Chapter 28 The House of Ashbrin #2
“And that’s enough to warrant killing him?” her voice trembled. “His birth. You’re going to kill him in cold blood, because of his birth.”
“It’s more than that.”
“Then what?”
“It’s personal. Don’t ask.”
She stared at him in disbelief for a long moment. Neither of them ate, or spoke. Niel met her accusing stare, his eyes looking suddenly tired.
“If I told you I wished to eat alone, would you listen?” she dared to whisper, wondering how much freedom he’d allow her. “Or was it an act? I’m your prisoner too, you know. Will you drag me out and execute me, if I displease you?”
Niel straightened as if stung.
“No sooner than I'd cut off my own arms.” He stood, the chair scraping back loudly across the wood, and lifted his bowl to leave, as she'd asked. “You are not my enemy.”
“Then tell me. Please. If you really have a reason for all this, surely it cannot be worse than what’s in my head.”
He’d already turned towards the door. She followed him with her eyes.
“And what’s that?” Niel asked grimly. He didn't turn back.
“That it is mindless violence. With no aim or reason. That everything you said about why you hated Ditmar was pretense.”
“Is it not.” He still wasn’t looking at her.
“Then tell me,” Ayla begged. “Surely I deserve to know. Unless you want to meet in the snows every day, you with your sword and me with my slippers, and have the same fight again and again.”
That had his attention. He turned over his shoulder and looked at her for a moment. “If I tell you, you’ll dress properly for the cold?” the knight wanted to know.
“That depends on what you do with your sword.”
He returned to the table, set down the bowl, and fell heavily into the chair. Ayla folded her hands on her lap and waited for him to speak.
He stared at her. Then turned, and stared at the fire. Then the wall. Then frowned and glanced back at her.
“If it’s…” she started.
“I was…” he said at the same time. He stopped, and froze, waiting for her to continue with a desperate look on his face, as if he was hoping he wouldn’t have to talk.
“Go on,” she said sternly, and folded her hands on her lap.
“I did not have what you would call a very happy childhood,” Niel said, and stopped. As if that was enough to explain it all.
She didn’t answer or allow her expression to change. He drew a deep breath, and continued.
“My father is not a good man. He is cruel, violent. And I was the second son, which made me disposable. My brother, well… my father wanted him brutal, and deadly. So I was…” Ayla frowned, and he looked up at the ceiling, drawing a breath. “I was as good a target to hone that cruelty on as any.”
He stopped talking, and rose from his chair. Niel walked towards the door. She was certain he was going to leave, until he spun on his heel and walked back the short distance to the table, before spinning again to pace like a caged animal.
He'd paced yesterday, too, when she’d asked. Like pain boiled beneath his skin, burning if he sat still too long.
“But it’s your father’s war,” Ayla said, when he’d managed three passes between the table and the shut door without speaking. “If he’s like that, why are you fighting for him?”
“No. I’m not fighting his war. I’m using his war, his soldiers, to fight one of my own.” His voice was sharp.
“Against the Queen?”
“And against Ashbrin.”
“...I see,” Ayla said, but she didn’t.
“I was fourteen when I squired to Hannes of Ashbrin,” Niel said unsteadily. “Corin was long gone by then, but my father was still… himself. I was so desperate to leave Eyron. I idolized Hannes instantly. But Hannes was not… he was not what I… and he made me do things to him that I…”
His eyes met hers for a moment before he turned and paced away again, agitation in every line of his body. She turned what little she knew over in her head.
“He hurt you?” she suggested quietly when he didn't start up again.
Niel returned to the table and stopped there, gripping the back of his chair with white knuckles but remaining on his feet. He stared at her, his lips pressed tight and his eyes so hard on her she felt certain there was something he wanted to say.
She knew a thing or two about words that wouldn’t come out, and about men who overly enjoyed being in power.
Ayla stood slowly, placing her napkin on the table and approaching him.
Niel watched her as warily as a mountain cat.
She lifted a hand slowly to his arm, giving him a chance to back away.
He didn’t. She rested her palm on his bicep and met his eyes.
“It took me years to escape Ashbrin,” Niel said. “At first, I did not even know I could. He was my knight-master. I was sworn to his service.”
She could understand that, too.
“Whatever happened, you’re free of him,” Ayla said slowly. “But the knight in the dungeon—was he a part of it all? Did he even know?”
“I won’t speak of this any longer,” he informed her, his voice dangerously flat.
“Niel. If he is involved, very well, but is it really necessary to punish an entire bloodline?”
“He’s an Ashbrin. That’s reason enough.”
“Niel…” his name came out of her lips like a plea.
“The Queen said she could not arrest Hannes without it wounding House Ashbrin. And Ashbrin’s support was too important to the country. So I swore to be the thorn in their side. If she let Hannes walk free to keep Ashbrin from falling, I would make Ashbrin fall anyway. Why should they be protected?”
When he was not, she silently finished in her head. House Ashbrin protected, when a boy of just fourteen was not.
He’d been no older than Isalde. And he’d been troubled, hurt. Looking for someone to help him.
He’d been placed in the care of a man who had hurt him even worse.
“I am not faulting your anger,” Ayla told him quietly. “But unless Sir Bradhan had something to do with it, I do not like this idea of killing him for whatever abuse his uncle inflicted. That will not avenge you. And I do not think it will make you feel any better.”
His eyes narrowed.
“If I decide I want him dead, you cannot stop me. Don’t forget you’re my prisoner, too.”
“Fine,” she agreed softly. “You’re right. I’m powerless, and you’re a man with a sword.”
“I didn’t…” he sighed. “I didn’t mean that. And I am sorry I raised my voice at you before. I feared for your safety and I was agitated from dealing with the Ashbrin knight, but these are poor excuses. You deserve better.”
She drew her hand off him and wobbled slightly, losing her balance without something to hold on to.
Niel’s arm was around her in an instant, holding her up against him.
Cold pooled off his metal armor. The knight frowned and lifted a hand to her forehead, pressing his cool skin to her flesh. Ayla shivered.
“Mercy. You’re burning up again, Ayla,” Niel told her quietly. “You need rest.” He lifted her easily into his arms. She didn’t struggle, but her heart felt heavy as he laid her down onto the mattress.
She almost preferred when she thought it was pure, mindless violence. Because she had loathed the idea, but it had not shattered her the way the thought of his pain did.
He hadn’t answered her, not truly, but he’d said enough. She could guess at the rest. At why he feared to be stripped and hated to be helpless.
“Would you sit with me a while longer tonight?” she asked as he tugged the blankets over her. His dark eyes met hers with a surprised look. Niel swallowed. And then, he nodded.