It reminded her of the unicorn’s hide. The fragile hope she’d felt that morning now seemed shattered and dead. She shivered.
“All too easy, my lord,” the man said. He offered the bundle of leather to Lord Niel, who took it and tossed it onto the throne behind and above Ayla’s chair.
“You got away cleanly?” the knight demanded.
“Aye; they were still in the woods by the time I reached the door,” the blonde man said. “Stepped off the path to piss and never came back.”
“How long until…?” the knight started to ask.
He was interrupted by a woman’s bloodcurdling shriek.
That wasn’t the soldiers. That was one ofherpeople. Ayla rose quickly from her chair, her face pale.
“The servants will not be…” Ayla heard herself squeak, so terrified she couldn’t even feel her body anymore. None of the men seemed to hear her.
“Ivar. Bode,” the knight barked. “Go.” Two men, ones who looked less weary than the other soldiers, hurriedly left out the hall’s door through which the scream had come. More servants were still entering the hall, and being pushed towards the group where the others waited. She saw them, her people, looking at her and whispering among themselves. Sarella walked in and met Ayla’s gaze immediately, the frizzy-haired kitchen maid's lips pressed tight, her apron still on and dusted with flour.
“Sir?” Ayla tried again. She was still standing, her fists in her skirts.
“Lord,” the knight corrected flatly, without bothering to look over his shoulder. The giant had a voice so deep it rumbled through her.
“Lord,” she agreed quietly, though she didn’t see how he could still claim Enarian titles when he was a traitor. “Do you mean to hurt them? It is wrong to.”
He glanced over at her then, without fully turning. “Who, the servants?”
Ayla nodded.
“No,” he said, facing forward once more. “I do not intend to hurt anyone who…”
His words cut off abruptly as the soldiers who’d left on his command walked back through one of the hall’s doors. They dragged another of the traitor's soldiers between them, red-bearded, struggling as they pulled him by the arms. Beside them walked Cataerin, one of the newer laundry maids, a thin, pretty woman who’d only worked there a year. Her blonde hair was braided as neatly down her back as ever, but the clasps on her outer dress were done up wrong, gaping and bunched. Tears ran silently down her small-featured face. Ayla stared in horror. She sank back into her chair as her legs failed her, unable to break her eyes away from Cataerin. Quiet fury filled Ayla.
“Found him undressing a wench—” one of the soldiers was saying.
“Well? What do you have to say for yourself?” the knight, Lord Niel, asked. His voice sounded dangerously soft. The naked sword still rested in one big hand.
“...spoils of war…” she heard the offending soldier whine. The conversation came in and out of her hearing. There was a buzzing noise in Ayla’s head, like her mind was full of bees. She couldn’t think straight.
“Noose or blade?” the knight was asking.
“My lord—”
“Noose or blade. Answer, man. How will you meet your fate?”
“My lord, please, a mistake—”
“My orders were clear,” the knight said, advancing, the bare sword still in his grip. “You were not to harm innocents. Now answer my question.It is the only dignity you’ll get.”
Cataerin's attacker turned to run. He was quickly caught by the other soldiers. Before he could even be turned to face the knight, Lord Niel rammed his sword through the man’s heart. He made it look easy, like cutting through soft butter.
He ripped the blade free. Blood sprayed. Too much of it. So much of it.
She’d never seen a man killed before. Ayla quickly dropped her head to avoid the sight. There was a heavy thump, like a bag of flour hitting the floor. She buried her face into her palms as her stomach flipped. She wondered, distantly, if she was going to faint. Or perhaps throw up.
“Take the body out, Bode,” she heard the knight’s low voice say. “Heed this.” Ayla managed to make herself peek. The knight was talking to her people, the servants. She let her head fall forward again. “If you do not resist, I mean you no harm at my hands or the hands of my men. If you wish to leave, speak now. The offer ends when your former lord returns from the woods.”
Ditmar would never forgive her if she didn’t leave when she had the chance. Besides, surely even marriage to a man like him was better than being the captive of an enemy war band. True, the knight had executed his man for attacking Cataerin, but for all Ayla knew it was only a show, or punishment solely for ignoring his orders, not for harming a woman.
The only thing ittrulyproved was that the knight did not hesitate to use violence any more than her husband did.
