Zokla | Theon Greyjoy

Chapter 11

"Will you need to go to battle?"

"I've an idea that may be useful to prevent a battle. I may need to leave for a few weeks. A guard will watch you when you go for your walks."

An opportunity. "Very well," she said. "I wish you well, husband."

The moment he was gone, she prepared herself to be rid of Myranda permanently. She began to take oregano tea to bring her a bleed and added the bloodiest sheet she saved beneath her dress as a barrier. She left Minisa with Anni and told Walda she would be going for a long walk in the forest with only a guard for company, ensuring that Myranda would know that she would be an easy target. She just had to let her jealousy do the rest.

The biggest risk came with timing. If she did not time it correctly, if she did not do well enough avoiding arrows, she would be in danger. She layered herself beneath the dress, creating enough of a barrier that the arrow could not pierce her heart or throat as deeply if she were shot there– though she was betting those would not be the places that Myranda aimed for.

She had the primary guard lead her out, beginning to walk down the familiar path of the forest and intending to circle back to leave herself a clear road back to Winterfell. She'd instructed four other guards to be on watch– she'd asked one to wait ten minutes prior to following up the path she'd be returning, another to wait twenty, and another to wait thirty. One or two might need to die, but the others would be ready to witness Myranda's attack and stop her. Lyarra forced herself not to care. They were Bolton men. They were disposable.

She'd just made the turn when she heard the baying of dogs. Dogs following the same path she had, about to circle behind her. She was betting that Myranda would not go for the kill. She had to know that Ramsay would outright execute her for that. An attempt at mutilation would be enough for her to use for her plan.

She thought of how much time had passed. There had to be a guard already making his way to her, unless Myranda had stopped them. Even so, another guard would arrive soon.

The guard with her turned as the baying grew louder, along with the thundering of footsteps. The dog in the lead leapt at him, the pack swarming him as a female voice shouted, "Kill!"

Lyarra staggered back into a tree as the dogs began to rip into the man. One of them sniffed at her feet but did not pounce. Slowly, she began to back away, letting Myranda draw nearer. Once the dogs were sufficiently occupied, she began to run, starting to scream and acting as though she was afraid. She heard Myranda in pursuit, believing her alone.

An arrow whizzed past her head. She heard movement ahead– the guard, perhaps, running toward her. Lyarra let herself fall, skidding against the ground and turning around as Myranda arrived, another arrow nocked and pointed at her.

"You aren't very brave now," observed Myranda, deep circles beneath her eyes, frame more skeletal than the last time Lyarra was this close to her. She looked so sick, the daffodil having had enough of an effect. "What was that you said, about a puny girl like me being no match for a wolf like you? How you'd leave me unable to speak?"

"Please, please don't kill me," begged Lyarra as if suddenly not so strong. "I was defending myself, you angered me, I did not mean it! I don't wish to die!"

Myranda smiled. "Die? Who said anything about dying? You can't die. Your father was Warden of the North. Ramsay still needs you. But he doesn't need all of you. Just the parts he'll use to make his heir, until you've given him a boy or two. I've a wonderful idea. You've got quite the little mouth on you... why don't we leave you without the ability to speak? And those hands of yours... you don't need them, either. There is no reason to write anything."