Grim tosses the jewelry back to Sigvid, who dangles it over the open fire in the stone fireplace.
“No! Wait, perhaps we can strike a deal?” Samson’s swagger evaporates, to Sigvid’s utter delight.
“Deal?” He chuckles. “Ah, Sammy, this has been fun, but you have nothing to offer. My pal is eager to dismantle you into tiny pieces he can feed to my hounds.”
Samson is dancing on his tiptoes, trying to maintain their attention. “You have more questions. He,” Samson nods to Grim, who is now standing over him with a look of revulsion, “has questions.”
Sigvid slides the ring into his pocket. “Alright, Manchineel, answer Grim’s questions, and I won’t destroy your accessories.”
Grim circles Samson methodically like a predator preparing to toy with its prey. His hands clench and unclench, eager to rip him apart. “Did you rape my wife?” Grim’s question is low and deep, rattling even Sigvid’s bones.
Samson licks his lips. “Why-uh, yes, um, perhaps.”
“Yes or no.” Grim is so close that the bulbs of their noses touch.
“Like any derelict man who fails to pay his debts, I used your poor whore woman as payment.”
Grim wraps his hands around the rope, suspending Samson higher. “How many others?”
Samson barks. “How am I to remember every pussy I have used in my life?”
“You better recall fast, Manchineel.” Grim growls.
“Thirty-six!”
Grim releases his hold, so Samson cries out in pain at the sudden weight drop onto his toes.
“I am feeling generous,” Sigvid sneers. “You are going to sit down and write a public apology to all thirty-six women by name whom you violated. You announce you have a change of heart and forgive all debt anyone owes you in the Province.”
Samson’s eyes bug out as if Sigvid strangled hisfirstborn child.
“Fine.” He spits.
“I am not done.”
Sigvid removes a dagger and slices through the rope. Samson’s numb body coils onto the floor with dramatic groans. Sigvid crouches over his body, tapping the cold blade of his dagger against Samson’s bare back.
“You will compose a second letter after the first apologizing to Queen AvinaRedwoodBloodstone and renounce your sham engagement. You shall announce her as the sole inheritor of the Timber throne. You will write these now, and I will not kill you.”
Grim and Sigvid set Samson’s broken body on the bench of the rotten table in the cabin. Sigvid removes two sheets of parchment he brought just for this moment and a fresh quill and ink.
“I do this, and you let me live?” Samson looks up at them with the quill clutched in his grasp.
“I will not kill you, Sammy.” Sigvid pats his back, leaving him to his scratchy writing.
When the soft tink of the quill tip returns to the glass ink jar, Sigvid and Grim rouse. They remove the parchment and read through the letters. Sigvid nods his approval. They lack Samson’s seal of stature, but Avina still technically outranks him.
It has something to do with her still being Queen and him being a lord of a snivelly house of overreaching misogynists.
Sigvid seals both letters with the joint seal of the King and Queen of Timber, which he stole from Avina’s things in the palace, and walks to the door, leaving Grim alone with Samson.
Behind him, he hears Samson’s strangled voice, crying in pain. “Where are you going? Are you going to leave me here?”
Sigvid stops at the door. “Yes. I will leave you here with the man you still haven’t answered to.”
“What?” Samson scrambles off the bench, crawling across the floor while Grim follows.
“You promised I would survive! Thordsson, you promised!”
