It was as simple as that. He knew what he had to do, even though he did not like the thought of it. He had been raised to never surrender. But his unwillingness to admit weakness had gotten them into his mess in the first place, when he refused to leave Ironcliff before the storms came. He’d lost men to his own stubbornness then, and he wasn’t going to do it again.
It wasn’t until two hours later that Niel waited just inside the wall, watching the drawbridge in front of him lower in shunts through the still-closed metal lattice of the portcullis. He was riding Anchor, the bulkiest of the castle’s remaining horses, though she was still far smaller and leaner than a warhorse. The mare stomped and tossed her head, sidling as Niel tried to hold her in place. For all Niel’s dread at leaving, she was eager to be beyond the walls.
He was fully armed and armored, sword and dagger on his hip but more knives hidden discreetly in his boot, on his thigh, and beneath his cuirass in case the worst came to pass.
“Send someone else out,” Kerr tried suggesting one last time. “Someone less tempting. You’re too valuable a prisoner.”
“I know my brother,” Niel answered. “And if I’m wrong, well, you’re in charge.”
In the empty ground between the castle’s gate and the town, Niel could see his brother waiting, similarly armed and armored and seated on his black warhorse’s back. They both stayed still as the portcullis finally winched up into the wall. Niel could not stop his hand from drifting towards his sword hilt, though he knew Corin was not about to single-handedly charge the castle.
And then Niel nudged Anchor forward, and the mare briskly trotted out of the castle, ears pointed forward as if they were not walking into danger. Niel did not glance over his shoulder. There was no need for farewells. In fifteen minutes or so, he’d be back inside the castle, the gate drawn.
“Firewood getting low?” Corin asked as Niel approached. It was hard to tell by the suit of gray armor, but Niel thought his brother looked too relaxed.
“I’ve got stone walls. You’ve got tents,” Niel answered flatly. He drew Anchor to a halt and found that, unpleasantly, he was forced to look up at Corin. Beside his brother’s massive charger, Anchor seemed almost like a child’s pony. He should haveordered the meeting to be done on foot, where they’d be of equal height, but he’d wanted to be sure a quick retreat was possible.
Behind him, he could hear the jangle of a chain as the portcullis lowered down again, allowing Niel’s men to keep an eye on him without leaving the doorway wide-open to attack. He knew his archers waited on the wall above him, just as there were archers in the crowd some twenty feet behind Corin. But in the clearing between these two forces, Corin and Niel were alone on their horses.
His brother reached up and took off his helmet, revealing a face that was much like Niel’s, sharp-featured, though Corin’s nose was crooked from having been broken by their father and healing potion withheld as punishment. His brother’s dark hair was pulled tightly back.
Corin’s eyes were red-rimmed. Whether it was from the cold wind, or because Corin thought his good friend—the Ashbrin knight Niel held captive—was dead, Niel could not say.
Niel kept staring through his helmet’s eye-slit, disinterested in removing his own helm.
“Are you finally ready to be done with this madness?” Corin asked flatly. “Have enough people died to satisfy you?”
For a moment Niel considered how miserable his brother must have been, freezing outside castle Blackfell after fighting at Ironcliff all summer, while his woman likely waited for him back at Liron, mourning the winter they would have expected to spend together, when the hostilitiesshouldhave paused.
It served his brother right.
“Perhaps,” Niel said.
“She’s displeased it’s lasted so long,” Corin warned him, and Niel knew he was talking about their aunt, not Corin’s lover. “I can spare your life for now, but there’s no walking free. We might be able to arrange for exile, but it will take time to talk her around. And you’ll need to be contrite.”
“I don’t care if you hang me,” Niel said. He didn’t miss the way Corin’s eyes narrowed at that. “But I’ve got terms.”
“List them,” his brother said. Corin's voice was sharp; guarded.
“My soldiers won’t be sent to mines or breaking rocks. Father sent them with me; that shouldn’t be their death sentence.”
“I can’t just let them go,” Corin said.
“Hold them for a time, if you must. But don’t kill them or send them to their deaths, or mistreat them. And do not keep them prisoners their whole lives, for the simple crime of obeying our father. When the war is over, they must be free men.”
“I will consider that,” Corin said. He sounded suspicious, like he thought Niel was planning something. “What else?”
“The Lady of Blackfell is to be let go. She will not be harmed or forced back to her husband. Your men will not touch her.”
Corin’s head jerked back.
“What the fuck did youthinkwe’d do to her?” Corin said.
“It doesn’t matter. I want her freedom and safety guaranteed.”
“Fine. It always was.”
“And I want to duel Blackfell. To the death. If he wins, he can kill me. If I win, I’ll lay down my arms after and you can do as you wish.”
