Page 66 of What Fury Brings
Olerra nodded once. “I will take the beating. Release him.”
Sanos was let out of the stocks, but they kept him bound in the chains.
“As the afflicted party,” Glenaerys said, recovering quickly from the disruption, “I demand to choose the one who will dole out the punishment.”
The queen said, “Very well, Glenaerys, but it must be a willing person you select and not a man, for obvious reasons.”
“Oh, I assure you I’m willing. Now, restrain her.”
At first, no one moved. The queen’s guard didn’t take orders from Glenaerys, and it seemed that any common soldiers from the gymnasium were loyal to Olerra. It was only as Glen cast angry glances to her personal guard that the order was finally followed.
They tied Olerra’s hands together so she could not fight back. Sanos felt sick. He felt grateful. He was confused. Why would she do this? How could the queen let this happen?
Hadn’t Olerra said that Glen wasn’t a trained fighter? Surely this couldn’t be too bad.
It was, in fact, worse than he could have imagined.
Olerra couldn’t remember the last time she’d been so afraid.
Andrastus was her responsibility. When a loyal servant had brought her the news that her prince was to be beheaded, she’d run faster than ever.
She couldn’t explain why she felt an attachment to this man, but if he’d broken the laws in some way, then she clearly hadn’t done a good job training him. It was her job to provide food and shelter and safety. She’d even given him space after the trauma of what she’d made him witness yesterday.
She had no choice but to demand substitution. It was the only way to save him. To continue to be a provider and a protector for him. It was a matter of honor.
Even if it meant submitting herself to her cousin.
Glenaerys donned a pair of brass knuckles, padded where they wrapped around her fingers. Did she keep those on her at all times?
Despicable. Glen couldn’t even throw a proper punch without risking breaking her hand. She’d use a foul instrument to make it hurt harder and protect her delicate bones.
The audience of nobility was, at least, not blood hungry like they’d been the other day for Andrastus’s wrestling match. The women in the room were silent. Anticipatory, yes, but it was unclear how much of the anticipation was horror versus eagerness. Who in the room was on Glenaerys’s side and who was on Olerra’s?
The first punch slammed into Olerra’s left cheek. She felt the metal connect with bone, tasted blood in her mouth, and heard Glen’s exhale.
Olerra was proud that she kept her feet.
The second hit, however, caused her to lose her balance. She landed on the floor but quickly righted herself.
Glenaerys hit her again. She struck Olerra in the stomach this time, catching a rib on her brass knuckles. Olerra grunted out in pain, doubling over.
She would not look at her aunt. She didn’t need saving. Didn’t need anything. She would accept this. She’d suffered far worse on the battlefield. There was nothing Glen could do to her that was worse than what a Brutish soldier had doled out.
Glenaerys got more creative as she went on. Throwing kicks. Experimenting with Olerra’s shoulders and hips and other places. Learning where would do the most damage. Learning what would send her toppling to the ground.
Everything hurt now. Olerra was bleeding in too many places to count, the knuckles splitting skin and fracturing bones.
Glenaerys’s breathing became labored. The room was still silent enough for all to hear it.
Olerra made the mistake of looking at her.
The unmasked hatred on her cousin’s face was another blow. Olerra was certain she wasn’t deserving of that ire. It was that of someone ripe with jealousy, and now Glen had an outlet for that feeling as she struck Olerra again and again.
Glen resented Olerra for being a general. For being strong. For being the one to stand between her and a throne. In their youth, they’d been the best of friends, but that was a different lifetime.
Another hit sent Olerra to the ground. It took her longer to regain her feet. The room spun.
“That’s enough,” Ydra said, stepping out from the crowd. When had she arrived?
