The Great Hall was empty. That was the first surprise. Before, councilmen would have flooded the space around the Laird’s seat, ready to step forward and give advice. Villagers would come in to plead their cases and make requests, milling around at the other end of the hall.
Today, Aiden and Theodore crossed a bare, empty hall, with echoes following them the entire way. A handful of men shuffled around the Laird’s seat, muttering between themselves. A pair of grim-faced soldiers hovered by the roaring fireplace, occasionally adjusting one of several pokers sticking out of the flames.
With his ankles shackled together, Aiden could only limp or shuffle forward, taking small, slow steps. It was humiliating, and that was doubtless the intention.
A young man lounged on the Laird’s seat. About six years older than Aiden, the two men looked so alike as to be twins. Already, Aiden was as tall and broad as his older brother, and would likely grow taller still.
Perhaps that’s why he hates me.
“Good day to ye, Braither,” Aiden called, keen not to let Magnus speak first. His voice didn’t waver, which was a relief. “I must say, yer hospitality is somewhat lacking. The food in the dungeons is terrible.”
One of the councilmen laughed, before hastily turning it into a cough. Magnus shot him a glare.
“Very funny, Aiden,” he commented, leaning back and draping one leg over the armrest. “Ye are very stubborn. I cannae have people thinking that me seventeen-year-old braither has a stronger will than me.”
Aiden clenched his jaw.
Survive. This is yer goal. If ye die, then he wins.
“I have nay interest in politics, Magnus,” he said, voice brittle. “Ye ken me. I daenae?—”
“Laird MacBain!” Magnus thundered, bringing down his closed fist onto the armrest. “I amLaird MacBain, and ye will speak to me with the respect I deserve.”
Fury flared within Aiden. “The respect ye deserve,Laird MacBain, is none. Ye murdered our faither for his position.”
“He was a terrible laird.”
“And ye will be worse! Why did ye nae wait? Ye are the oldest! It was always going to be ye! And now ye have plunged our clan into war. Ye have alienated the other clans. Ye have murdered yer own faither, and as for me, well, let’s nae pretend otherwise. Ye are going to kill me. Ye will never trust me again. And nor should ye.”
Anger faded from Magnus’s face and was replaced by his usual, smooth expression, which gave away nothing. He sat back in his seat.
“Insightful as always, Braither,” he murmured. There was a hint of sadness in his voice, a sort of resigned finality that made Aiden swallow thickly.
Oh, nay.
“I daenae trust ye,” Magnus continued, waving toward the soldiers by the fireplace. They bent over the fire, and Aiden heard the scrape of iron against iron. “But the thing is, I cannae kill ye. The people didnae… That is to say, they didnaeunderstand. They didnae react the way I hoped. They are angry that I did what I did to become Laird. Fools,” he added under his breath. “Nobody deserves to be Laird if he willnae give up everything he has for it. If I kill me braither, if I killye, nae yet eighteen, I risk them rising up against me.”
Aiden’s heart began to beat faster.
What does this mean for me?
“So,” Magnus said, rising slowly to his feet. “Ye are going to leave this clan, Aiden. Ye willnae return. Ye willnae tell people who ye are. If ye do, I’ll hunt ye down and kill ye. Ye are exiled, Braither.” He released a long, ragged breath.
“Exile,” Aiden muttered, half to himself.
I can live in exile. I can always return. And Magnus may nae be able to find me. Surely…
Abruptly, his arms were seized, and he was forced onto his hands and knees. The chains binding his wrists together in front of him were pulled forward and fastened to an iron hoop set deep into the stone, forcing him to remain in a kneeling position.
He stared down at the iron hoop, heart hammering.
Has this always been here?
Somebody seized the back of his collar and tugged, tearing his tunic. He gasped, lurching forward. The thin fabric was pulled away entirely, leaving his back exposed.
“I have to leave ye something to remember me by, Braither,” Magnus’s voice came from somewhere above him.
Iron clinked, and the fire made a lowhiss. With a sickening jolt, Aiden realized that the pokers he’d seen sticking out of the fire weren’t pokers at all. They were brands.
