The Robber Knight's Love

70. Iron Tidings

"Are you sure? I could..."

She raised an eyebrow. "I believe you told me not too long ago that my wish is your command, did you not?"

The scowl on his face gave way to twitching lips. "Now that you mention it, I believe I did."

"I wish for you to let go of this man's neck. And apologize to him."

 "As you command, Milady."

Letting go of the herald's neck, Reuben said: "There you go. I apologize for throwing you to the floor, and for wanting to rip out your intestines out with a carving knife. Oh, and for the further list of tortures I would like to subject you to, such as squashing your—"

"That will be enough apology from you, Sir Reuben."

"Are you sure, Milady?"

"Quite sure."

The herald had paled. Ayla gave him what she hoped was an encouraging smile, and made a gesture that invited him to continue, and hopefully also reassured him that his intestines wouldn't be ripped out with a carving knife. For a few moments, there was only silence in the room. Finally, the herald dared meet Ayla's eyes, cautiously.

"Milady, may I continue with my message?"

"You may."

"And you...?"

The question hung unfinished in the air, but Ayla guessed what it was without much difficulty. She forced a smile on her face.

"And I won't punish you for what it says, rest assured."

The man lowered his eyes again.

"Thank you, Milady." His voice was low, and thick with emotion. "You are a truly great noble. May God forgive me."

He reached for the small leather pouch that had fallen to the floor in Reuben's sudden attack. Picking it up, he held it out to Ayla.

"The Margrave ordered me to bring you this. He told me you would know what it meant, though what a Lady such as you would know of such objects of horror is beyond me. He said the thing inside accompanies the words I have to speak."

More than a little nonplussed, Ayla took the leather pouch and loosened the drawstring. As she turned the leather pouch upside-down, a shiny metal object fell into her palm. It was a metal vice of some sort. Somehow, it looked strangely familiar. She strained to remember where she had seen it before.

When it finally came to her, a cold tingle went down her back. The hand on which the shiny metal device lay began to shake.

There it was: the thumbscrew she had sent the Margrave along with her defiance, so many months ago. There the thumbscrew lay, freed of rust, polished, and ready for use. Suddenly, she knew what was coming. She knew, although it seemed impossible. They had won! They had beaten the Margrave's army. How could this be happening?

The herald took a deep breath.

"The Margrave wishes me to tell you... wishes me to tell you..." He broke off, shaking his head. His voice was hoarse as he said: "I can't find the words for it myself. I simply can't. You're a noble lady, I can't tell you what... what he told me."

"Can you quote his words?" Ayla asked, gently. Inside, she felt cold as a winter night.

The old man hesitated—then nodded.

"I think so. If my tongue can bare the shame."

He swallowed.

Then he began to speak, slowly and clearly. His voice suddenly sounded distant, artificial and... cold. Ayla shivered again. Was this what the voice of the Margrave sounded like?