CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT #3
“Hmmm,” Tirian made a noise, low in his throat.
“All three are House Bathiner.” He frowned.
“And I thought your bloodline was healing from its tendencies toward treachery and betrayal.” He turned to his soldiers and shook his head.
“This was not an attempted assault, nor an attack on Princess Olivay. Though, much to her dismay and my son’s, she was nearly collateral.
No, what I see before me is an attack on the crown, on your king, on House Lafir.
” He made a noise, low in his throat. “I was going to allow my son to execute you for offending his bride. A quick and easy death. But I see now that this was an act of treason. You will be transported to the dungeons at dawn for your trial and sentencing. And when found guilty, you’ll be dragged into the city, drawn and quartered. ”
“No! No!” they were all yelling over each other. Screaming, babbling incoherent defenses. Erick, Donovan and Stephen. Until Tirian waved a hand, demanding silence.
“My King, I beg you!” Erick cried, snot running down his nose. “Have mercy.”
Donovan began to struggle against his captors, crying out, “Ask Jaron! He’ll vouch for us!”
“Yes, Lord Jaron!” shouted Erick. “He saw her, too! He saw the witch! “
“We swear, we are loyal,” said Stephen, his voice hauntingly calm. “We had no ill will toward the princess. It wasn’t her we grabbed. It was a witch! We were trying to protect you, Your Majesty. She sent the chimera to attack the hunting party and then came to the lodge to kill us all.”
There was another low rumble in the distance, and a flash of lightning illuminating the peaks of Mortsen Mountain.
And as the darkness resettled, Jaron rode into the clearing from the forest’s shadows, sitting on the back of Barron.
He was slumped forward, holding his arm to his chest as if injured.
But seeing the crowd before him, he sat up and pulled the stag’s reins with both hands until he came to a stop.
He stretched his neck from side to side, revealing purple bruising beneath his swollen right eye.
Exactly where I’d punched him. His black armor was dull, covered in dirt and muck.
He patted his moonstag’s head, between his antlers, and then his eyes fell on me as his boots hit the ground.
Barron’s eyes found mine, too, and his nostrils flared.
The moonstag stepped forward, whining, his hoof pawing the ground, his gray eagle-wings flaring behind his back.
He wanted to get to me, wanted to come to me, the way he always had, the way he did when I was Alyra.
Jaron’s brows furrowed, looking me up and down, before looking to his men, seeing their hands chained, their legs bound.
“They speak the truth about the witch,” he said.
“We faced the chimera. We know that means a demonos lies in wait, sending them orders, sending them to hunt us.” He turned his gaze back to me.
Again with the lie. But Jaron was partially right. My throat went dry, my heart thundering harder with every step he took toward us.
“This is absurd! My daughter’s not a witch!” King Dairen cried out. “How could that mistake be made?”
Jaron narrowed his gaze to snake-like slits.
He smirked, then nodded. “Of course, it could not. It would be absurd if the princess was actually a witch?” He laughed.
“But we did catch sight of an Azete down by the river. We were accosted by her in our attempt to escape the attack, to get help for the others. For my prince.”
“You did?” Brennan tensed, his eyes darting back and forth between Jaron and his men.
“One might ask how I was after encountering a beast,” Jaron sneered. “But yes.”
Brennan huffed. “You look well enough. Now you’re sure? You saw an Azete? Where?” Brennan demanded. “Where did you see her? What did she look like?”
My stomach dropped and Jaron’s gaze fell right on me, the green of his eyes suddenly bright despite the darkness cloaking us.
“I did.” Jaron smirked. “Well, she looked at first like any other woman, Cousin. Any woman at all. But up close,” he shrugged, “like a witch, a demonos. Evil to her core. Exactly like the rendering we’ve been using to hunt for her.
You know it. You know the picture well, don’t you? I’ve seen it in your hands.”
Brennan paled, his dark brows furrowed together. “What color was her hair?” he asked.
“The color of blood,” Jaron said. “Long and wavy.”
Brennan’s nostrils flared, his breathing growing shallow. “Her clothing?” he asked.
“Why? Did you see something, son?” King Tirian asked.
Brennan shook his head. “No, I just—I want to know so we can find her.”
My heart thudded. The truth was like a ghost in the air, flitting back and forth between us.
“I’m sure she’s changed her outfit by now,” Jaron said, looking right at me, his eyes tracing the lines of my riding cape, and the hood that hung off my shoulders. “But at the time?” He shrugged. “Black boots. Black riding pants, and a tunic beneath a long black cloak. Most unseemly for a woman.”
Stephen’s eyes widened, like he’d just realized–just remembered that he had seen me in pants when he grabbed me. His gaze was immediately on my skirts as his mouth twisted.
“You’re sure that’s what you saw?” Brennan asked his cousin, his voice almost shaking. “All black clothing? And red hair?”
“I am,” Jaron said. “She certainly didn’t have … brown hair.” He eyed me. “Or black.”
Brennan’s jaw muscles tightened, his eyes darkening as he sucked in a breath, turning toward the trees and then back to me.
I could almost see his mind working, trying to fit all the pieces together.
And they mistook her for that?” he practically roared.
His emotions were coming off him in waves I could almost touch, but weren’t yet directed at me.
“Exactly. It’s preposterous.” King Tirian shook his head. “The witches have been plotting a lot as of late. Perhaps they’ve become too comfortable in the dwelling we allow them.”
My nostrils flared.
“It seems that we have allowed them too much freedom. We may need to pay a visit soon to Azeal. Remind them of their rights.”
Bastard! As if he had any right to say what our rights were, or what they would ever be!
“However, I must first deal with … this …” King Tirian waved his hand between me and my attackers, his face one of disgust. “… this whole situation. This treason.” He eyed Jaron.
“Whatever witch you saw out there, whatever evil lurks in the shadows, it has nothing to do with this. Princess Olivay was clearly attacked on my behalf. Was she not?”
Jaron’s mouth tightened, the scar that ran down his lips more pronounced, thick and pale, running in an uneven line down to his chin. “Yes, Your Majesty. That is exactly what happened.”
Brennan’s jaw tightened, watching his father twist the narrative in my favor. I couldn’t read his face, couldn’t tell if he believed him. Or if anyone outside the lodge did. But no one objected, no one spoke up.
“And these three are your men?” King Tirian asked his nephew.
Jaron frowned. “They were.”
“Were? No! We are! We just made a mistake. It was dark. Her riding cape, it looked black and long–like a cloak–like a witch’s,” Stephen said. “We apologize to the princess, but that’s all this was. We are loyal servants of the crown. Not House Bathiner.”