Chapter 27 Broken
Broken
Ayla nearly fell over herself at the bottom of the stairs, her body protesting this sudden burst of energy.
A pair of soldiers jumped out of her way, eyes wide at the sight of the half-clad, wet-haired woman clutching a robe around herself and sprinting down the castle's hall, slippers smacking against the flagstones.
She pushed open the heavy, wooden door to the courtyard with some effort.
Twenty feet away she saw Niel’s broad back.
His sword gleamed dangerously at his side in one black-gloved hand.
The prisoner knelt just beyond him. Far past them was the covered lean-to full of the winter’s wood supply, the stables, and the tall castle wall separating them from Ditmar and the Queen's army.
She wasn’t too late.
It was already hard to imagine any future where a traitor could reconcile with the crown. But if he broke the codes of war and killed a captive nobleman, it would be that much harder to broker peace. And it was wrong. Surely he knew that. The knight wasn't even one of Ditmar's men.
“I don’t understand,” the Ashbrin knight was saying. “If I've done something to offend you, Niel, I'm sure I never meant it.”
Niel hefted the sword in his hand, raising it.
She didn’t hesitate at the door. Instead Ayla plunged forward, slippers and bare calves driving into the snow.
She sank halfway to her knees, a shock of ice that would have had her yelping, if she weren’t so focused on the two men.
The wind filled the air with light drifts of flakes though the sky was clear above them.
“Niel!” Ayla shouted.
He jerked around at the sound of her voice, sword gripped in his fist. Niel’s mouth fell open for a second as he stared at her.
“Get back inside.” His voice was a bark, his eyes wide and wild.
“Don’t do this.”
“Have you lost your mind?” he strode towards her, jamming his sword back into its sheath.
“Have you?” she answered.
She could see the prisoner clearly now, kneeling in the deep snow with some difficulty.
Bradhan wasn’t blindfolded anymore. He was a plain-faced man in his thirties.
The bruise on the side of his face stopped Ayla in her tracks.
She froze in the snow, staring openly at the man Niel had taken prisoner.
Then the traitor knight was upon her. Niel grabbed her by her shoulders, and her gaze snapped back to him, her breathing short and tight. He loomed over her, and for the first time in days she felt afraid of him and of what he could do.
She could barely stand. She might have collapsed, if he hadn’t been squeezing her arms tight with his gloved hands.
“You’ll catch your death,” Niel snapped, fire in his eyes. His breath came out as a puff of white air. “You aren’t dressed.”
“Please don’t do this,” Ayla begged.
“You’re going back to your room.”
He let go of her shoulders and grabbed her around the waist, lifting her easily off the ground.
He hadn’t been a threat, sick in bed. Nor had he been dangerous when he cared for her. But he was savage now. She could see it in his eyes, the same rage that had been there when he yelled at her, after killing all those men; after taking the leg off the Ashbrin knight kneeling before them now.
“Put me down,” Ayla shrieked.
“Lady Blackfell,” the Ashbrin knight called, his voice worried.
Ditmar hadn’t been violent at first, either. She was in Niel’s grasp, his arm against the bare skin behind her knees, another under her back as he strode back to the castle.
Thrashing, she pushed against him and kicked her legs.
Niel’s arms stiffened around her. He dropped her legs first, so she landed on her feet.
Her robe loosened from all the movement.
For a second the wind snapped it wide. His hands were on her instantly, yanking the robe shut over her nakedness and grabbing for the ties to fasten it as he cursed.
“You can’t be out here,” Niel said, his voice no gentler than it had been. “You’re not well.”
She pushed him off her and fastened the fabric herself, but Niel didn’t step back.
“You cannot do this.” Her voice shook. Her whole body stung with cold; she could barely feel her feet.
“Ayla. If you do not return to your room—”
“This isn’t you. Executing a man in the yard.”
She finished tying the robe and met his dark eyes. Niel’s jaw was tight. The wind snapped at his dark hair.
“You do not know me.”
“What’s his crime?” she lifted her chin, willing her voice not to shake, forcing her eyes to stay on his.
Perhaps he’d hit her. Perhaps he wouldn’t. She couldn’t watch him execute a prisoner just because she was scared for her own safety.
“Can you just—” Niel muttered. He lifted his hands to his forehead, sighed sharply.
“Is there a crime?”
“He’s a knight of Ashbrin,” Niel said tersely.
She stared at him in disbelief. Her feet felt frozen to the spot. Niel didn’t move, either.
“You have to go inside,” Niel informed her. “I don’t want to carry you against your will, Ayla, but if it’s that or watch you freeze to death—”
“Don’t,” she whispered, and took half a step closer to him, until she was almost grazing his armored chest. “Please, Niel, just… don’t do this.”
He broke away from her gaze abruptly, frowning and staring just to the side of her face, like he couldn’t bear the intensity building between them.
“Promise you’ll return to the fire,” Niel said raggedly, “and I will not kill him. Today.”
“Or tomorrow,” she demanded.
“Today,” he repeated.
“Whatever happened to hating cruel and violent men who abuse their power?” Ayla whispered. A vigorous shiver ran through her from the cold.
“Damn it, woman, you cannot be out here,” Niel said, his voice rising with each word. “You’re sick. You aren’t dressed.” He was screaming now. “What the fuck were you thinking?”
Ayla flinched. He seemed to realize it the moment she did. Niel stumbled back a step, his breath a sharp exhale, his face falling. For a moment he stared at her, mouth open, hands flexing.
He had sworn not to yell at her in anger.
It hadn’t taken him long to break his oath. She wondered if he’d bother honoring the punishment, or if it had all been a lie.
Niel turned abruptly and hauled the prisoner up by one hand. The Ashbrin knight rose clumsily, his eyes on Ayla.
“Come,” Niel seethed, his jaw tilted towards the wounded knight to indicate who he was talking to. “That’s twice I try, and twice I fail, Bradhan.”
“Thank you, Lady,” the Ashbrin knight called to Ayla as Niel jammed a stick into the wounded knight’s hand to use as a cane. “Maker grant you grace.”
She hugged herself for warmth and watched as Niel hauled the other knight’s arm around his shoulders to help him inside. An odd act, given he’d been about to kill Bradhan. They limped towards the door, passing her, and then paused.
She could hear Niel muttering something.
“Lady Blackfell,” the Ashbrin knight called. “I’m… to ask if you’ll go inside now, and warm yourself.”
“Yes,” she answered quietly.
The two men moved off again. She followed at a distance, barely able to feel her slippered feet as they sunk into the snow.
Ayla was shaking violently by the time she reached the castle door.
It had swung closed behind the knights. She tugged it open an inch before the wind ripped it from her hands and slammed it back shut.
Shivering, Ayla grabbed the handle tighter.
With a cry she yanked it open and managed to stumble inside.
Niel was handing the prisoner off to one of his soldiers. His eyes found Ayla instantly as she entered the window-lined corridor. As she tottered forward, he strode towards her. He stopped a foot away and silently offered his gloved hand to her.
“You really aren’t going to talk to me?” she managed, her teeth chattering around the words.
He beckoned with his fingers, his mouth pressed tight and his brow furrowed with what she could only assume was frustration.
“I can walk,” Ayla said. She took a step and promptly began to crumble, catching herself against the wall. “Ah. Never mind.”
She was in his arms in an instant, staring up at his hard jaw as the knight took the stairs two at a time, hauling her swiftly back up the castle. She didn’t struggle this time, though she was fairly certain she ought to.
The door to her bedchamber was shut, but not latched.
He kicked it open with her in his arms, and crossed to the fireplace.
Setting Ayla down in front of the hearth, Niel dragged the snow-laden slippers off her feet and threw them across the room.
They made a wet thwack as they smacked, hard, into the stone wall.
“I think we’ve been here before,” she joked as ten thousand pins seemed to stab into her feet and legs at once from the fire’s heat.
Niel gave her a flat look, tugged one of the heavy, quilted blankets from the bed, and threw it over her like he was casting a net.
The blanket thumped over her head, muffling her in soft darkness.
With a startled huff, Ayla clawed her way out from under it.
The room was empty, the door swinging shut.
She was still mulling over what had happened ten minutes later, when the door swung abruptly back open to reveal a surly, silent knight holding a steaming cup of tea, which he set on the edge of the hearth beside her before retreating in silence again.