‘Stop!’
‘Not your story to tell, lad.’
‘Stop,’ Meilyr bit. ‘Let him go, you have what you want.’
‘No,’ Terrell drawled, ‘we don’t. But we will, and you’re going to play such a sweet part.’ He stepped close and tipped Meilyr’s chin with a bloodied finger. ‘I can definitely see what all the fuss is about, even with you being one of them. The bastard is a lucky man – or was.’
‘Don’t you dare touch him—’ Haydn’s growl broke as they struck him across the head.
‘Stop!Leave him!’
Terrell’s grip tightened on Meilyr’s chin. ‘How touching. He confesses to aiding in the attempted murder of your husband, and you still want him alive. Neither satisfying you, darling? That’s a real shame.’ He pushed Meilyr’s head against the post, igniting pain where his skull had hit the ground. The knight’s desire, carnal and base, burned through his hand. ‘I love a pretty thing with an appetite.’
‘Ser,’ the second crownsworn warned, gaze fixed on Meilyr. ‘Watch it, maybe? He could still be the sorcerer.’
‘Don’t be stupid, that’s what we’re making them believe. Look at him – you really think he could kill anyone?’
These people meant Osian harm. They had stabbed Pedr. Haydn’s head hung low, and blood slipped from his mouth.
Meilyr’s own blood ground against his bones.
‘That’s a fine look.’ Terrell turned Meilyr’s face, forcing him to look at him. ‘I wonder…’ He moved his thumb to Meilyr’s lips. ‘What might you look like if we kill him in front of you—’
The word broke in a shout of pain as Meilyr bit Terrell’s thumb as fiercely as he could.
Flesh and iron and dirt—
Terrell tore free with a scrape of skin. ‘Whoreson!’
Agony burst as the knight backhanded Meilyr across the face. His temple and cheekbone exploded in pain, but he bit his lip so as not to spit in shock.
Terrell shook out his hand, then laughed. ‘Gods, what a shame. Your face is awfully lovely, but I suppose we can say you wanted to add character to it before the end. A little blood is very becoming.’
He had no idea.
Meilyr swallowed, and the tang of iron worked its way down his throat. The pain pulsing through his head muffled beneath the gale that swept out from his heart, rattled his ribs and pooled into the tips of his fingers, his toes.
His lip was split, painted with mingled blood as he raised his head.
Something changed in the room. The crownsworn felt it as vestigial prey instincts pointed them to the cause. It was the crawling fear of a man who hears twigs snap in the dark forest, and remembers he is only an animal.
‘Let us go,’ Meilyr said, the roar so loud he could barely hear. ‘Now.’
Terrell was the sort of man who believed sharpened steel and bravado were enough to frighten off anything foolish enough to hunt him. He laughed. ‘And who’s going to make me do that, gorgeous?’
The roar brimmed at the edges of Meilyr’s skin, baying for release. ‘Let us go, or you will regret it. This is your only warning.’
Terrell sneered. Cruelty lit his eyes. ‘No. In fact, I’m starting not to care that we’re supposed to keep you looking nice. I think you need to be taught some manners from your betters.’
There was a wince – a whine of doubt within the maelstrom as the blood oath Meilyr had sworn to his parents struggled against the gale. Had he been alone, it would have been enough to stay his hand. His own life had never weighed much against those he had lost.
But Osian was in danger. Pedr might be dead.
Haydn struggled to raise his head, and Terrell’s mouth split into a grin. ‘I know where we’ll start.’ He drew the long gwaed-steel dagger from his side and, holding Meilyr’s gaze, moved towards Haydn. ‘Let’s hear how sweetly you beg.’
Meilyr did not beg. Even as fury lurched his body forward, a red kite taking flight into the storm.
Forgive me, Mam. Da. I am so sorry.