Chapter Four
Kestrel’s breath fled her body at the Wolf’s words. Her father betraying the Lord of Wurrakia had already been unthinkable, but for him to conspire with the enemy of all of Aisthanesthai? Her heart pounded in her ears and a lump formed in her throat.
“You’re a liar!” she shouted, fighting back tears. Then, a possible reason for such a horrible notion came to her. “You’re only saying that as part of your job to torture me!”
The Wolf shook his head, making his ink-black hair sweep across his sharp cheekbones. “While you’re right about my job, lying is not part of it. Your father is a traitor, and the inquest will determine whether or not you are.”
She didn’t know which of his words surprised her more, his brazen admission that Lord Aylmer—or maybe Sir Gerard—had ordered the Wolf to guard her as a mean of torment, or that he didn’t declare her to be a traitor along with her father.
Saying the inquest would decide could mean he believed she was innocent.
Or that he didn’t believe in the infallibility of Wurrakia’s justice system. Or both.
“Please leave,” she hated herself for begging. “I need to be alone.”
“Aye, I imagine you do.” He almost sounded sympathetic, but then his tone hardened. “And the last thing I want to do is sit here listening to a woman cry. Get your tears out, and if you’re done by the time I return, maybe I’ll bring you some wine. But if you’re still blubbering, I’ll need it more.”
Anger at his rudeness held her tears at bay a little longer. “Why do you have to be so crass?”
“Because your wide-eyed, childish outrage is tiresome.” The Wolf sneered. “You’re far from the first or only person in the world to find out their father is an evil prick. Though you’re a little later than most to come to that realization.”
Before she could form a reply, the Wolf turned away and left the cell block.
The silence wasn’t as much of a relief as she’d hoped.
Instead, it pressed on her like a leaden weight and the chill of the dungeon seeped into her bones.
How could Father betray his country, his world, and his own daughter?
She’d been so close to having all of her dreams come true, marrying the handsomest, most high-ranking nobleman in the country.
And then she would have been Lady of Wurrakia.
And maybe even High Healer too, like Gerard’s mother.
What could Mephistopheles have offered Father to make him ruin all of that? Every time the question came to her, the lack of a logical answer made her believe that Lord Aylmer and his council were wrong. There must be some sort of misunderstanding, or perhaps a hidden enemy had framed him.
The inquest would prove their innocence.
But even then the damage would already be done.
Kestrel could never forget the blazing hatred and scorn in Gerard’s eyes when he looked at her and called her a traitor, his mind already made up.
He hadn’t given her even a moment to defend herself, instead having her thrown in the dungeon, and ordered the fearsome Wolf to torment her with his presence.
He’d even threatened to give her to the Wolf like she was some slave from Earth’s barbaric history!
Those bitter memories sent her over the edge and Kestrel collapsed onto her narrow cot, overcome with deep, wracking sobs.
Kestrel never found out if the Wolf brought her wine, for the exhaustion of a heavy bout of tears coupled with two days and nights without sleep—three if she were to count the night before she came to the capitol, too excited to see her beloved Gerard and celebrate their engagement with all of high society to rest then either—made her fall asleep before her tormenter returned.
When she awoke, another man was rapping on the bars of her cell, holding a tray of porridge. She shrank back from the stranger sheerly because he was unknown even though he had a kinder face than her usual jailer.
The man reddened and held up a hand in a placating gesture before clearing his throat and speaking, “In two hours, you will be brought to the council chamber for questioning. I am permitted to fetch you some items to freshen up, within reason.”
Kestrel perked up at the prospect of cleaning up and changing her clothes. “If you bring my green bag, that has my dress, my hairbrush, toothbrush, soap, and cosmetics.”
The man shook his head. “I’m sorry, miss. Your personal effects are being searched and won’t be returned to you until after the inquest is finished…that is, if you are found innocent.”
Disappointment and outrage flared at the thought of strangers pawing through her gowns, jewels, and underthings, along with the bitter realization that this man was giving her the benefit of the doubt when her own fiancé did not.
Before tears could strangle her once more, Kestrel took a deep breath and straightened her spine. “I’d like a hairbrush, toothbrush and tooth powder, soap, and, if possible, a new gown.”
“I can bring all but the gown.” The man sounded apologetic. “We don’t exactly keep spares on hand, aside from servants’ livery, and that wouldn’t be proper for a lady and healer of your rank to wear.”
After he left, Kestrel took the tray and scowled at the plain, grayish oatmeal with no honey, milk, or sugar to make it palatable.
Still, she made an effort, but only got four spoonfuls down before she nearly gagged and had to guzzle the whole cup of water in effort to get the oatmeal unstuck from her throat.
When the man brought her the toiletries, she brushed her teeth, washed her face, and worked on taming the tangled mess of her auburn hair.
Her reflection in the small mirror filled her with horror.
Her face was so pale it seemed to have a gray tint, dark circles dragged her eyes down, and her lips were chapped and nearly colorless.
Her gown was in worse shape. The aquamarine silk with its intricate embroidered trim, and applique flowers on the bodice had been intended for Wurrakia to see her standing beside Gerard and pronounce her worthy after Lord Aylmer declared her to be his son’s betrothed.
Not two days and nights rotting in a dank prison cell and sleeping on a thin cot with only a scratchy brown wool blanket.
The dress was wrinkled and crushed beyond hope, and sweat stains showed when she lifted her arms. The thought of facing Lord Aylmer and his council in such a state was almost enough to send her cowering under her blanket. Especially if Gerard was there.
No , a voice spoke in her head. Don’t give him the satisfaction of seeing you sniveling. With the voice came a flare of anger. Gerard hadn’t held enough regard for her, nor a scrap of common decency to wait for more information before condemning her outright.
Embarrassment at how she’d allowed romantic daydreams of him to consume him for so long scorched her face.
Kestrel met her own eyes in the mirror and swore a silent vow. I will never allow myself to love a man again.
The dungeon door opened with a rusty creak and several pairs of footsteps sounded in the corridor.
The scrape of metal on the stone floor heralded the arrival of armed warriors.
Kestrel took a deep breath, straightened her shoulders, and lifted her chin, determined to remind her armed escort that she was a lady , not a criminal.
The Wolf came into view, along with Lord Mormont and four other men of the noble guard.
“Miss Kestrel Goshawk, daughter of Cregan Goshawk,” Lord Mormont intoned while the Wolf unlocked her cell, “You are commanded to come with us to the Noble Council Hall for questioning.”
Kestrel curtsied and walked out of the cell with her head high, pretending they were her royal escort rather than enforcers of her captivity. Still, she was relieved to see that Sir Gerard wasn’t in the Council Hall. Facing Lord Aylmer was bad enough.
She wasn’t offered a chair, instead, she was made to stand in front of the inside border of the U-shaped table, with council members watching her from every angle and the armed men behind her. From the corner of her eye, she saw that the Wolf had stepped away from the guard, looking bored.
Turning her gaze back to Lord Aylmer, Kestrel curtsied. “Please, Your Lordship, tell me what exactly my father did to make you believe he committed treason?”
Lord Aylmer shook his head while Lord Vargus, the Chief Informer, answered. “I’m sorry, Child, but we can’t compromise the investigation. But if you cooperate and answer our questions, the truth will come through sooner.”
There was nothing else she could do, so Kestrel curtsied again. “Yes, my lords.”
The questions they asked didn’t shed much light on the situation. Where she’d been on certain days of the year, where her father had been, what visitors had come to Raptor’s Roost in the past year, where in the capitol she had gone the day of the Queen’s tourney.
On most of the days in question, Father had supposedly been on a hunting party.
But now that Kestrel thought back, she couldn’t recall him bringing any trophies back, or the cook preparing fresh game.
And on the day of Mephistopheles’s attack, she remembered how Father had limped off in the opposite direction from where all the non-fighters being evacuated.
Could Father truly be guilty?
And if so, what did that mean for her future?
Lord Aylmer suddenly declared this session of questioning to be over, and she was escorted back to her cell.
Mentally and emotionally exhausted, Kestrel collapsed on her cot and slept for an entire day, maybe longer. She awoke to loud metallic clanking on the bars of her cell.
“Get up, girl,” a cantankerous voice rumbled.
“I don’t want to,” she groaned, desperately trying to regrasp the threads of the dream she’d been enveloped in. (describe dream)
“Don’t make me come in there. Neither of us will like it if I do.”
Kestrel awoke enough to recognize the voice as the Wolf’s, which brought her fully awake as effectively as being splashed with cold water.