninth hour, burned the seven stars of Creador’s Sword. He should have been home hours ago. His catalog of crimes grew longer by the second. He cringed, opened the door, and went inside, exhaling a deep sigh of relief at the scene that met him.
    The fiesta had begun without him, thank the gods. The last thing he wanted was to find a house full of bored folk sitting around waiting. They would have demanded an immediate explanation for his lateness, and that explanation would likely have ended the revelry before it began.
    He almost didn’t recognize the house for all the colorful decorations. A donkey piñata hung from the ceiling. The walls were decked with paper ribbons in his House colors: blue for truth and loyalty, silver for peace and sincerity, and black for grief and constancy. A feast had been spread across the table, and the guests had already indulged, though there was still plenty to eat. The smell of beef, ham, rice, and cakes made him drool. He had eaten nothing since breakfast and his stomach cramped up and rumbled like an angry bear.
    The young guests and their parents were so busy laughing and talking they didn’t notice him standing there, slavering like some starving dog. The children from down the lane, Svenja,Kreszentia, and Götz—none of them older than seven years—crowded round the table, stuffing cake into their mouths, their pink, cherubic cheeks smeared with chocolate and berries.
    Drud sat cross-legged by the fire, moving game pieces around a Castillos y Conquistadores board with Lalo von Stalwart. At ten years old, Lalo was the best Castillos y Conquistadores player in Ciudad Vieja, perhaps even all of Westgate, while Drud—well, his talents lay elsewhere. Even from where he stood, Paladin could see Drud would lose his king in two more moves. Lalo moved one of the miniature knights and Drud cursed in frustration, looked up from the game board, and noticed Paladin standing in the doorway.
    “He’s here!” Drud called. “
Feliz cumpleaños
, Paladin!”
    The other party guests turned to him and called,
“Feliz cumpleaños!”
    “Niño!” Paladin’s mother, Walküre, said, wearing a wide grin. “You’re late to your own fiesta.”
    Drud began the traditional Oestean birthday song and Paladin grinned despite all his worries. Drud von Wildboar couldn’t carry a tune in a sack. His loud ululations hammered into the other raised voices like a bludgeon, but he sang with honest goodwill and it filled Paladin with