A man yelled.
Snapper barked.
“Cenric!” Hróarr bellowed.
Svendi leapt off the ground, having wrenched a knife from one of his guards. He barreled straight for Cenric.
Cenric shoved Brynn out of the way, raising his forearm to block the knife slash.
Svendi’s entire body went ramrod stiff. It was like stakes had been driven through all his limbs. Fear flooded the raider’s eyes along with confusion. His legs buckled and he hit his knees even as his arms remained reaching for Cenric.
Brynn had gotten her hands on the man’s wrist, her nails digging into his skin like talons. Her breath came in heaves, and she trembled, but her hold didn’t falter.
Hróarr’s men made to come forward.
“Stay back!” Brynn ordered. Even with the language barrier, they stopped in their tracks.
“Brynn,” her mother called to her softly, swooping in like a vulture the moment she saw her daughter’s distress. “This isn’t you.” She held out her hand as if to beckon Brynn to her. “This isn’t you, child.”
“Youdidn’t fight in the war.” Brynn looked up to her mother and something in her seemed to snap. “You don’t know me at all.”
Svendi still didn’t move, and his jaw seemed locked in place. Only his eyes swam back and forth in panic.
Cenric watched with sick fascination. He hadn’t known his wife could do this.
“You think because I choose kindness, I am incapable of cruelty.” Brynn’s words were soft enough to be a caress yet held all the foreboding of a dark cloud on the sea. “But I can be cruel.” Brynn looked to Hróarr, singling him out amongst his men. She spun back around.
For a moment, Cenric thought she spun to glare at him, but then he realized she was staring past him, where her mother stood.
“I hate killing. Ihateit.” Brynn looked back to the kneeling raider paralyzed in her grasp. “But I am good at it.”
Those last few words were spoken so softly, Cenric almost missed them.
Brynn grabbed a fistful of Svendi’s hair and snapped his head back. Blood sprayed and suddenly the Valdari captive was in two pieces.
Brynn held his severed head by its hair as the decapitated corpse crumpled to the ground.
Snapper and the other dogs yelped, skirting back. Gasps and whispers went through the gathered crowd. They were all used to death, but this was different. Abrupt. Unexpected. None of them had known Brynn had that kind of power.
Brynn dropped the head, her hands shaking as she stared down at the corpse.
Around them, everyone had gone quiet. A small crowd had gathered, including Gaitha, Edric, Kalen, many of Cenric’s thanes, and people from the village.
“Brynn?” Cenric stepped beside her as she stared at the bloodied ruin in the grass.
“I’m fine,” Brynn rasped, her voice strained. She didn’t look away from the mutilated corpse.
Cenric had expected rage. He had expected to see her cruelty and a victorious triumph after she took revenge.
That was not what had happened at all.
He touched her arm, unsure if she would welcome it, but she didn’t pull away. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I thought—I was wrong.”
“My son is avenged.” Brynn stared down at the corpse. “There is nothing to forgive.”
Ever the pragmatist, Hróarr picked the gold ring off the ground where Brynn had dropped it. It was a fine piece, expensive. He offered it to Brynn.
Brynn shook her head. “I don’t want it.”
