It was a wooden chair set on a raised platform at the head of the room. Aelgar liked to use it for passing judgments, even when people made snide comments about him trying to imitate the great palaces of the distant southern kings.
A gradual shushing fell over the room as Aelgar took his seat.
Brynn glanced around the chamber, guessing there must be three hundred people packed into this hall. Good. That was a few hundred witnesses to the end of her marriage to Paega. More than had witnessed her wedding.
“Lady Brynn, my dearest niece.” Aelgar’s voice rose over the quieted chamber. He did not have an impressive voice, but it carried nonetheless.
Brynn came to stand before his mercy seat and bowed. The crowd parted, giving space to the main spectacle. She stood alone before the king.
“You have requested a petition from your king.” This was all a formality for the benefit of the onlookers. Everything had already been decided.
“Yes, lord.” Brynn kept her head bowed.
“You are my only niece, sole surviving child of my late brother, King Eormenulf. Sister to Aelfwynn the Brave, as loyal a warrior as ever there was.” Everyone here knew who Brynn was, but he was taking the time to remind them. Brynn wasn’t sure why, but she remained silent. This was his hall. His kingdom. His decision. “Whatever I can grant you, be assured I will.”
Brynn licked her lips nervously.
“You have requested a divorcement from Paega of Glasney on grounds of dereliction. Is that correct?”
Her uncle had already agreed to this, seemed eager to agree to it, even. She still felt herself tremble as she said, “Yes, lord.”
“I have heard your case these past months and I am satisfied your case is valid.” Aelgar gestured to the room. “Is Paega or his representative here to answer to these accusations?”
“My uncle has sent me in his stead, lord.” Hrotheld stepped forward, bowing as he did. “Hrotheld, son of Hrulfan. My mother Ulstrid was Paega’s sister.”
Aelgar inclined his head to the young man. “How does your uncle answer Lady Brynn’s accusation?”
Hrotheld looked to Brynn almost apologetically. “He offers no contest, lord.”
That earned a stunned silence from the onlookers. Some of them might still remember Paega Ironarm, the young man who had been all but a legend in the warband of Brynn’s father. Young Paega had, by all accounts, been a fierce and cunning warrior.
But the Paega Brynn knew was a man aged beyond his years by grief and loss. He had no interest in anything but the past.
When she’d told him she was pregnant, Paega had told her that the baby was hers and he wanted nothing to do with it. Foolishly, Brynn had hoped Paega would change his mind after the child arrived, especially when it had been a son. He hadn’t.
Hrotheld nodded to Brynn again. “My uncle has sent me to return her dowry and asks that you rule in her favor for a divorcement.”
Brynn closed her eyes. A heavy weight seemed to crash over her—a sense of failure. It was the confirmation that the past six years of her life had been wasted. She had poured her heart and soul into being the perfect wife, a good mother, and all for nothing.
She’d had a son and if her son had been all that had come of it, she might have had something to hold onto. Someday, she might even have thought it was worth it.
But now her son was dead and like everything else, Paega simply did not care.
Aelgar seemed to consider this situation. He asked Hrotheld several more questions. Hrotheld answered.
Brynn bowed her head, trying to keep herself together for a few more moments. This would be quick. Aelgar had already found her another husband. He’d made it clear he planned torule in her favor. She just needed to remain composed while they observed these rituals of mediation.
A hot sensation crawled along the back of Brynn’s neck. The feeling of being watched. There were hundreds of eyes on her, of course she was being watched. But something from the corner of her eye moved.
A man circled through the crowd around to her left. He studied her, head canted slightly and brows furrowed with interest.
He was around average height with chestnut hair that reached his broad shoulders and a close-cut dark beard. His red mantle was pinned over one shoulder with a wolf-head brooch and a collection of silver rings in varying sizes flashed on his forearms. He might not have stood out to her if not for the way he moved through the crowd, stalking like he was a forest predator, and the other onlookers were just trees. Brynn noticed two other men trailing after him, but the man with the wolf brooch seemed to be their leader.
The stranger studied her intently. His gaze swept over her from head to foot and their eyes met.
Brynn expected him to look away, as most men did with sorceresses, but he didn’t. He held her stare, unblinking and unabashed. His boldness sent a shiver through her. She didn’t know what to make of it.
Aelgar was speaking again.
