The dank chamber and the rough iron cage had become her world. She’d been under Barrik Keep maybe half a dozen times as a child, but didn’t recall this particular hall. Whether it was some new construction undertaken by Darron or his father Donnik, or had merely been off limits to the children, she didn’t know. The masonry was ageless, and may have been lain a year ago or several decades ago. It made little difference.
Steyr seemed in a foul mood, and had been since the change of guards. She’d seen old familiar faces: Darron’s chief boot-licker Coalheart, Fishes-the-Rills, Stonearms, Raven-Flies-East, Dour, and Madoc had all taken their turns watching her cage, but among their number she’d seen a few new faces.
The yoke weighed heavily on her, its constant burden making her shoulders ache. She’d been here days, possibly a week if she’d calculated the change of the guard correctly. Mostly, the guards passed the time in stony silence or murmuring to each other, but occasionally they’d spoken to her.
She looked hard at Steyr. Not the worst thing to look at, she supposed. “I don’t think I can hold out much longer.”
He shrugged. “What of it?”
“Does Darron intend to starve me to death? At least put a sword in my hand and let me die with dignity.”
He smirked. “I wonder... are the legends true? If I squared off with you, would I have a chance?”
“You never were the superstitious type, Steyr. But... legends have a ring of truth. Take me to Darron. Let him decide my fate, but don’t leave me to fester in this cage.”
“I see no need for it.”
“You’re Steyr the seven-slayer, Steyr widowmaker, the butcher of the Crookback. If any man has Darron’s ear, it’s you.”
“And why should I do that?”
“You know me, Steyr. The clan...”
“I used to know you. And you’re no longer of the clan. What else do you have to offer?”
She began to see which way the wind was blowing. She could be free, and there were worse ways to pass her time here than with Steyr. “I’m already naked. You know there are things I can do that normal women can’t. So take me if you want me.”
“There’s a catch.”
“A catch? What, then?”
He gestured over his left shoulder to the helmeted brute leaning against the wall. “My cousin Deroth. The boy’s strong like five bulls, but he got kicked in the head by a horse when he was just ten turns old. Hasn’t been the same since. Keeps his head covered. He hasn’t had much luck with the women.”
“Deroth, then. There’s enough of me for both of you.” And enough of Her, too, if she chose to manifest mid-act, as she almost had when Brenna had lain with Elysia.
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