“Healer got there before he died.”
She stared at him, jaw open and eyes wide. What he was talking about was before the start of the war. Before he’d turned on the crown. He’d gone to a tournament, a friendly competition, and he’d tried to kill another knight, in cold blood, in front of a crowd.
“Why?”
“I saw an opportunity. I took it.”
She had to put her spoon down and look away for a moment, chin trembling at this casual, cold discussion of violence.
“Because he’s an Ashbrin,” she managed to say at last.
“He’s theheirto Ashbrin.”
“Andthat’senough to warrant killing him?” her voice trembled. “His birth. You’re going to kill him in cold blood, because of his birth.”
“It’s more than that.”
“Thenwhat?”
“It’s personal. Don’t ask.”
She stared at him in disbelief for a long moment. Neither of them ate, or spoke. Niel met her accusing stare, his eyes looking suddenly tired.
“If I told you I wished to eat alone, would you listen?” she dared to whisper, wondering how much freedom he’d allow her. “Or was it an act? I’m your prisoner too, you know. Will you drag me out and execute me, if I displease you?”
Niel straightened as if stung.
“No sooner than I'd cut off my own arms.” He stood, the chair scraping back loudly across the wood, and lifted his bowl to leave, as she'd asked. “Youare not my enemy.”
“Then tell me. Please. If you really have a reason for all this, surely it cannot be worse than what’s in my head.”
He’d already turned towards the door. She followed him with her eyes.
“And what’s that?” Niel asked grimly. He didn't turn back.
“That it is mindless violence. With no aim or reason. That everything you said about why you hated Ditmar was pretense.”
“Is it not.” He still wasn’t looking at her.
“Thentellme,” Ayla begged. “Surely I deserve to know. Unless you want to meet in the snows every day, you with your swordand me with my slippers, and have the same fight again and again.”
That had his attention. He turned over his shoulder and looked at her for a moment. “If I tell you, you’ll dress properly for the cold?” the knight wanted to know.
“Thatdepends on what you do with your sword.”
He returned to the table, set down the bowl, and fell heavily into the chair. Ayla folded her hands on her lap and waited for him to speak.
He stared at her. Then turned, and stared at the fire. Then the wall. Then frowned and glanced back at her.
“If it’s…” she started.
“I was…” he said at the same time. He stopped, and froze, waiting for her to continue with a desperate look on his face, as if he was hoping he wouldn’t have to talk.
“Go on,” she said sternly, and folded her hands on her lap.
“I did not have what you would call a very happy childhood,” Niel said, and stopped. As if that was enough to explain it all.
She didn’t answer or allow her expression to change. He drew a deep breath, and continued.
