“You and Aunt Mirabel can fuckrightoff,” Niel called.
“Queen Mirabel,” Corin called back, his voice venomous. “Show some damned respect before I cut out your tongue.”
“She’s not my queen,” Niel called. “Hope you brought a ladder, if you want my tongue.”
“Don’t make me drag you out of there,” Corin threatened. “I'll only warn you once. Come outnow,Niel. Or else.”
Niel’s eyes narrowed. He straightened, unfolding his elbows, and gripped the edge of the wall with his bare hands. The stone was achingly cold.
“Your head ought to make a nice battering ram. It’s hard enough,” he shouted.
“You think you can outlast me?” Corin yelled up. His brother’s dark eyes were scanning the castle, taking strategic stock of the target he now held under siege. The column of men kept coming. Mercy. There were over a thousand already, and more still out of sight. It was impossible not to feel his gut tighten. Blackfell was well built for a siege, but with numbers like that against the fifty-odd men he had left…
“Know I can,” Niel said. “Not hard to outlast a traitor. Moment the wind shifts you trip over yourself to trade sides.”
The black warhorse shifted anxiously, stomping and sidling; Niel knew his brother had gone stiff with fury.
He couldn’t help the smirk that tugged up one side of his mouth. It was worth the cold to get under his brother’s skin.
“Traitor?” Corin called at last. “You, of all people—”
“Remind me, CorinArevon,” Niel called, using the dynastic name his brother had adopted now that he was no longer of Mount Eyron. “Who was it who renounced his owndamned fucking brotherover a girl?”
He wasn’t going to let Corin have the last word. He turned and walked back into the castle, letting the wind grab and slam the heavy wooden door behind him. It swung open again a minute later and slammed shut a second time, Kerr’s footsteps hard on the stone.
“My lord, the army…”
“He can sit out there and freeze his balls off as long as he’d like,” Niel growled. “Add another sentry to each watch. And spread the word. We’re under siege.”
Inevitable, Niel reminded himself as the image of a thousand men spilling over the hill echoed in his mind. He’d known the moment he saw her bruises that it would lead to this.
Consequences
Sarella was alone in the kitchens at late morning when Ayla slipped inside, her long-empty porridge bowl in hand. The cook’s back was to the door as she slowly grated enough carrots to feed… well, a castle full of soldiers.
Ayla walked to the washbins on the left and set the bowl down. The sound of ceramic clinking on stone was loud enough to make Sarella turn over her shoulder and glance Ayla’s way.
“Did you hear?” Ayla asked, her voice wavering. “About the army…”
Sarella nodded once, stiffly, and turned back around.
Ayla had stepped out onto the wall for one terrifying moment on her way to the kitchen. The size of the army had made her stomach flip. Never mind they were there to liberate Blackfell, and her along with it. The sight of a besieging army camped outside one’s door foranyreason was terrifying. People were going to die, one way or another.
And she really wasn't sure she wanted to be liberated. Not if it meant being tossed back to Ditmar.
“I’m sure we’ll be safe,” Ayla said, trying to sound reassuring.
“Why are you here, my lady?” She’d never heard that cold tone from Sarella before. The maid’s back was turned again, her hands moving rapidly as she talked. The shush of carrots against the grating blade was ceaseless and fast. “You know I’m not permitted to give you anything.”
“To return the dish,” Ayla said, blinking and drawing back a step in surprise. “And, well, to see how you fared… are you mad at me?” She didn’t know what she could have done. Perhaps Sarella was in a bad mood about something else, but she’d never been so frosty to Ayla before.
Sarella picked up the large ceramic bowl she’d been grating the carrots in. She swept across the kitchen, her face grim and flat, emptied the bowl into a large pot, and swept back to where the mountain of carrots sat. She set the bowl down so hard Ayla was shocked it didn’t crack.
Biting her lip, Ayla closed the distance between them until she was a foot to the cook’s left.
“You are,” Ayla said quietly. “Please. Why?”
Sarella slammed the grater down onto the counter and threw her head back, looking up at the ceiling with her jaw tight and her nostrils flaring. Then she turned to look at Ayla with eyes that burned.
