Page 111 of Untempered
Swallowing my tears, I turned away and gave her space to grieve.
CHAPTERFORTY-THREE
ISOLDE
“Before you can administer the antidote, you must know what the poison is.”
~ Matri’sion proverb
Everything hurt. But nothing hurt worse than the cold. I’d almost wished I’d gone out, there and then, in a whirlwind of violence. It was how I imagined I’d go. I’d never expected I’d die in my charge’s bed, counting the minutes left to me.
For the occasion, I’d forced myself to bathe. The heat and fresh water, or the herbs, or the simple act of caring for myself always made the pain a little more bearable. I didn’t know why. I’d spent hours silently speculating, but expected to go to my grave ignorant.
That, at least, was exactly what I’d predicted for my life.
I dressed in fresh, warm clothing, layering the cloth carefully to preserve my warmth, then took the comb with me downstairs to the window.
I felt the sunlight as if I were at the bottom of a deep lake. As though it couldn’t really reach me. Still, I turned my face toward it and slowly worked the tangles from my hair to have something to do while I waited.
A crowd gathered in the main bailey. Folks stood in groups, shoulder to shoulder, their eyes on the barracks.
The door opened. Kaelson walked out first, then Chay, then the Captain, and finally Audrey. The Captain’s hands were tied behind him, and his feet were hobbled like a horse. It was a nice touch. I expected it was hers. Chasing down her quarry would distract from the purpose of today’s little showing.
I couldn’t hear what Audrey said as she addressed the people gathered. But I’d heard her rehearsing it a million times, in a million ways, heard her running through every possible scenario as she’d paced in front of the fire. I’d been at a low point, then. I hadn’t been able to tell her it was grand, that she was doing the right thing. That a Captain who allowed vulnerable people to be robbed shouldn’t remain Captain.
Of course, all Captains before had done that, too. This one just had the poor luck of being more obvious than usual, and Audrey being the one in charge, not her father.
The comb hung heavily in my hand as I watched the crowd react. Nods, hands pressed to mouths, tears, shaking fists. She had them on side.Anyonewho addressed them right now, with a fleck of awareness, would have them on side. They were desperate for hope.
Above them all, a trio of birds glided on the wind. If only Thomas were there, I’d’ve found the strength to show him.
There was no Butcher to feed them today. Just one woman as lone executioner.
She knew she’d have to follow this up with real change. Killing a man was easy. Upending the whole city’s belief in the locways? Less so.
They watched as Chay brought over the chopping block. I wondered, absently, why she hadn’t had the Captain hung.
She didn’t use an axe, though. I saw the ripple of shock as she took a knife from Chay. Leaning against the bar on the window, I smiled, but on the inside. Where it took less energy. She cut his throat neatly and avoided the spray.Well struck,I thought, the world swimming around me, the agony in my bones exhausting.
She was going to be okay.
The way she cleaned her knife quickly on his cloak was probably not the most sensitive choice she could’ve made, but it was sensible, and it was how she’d been taught. We aimed for efficiency, not sensitivity. Mayhap I’d been remiss, but I hadn’t thought to discuss how an execution should be run. That, surely, should’ve been her etiquette teacher’s job.
Amused, I turned and braced myself for the journey back up the stairs. But my eyes fell on the parchment on her desk, anchored flat by that horrible chain of merchant’s coins Luca had given her when she’d been a child.Howe the Gyuildstonnes Helde Back the Giantte Wahv of Tommorroww at Mysctheras.
The world spun around me. I didn’t know about giant waves. She’d had some strange interests in her time, though, and it didn’t surprise me that she either did know of such things or was about to. With the amusement burning like a coal in my chest, I went to move on and then saw the sketch beneath that page, done on the same painfully yellowed leathers.
It was La’Angi, but there were no apple trees around it and gently rolling hills on either side where only cliffs were now. A giant wave was pictured hitting an invisible bubble around the city.
Unsettled, I reminded myself she was doing real, concrete things now. That was what I’d wanted for her. I’d told her there was no such thing as a bloodless revolt. She knew the currency most valued in La’Angi was freshly severed heads.
It was a matter of supply and demand. She understood those.
CHAPTERFORTY-FOUR
CHAY
“As the twig bent, the tree grew.” ~ Southern saying
