and into the night. It was very late and he still needed to report to his uncle and change into his uniform before he could finally head back to the castle. He planned on being on hand at dawn; he just hoped Eryl did too.
four
Brenna hugged the worn blanket tighter to try to ward off the chill of the cell. At least she had the extra blanket. She was being given special treatment because of this Brotherhood the captain had spoken about and she wasn’t sure she liked it. The fine stew and extra blanket were welcome but she didn’t trust any of this. Everything had a cost, she thought. She’d learned that hard lesson when her mother had sacrificed her life for Brenna’s freedom. What could the Brotherhood possibly want with a thief?
But the knife and sword had lit up when she’d touched them. She idly rubbed her hand, the one Kane had placed on his own, his sword underneath. What had happened? She’d felt a tingle, a warmth and then the weapon had lit up. And afterward she’d been keenly aware of Kane Rowse and his sword. In some odd way she’d felt connected to them. Oh not that she knew his thoughts, not anything like that. But she was sure she’d felt … something … when he’d sheathed his sword, and then again when he’d left the cell. But it had happened so quickly and what he’d told her had surprised her so completely that it might just be her imagination.
At least the two guards on watch now pretended not to be studying her. The other one, the one who’d seen the sword glow, had openly stared at her. He’d only looked away when she’d asked him questions about this Brotherhood. And when her dinner had been delivered and the guard had apologized because the stew wasn’t better, Brenna had almost dropped the bowl. That had frightened her almost as much as anything else. She was his prisoner and yet he was apologizing to her. She did not need the Guard in her life like that. Brothers! And that stew had been better than what was served in most inns in the Quarter. Much better than the swill they served at the Crooked Dog - this stew had actual pieces of meat in it, not just the memory of it.
At the thought of the Dog, Brenna frowned. She hoped Eryl would come through for her. By now he’d know what had happened to her - not much went on in the Quarter that Eryl didn’t find out about. She’d made him promise years ago that if the Kingsguard ever caught her he’d buy her bond. But that was back when they’d been bedmates. Now all she could do is hope he kept his word.
He’d want to, but Eryl had a hard time keeping coin in his pocket. If he showed up she’d tell him where she’d hidden her own coin. She wasn’t sure it would be enough, though. For stealing from a One-God favored priest, no doubt her bond price would be high. But Eryl had to show. She would not be indentured to anyone ever again. She’d rather be dead, like her mother.
Brenna felt her grief rise at the thought of her mother. Six years and the pain felt as raw as the day of her death. She brushed a tear from her eye and grabbed a pebble, scraping furiously at the stone wall of the cell, trying to do something, anything, to push back her grief and anger.
Her mother had not deserved the mean life she’d been forced into. Sold into Duke Thorold’s household and forced into his bed, Brenna’s mother had never had much happiness, except for her daughter. And even then Brenna knew there was always fear. Fear of Duke Thorold’s anger, fear for Brenna’s future, fear that as bad as things were he would make their lives so much worse if he found out their secret - that Brenna wasn’t his child. Wynne had used her healing and herb knowledge to ensure she bore the child of the man she loved, Thorold’s eldest son. But Alastair had died in a hunting accident before he learned he was to be a father, leaving Wynne with no hope for her child unless everyone assumed Brenna was Thorold’s bastard. Luckily, Wynne had said,
four
Brenna hugged the worn blanket tighter to try to ward off the chill of the cell. At least she had the extra blanket. She was being given special treatment because of this Brotherhood the captain had spoken about and she wasn’t sure she liked it. The fine stew and extra blanket were welcome but she didn’t trust any of this. Everything had a cost, she thought. She’d learned that hard lesson when her mother had sacrificed her life for Brenna’s freedom. What could the Brotherhood possibly want with a thief?
But the knife and sword had lit up when she’d touched them. She idly rubbed her hand, the one Kane had placed on his own, his sword underneath. What had happened? She’d felt a tingle, a warmth and then the weapon had lit up. And afterward she’d been keenly aware of Kane Rowse and his sword. In some odd way she’d felt connected to them. Oh not that she knew his thoughts, not anything like that. But she was sure she’d felt … something … when he’d sheathed his sword, and then again when he’d left the cell. But it had happened so quickly and what he’d told her had surprised her so completely that it might just be her imagination.
At least the two guards on watch now pretended not to be studying her. The other one, the one who’d seen the sword glow, had openly stared at her. He’d only looked away when she’d asked him questions about this Brotherhood. And when her dinner had been delivered and the guard had apologized because the stew wasn’t better, Brenna had almost dropped the bowl. That had frightened her almost as much as anything else. She was his prisoner and yet he was apologizing to her. She did not need the Guard in her life like that. Brothers! And that stew had been better than what was served in most inns in the Quarter. Much better than the swill they served at the Crooked Dog - this stew had actual pieces of meat in it, not just the memory of it.
At the thought of the Dog, Brenna frowned. She hoped Eryl would come through for her. By now he’d know what had happened to her - not much went on in the Quarter that Eryl didn’t find out about. She’d made him promise years ago that if the Kingsguard ever caught her he’d buy her bond. But that was back when they’d been bedmates. Now all she could do is hope he kept his word.
He’d want to, but Eryl had a hard time keeping coin in his pocket. If he showed up she’d tell him where she’d hidden her own coin. She wasn’t sure it would be enough, though. For stealing from a One-God favored priest, no doubt her bond price would be high. But Eryl had to show. She would not be indentured to anyone ever again. She’d rather be dead, like her mother.
Brenna felt her grief rise at the thought of her mother. Six years and the pain felt as raw as the day of her death. She brushed a tear from her eye and grabbed a pebble, scraping furiously at the stone wall of the cell, trying to do something, anything, to push back her grief and anger.
Her mother had not deserved the mean life she’d been forced into. Sold into Duke Thorold’s household and forced into his bed, Brenna’s mother had never had much happiness, except for her daughter. And even then Brenna knew there was always fear. Fear of Duke Thorold’s anger, fear for Brenna’s future, fear that as bad as things were he would make their lives so much worse if he found out their secret - that Brenna wasn’t his child. Wynne had used her healing and herb knowledge to ensure she bore the child of the man she loved, Thorold’s eldest son. But Alastair had died in a hunting accident before he learned he was to be a father, leaving Wynne with no hope for her child unless everyone assumed Brenna was Thorold’s bastard. Luckily, Wynne had said,
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