Below us, Warden grumbles to himself but shifts some more of the debris out of the way and stomps off in the direction of the stable yard. The next sound I hear is one of his hooves galloping past the tavern on the road.
“That’s the last we’ll see of him.” I sigh. “Come on, let’s get Cuthbert and Edgar up to move the worst of the damage.”
I go back into my room and grab my over gown, turning to find Millie barring my path.
“You need your rest,” she says. “I heard you, and the Brag heard you.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Let me take care of this. You go back to bed,” Millie says, the candle illuminating her expression, which is one of steely determination.
“My tavern has just been destroyed by a Brag. I can’t go back to bed.”
Millie puts her hand on my chest. “You can and you will,” she says emphatically. “For the good of us all. For the good of the Night Lands.”
I might not have it on my person, but I feel the weight of the sword at her words.
“Get your rest. You have more than enough to manage.” She gives me a knowing look. “I’ll get the boys up. They can help with the initial clean up until the Brag gets back.”
“But what is he going todo?” I try my level best to keep the rising anxiety from my voice.
“He will make it right,” Millie says, a calming hand on my arm. “Whatever else Brags are, they are creatures of the Yeavering, and they always keep their word.”
I want her words to fill me with confidence, but the mention of the Yeavering sets me on edge once more. It’s a place I’m only supposed to have heard of, but somehow in the depths of my mind, I know it’s something else.
But the memory escapes me like smoke, and even as I try to grasp at it, it evaporates into nothing.
“Go, sleep,” Millie exhorts me. “I promise it’ll all be better in the morning.”
A tiredness washes over me, making my limbs heavy and my eyelids droop.
There is no magic here in the Dark Gibbet. Nothing other than the tiniest bits of earth magic which simply empties the bins and turns out the lights. I really must be tired. I really must go to bed.
And hope I don’t dream about the enormous Brag, his more than impressive abs, and eyes which burn like coals.
Because that was my dream before, the one which Millie woke me from. The one where his hands were in my hair and his lips on mine, his body pressing close, his scent, all leather and hide, surrounding me.
The one where I would have let him do anything.
But I’m not that sort of lady, and certainly, if he attempted any such thing, I’d be using my sword on a very sensitive part of his anatomy.
The part which, if my dream was anything to be believed, is more than large enough to be chopped off.
HAZEL
Ihear my name being called. Not the one they gave me here at the Dark Gibbet, not Lady Ryle, but my actual name, the one and only thing I have of my past.
It echoes away, and I wonder, yet again, if it is my imagination or my dreams as I open my eyes. A shaft of light (the sun is a rare commodity here in the Night Lands) spears through the gap in the heavy brocade curtains hanging at my window. The only window at the tavern with a view, even if that view is of nothing but endless darkened moors.
It hits me with all the subtlety of a fish in the face that I’ve never once walked on the moors, nor left the tavern for anything other than the monthly trip to the market which takes all day in a covered wagon. I know nothing about the Night Lands other than the creatures who inhabit it like to frequent my establishment.
A knock at the door makes me jump out of my thoughts.
“Lady Ryle?” Hilda’s voice.
“I’ll be down directly,” I call out. “Make sure Cuthbert and Edgar are up. We’ve got some work to do today.”
I give myself a quick rub down with some icy water from my pitcher and tidy my hair up as best I can before pulling on my only fresh gown, since the one I was wearing last night got covered in ale. This one is pink silk which changes colour in the light, adding either a purple or a green hue to the fabric. It’s the dress I go to when I want to feel like nothing can touch me.
