For Rhys was Deryni. He did not let it be known, partly for fear of reprisal but more importantly because he did not feel as if he had anything to prove. He was Deryni, but he was also a scholar. There was no reason to flaunt his powers in front of others. He firmly believed that was what had started the persecution of nearly two centuries. His people had flaunted their powers, and he couldn't blame the humans for being jealous and fearful.

An unfortunate side effect of that hatred and blind fear was that many of the ancient texts that taught the techniques his people needed were no longer in existence. He and his younger brother, Ansel, were extremely lucky. Their grandfather had spent the vast majority of his life in search of the ancient texts. He had acquired quite a few of the extremely rare texts and then forced his children and grandchildren to read them.

Rhys sighed as he remembered the final days of his grandfather's life. The older man was attacked coming back to their simple home. While Ansel had fended off their beloved grandfather's attacker, after three days he had succumbed to his illness. Both grandchildren scoured the surrounding countryside for the attacker, but to no avail. Even with their powers they could find no trace of the person who took the life of one of the highest trained Deryni in the Eleven Kingdoms.

Rhys grimaced as he dashed the tears that had formed in his eyes. That was three years ago. His family, which had already been seriously downplaying their existence to the surrounding lands, all but disappeared to the rest of the world. Their grandmother still lived with them, but their uncle had taken his family out of the country, to Llannedd if he remembered correctly, to start over.

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