She strained to hear him over the buzzing in her mind. A man made it through the defenders on the other side, only to be speared with a sword by a defender this side of the gate. More blood. More death.
‘Tell them to stop,’ she begged.
‘Have you completely lost your mind?’ Borin said. ‘My men are doing their job.’
She made a move for the gate, but he grabbed her arm, fingers digging in. She tore free. ‘Do not touch me.’ Turning back to the gate, she shouted, ‘They’re unarmed.’
Borin took hold of her once again, spinning her around. ‘Listen to me,’ he roared, flecks of spit hitting her face. ‘You will return to the castle this instant or I will throw you back into that borough where you belong.’
Lyndal blinked, trying to focus. ‘You’re disgusting. What sort of monster kills an unarmed, grieving woman?’ She spat in his face, all self-control gone.
Borin grabbed her by the throat, squeezing.
‘Go ahead,’ Lyndal choked out. ‘Let everyone see.’
His eyes flicked to the gate, and then he threw her at his guard, Thatchere. ‘Get her out of my sight!’
Thatchere caught her, but she pulled free, coughing. Who else would speak up if not her? She fixed her eyes on the king, who was now shouting instructions to the defenders on the wall.
‘Kill any man or woman who refuses to leave the square.’ He stepped up to the gate. ‘You want to behave like animals? Then you better be prepared to be slaughtered like one!’
Footsteps pounded on the wall above her, archers loading their longbows. Then came screams as the first round of arrows was released into the crowd.
‘Tell your men to stand down,’ Lyndal called to the king, leaping sideways when Thatchere reached for her. ‘You’re making it worse.’
He turned, eyes like two raging fires. ‘I told you to leave!’
‘Not until you call off your men. Please. I’ll help you. I’ll speak to them.’
He closed the distance between them, then drew a knife from a sheath that Lyndal had always assumed to be decorative. So she was quite surprised when she felt the sharp blade against her neck.
‘I should have shot you in the square that day,’ he said, his voice just loud enough for her to hear.
She stopped breathing, not because there was a knife pointed at her neck but because the hate in his voice was as thick as the blood running beneath the gate. She turned her head a fraction to meet his eyes, feeling a slight sting as she did so. ‘Call off your men. If you don’t, no army will be able to suppress their fury.’
She felt the pressure on her neck ease.
‘You are lucky I need you alive,’ Borin whispered. ‘For now.’
The fire in his eyes dulled to embers as he withdrew the knife. But just as it left her neck, a body slammed into him, and he went hurtling to the ground, sliding all the way to the gate. Lyndal watched in shock as Astin climbed on top of the king and raised a fist, bringing it down on his face, once, twice. Two defenders reached him before the third punch, dragging him off.
‘You piece of shit!’ Astin shouted. ‘You pull a knife on her?’
Borin groaned, slowly getting onto all fours, then spitting blood on the ground. He lifted his head to look at Astin, who was barely restrained. ‘You traitorous bastard. You of all people know how this ends.’
One of the defenders kicked the back of Astin’s knee, and he dropped to the ground. Puffs of steam came from his mouth with every breath. His eyes met Lyndal’s, unafraid and unapologetic.
She struggled to process what was unfolding in front of her. Reaching up, she fingered the sticky blood on her neck. It glistened on her fingers. That was when she became aware of the silence. The unruly crowd on the other side of the gate had reduced to murmurs and shuffles of feet. The merchants were watching them, as were the archers atop the wall. All eyes were on the king as he slowly rose to his feet. Borin drew his bloodied sword, and the two defenders restraining Astin exchanged a look.
‘What are you doing?’ Lyndal said, her feet carrying her forwards. ‘Your Grace.’
Borin glanced in her direction. ‘For God’s sake, will someone get her out of my sight?’
Thatchere came forwards, but before he reached her, Lyndal bent and snatched up the dagger Borin had dropped on the ground. The defender stopped short of her, not because he was afraid but because he seemed unsure how to proceed.
‘Lyndal.’ Her name was a warning growl from Astin’s lips.
Borin’s eyebrows lifted in amusement. ‘What exactly do you plan on doing with that? Are you going to start killing people?’
