Chapter Twenty-Seven - Return to Tidehall #3
Tears fell from his eyes as she choked against the water.
With a wave of his hand the water gag splashed to the ground and Rosamund gasped for air.
She doubled over, coughing and spluttering, heaving.
Bastian moved in and grabbed her around the neck with his own hands, tilting her head upwards so she had no choice but to look at him.
“Not yet, in any case,” he hissed, his eyes wild, “Once I’ve dispatched with my brother, his lands will be mine.
Everything that was once his will be mine.
Including you. I’ll use whatever paltry life magic runs through your veins to finally give my wife what she has always wanted.
And then…then she’ll never leave me. And father will see me as his true heir. ”
He tossed her out the door, the momentum and her sodden cloak causing her to tumble down the sharp stone steps.
Tomas rushed forward to help her. Still gasping for air and reeling at his words she turned to face him.
He stood in the doorway, staring down at her with his crazed expression.
He glanced around and looked to remember himself, smoothing down his shirt, his sneer returned.
“I really ought to thank you Rosamund,” he said, returning to his usual drawl, “I couldn’t have done any of it without you.”
With that he turned his back on her. She surged forwards, but the doors had slammed shut before she could reach him, cutting her off from Elswyth.
Rosamund banged her fists against the door until Tomas gently approached her, “m’lady, we should go.”
He was right. The longer she stayed, the more time Bastian had to change his mind and keep her there.
Or worse. Her skin crawled as his words came back to her.
He would use her, just as he used Elswyth and the women in the Velvet Tide.
All to have an heir. She shook with rage as she went over his horrifying justification.
Did he believe it? Is that what he told himself to be able to sleep at night?
A child for his wife. No, it was an heir for his father.
To continue his father’s legacy. And he would use her to get it.
“He will not touch me,” she growled, and then louder, “YOU WILL NOT TOUCH ME!”
Tomas looked panicked, “M’lady, we have to leave.”
“I’M COMING BACK ELSWYTH! I’LL ALWAYS COME BACK!”
She was not giving up. She would never give up her.
Not Elswyth or Dorian. She would burn this city to the ground before she gave up on either of them.
As the carriage once again rolled past the decaying heads and bodies of the Darnwell’s she banged the roof.
The streets were filled with people looking to petition the prince.
The hungry and the desperate. She stepped out the carriage and looked up at the bodies.
“Give me your knife.”
“M’lady, this isn’t a good idea.”
“Your knife. And I’ll need a boost.”
The people gasped and gawked as Tomas helped lift her up onto the gate.
No one moved to stop her. No one cried out for her to cease.
There were no guards, only the citizens ignored by their Prince.
Once she had a hold, she climbed up towards the rotten bodies.
The stench of decay filled her nostrils.
She cut at the ropes that held the Darnwell sons, lowering them gently towards Tomas.
A few other men from the crowd stepped forward, she glared at them until she saw the cloth in their hand.
The beautiful silks she and Elswyth had admired, the people held out to wrap these men in.
She nodded to them gratefully and turned to remove Lord Darnwell’s head.
His flesh was jelly in her hands, and she had to suppress the rise of vomit in her throat.
This was what she should have done for Edmund.
For her father. Tomas was right. This was a bad idea.
But she had to do it. She could not leave them behind.
No one gets left behind. Not anymore.
Carefully she handed the head down to the old solider who wrapped it in the purple brocade silk of the people had given him. She lowered herself back to the ground and turned to face them as Tomas loaded the last of the Darnwells.
Rosamund said to the crowd, “they deserve a proper burial. If any man thinks otherwise, let him step forward now.”
There was no cheer, no mockery, no cry for justice.
They looked at her with curiosity and surprise.
She looked back at them with the rising fire within her.
One of the men that had helped Tomas stepped forward and nodded to her, his hand placed over his heart, “The people have not forgotten your father, Lady Valehart. And what he did for us.”
A woman, the one that had given Tobias sprigs of lavender to pack in the bags, did the same. Soon they were joined by others in crowd who did shout her father’s name. Not with a sneer, not with mockery, but with pride. Respect.
“Go quickly now,” said the lady, as she took Rosamund’s hands in hers, “we’ll see to the rest.”
Rosamund nodded to her and with one last look to Tidehall, stepped into the carriage.