The Chronicles Of The Council #1: The Sun's Tears

Chapter 41: Aebbé - Falling

"I was falling. Falling through time and space and stars and sky and everything in between. I fell for days and weeks and what felt like lifetime across lifetimes. I fell until I forgot I was falling." - Jess Rothenberg

Ardam 40

Aelfraed's face in his last moments - that look in his eyes - haunts me in the week following his death. Lord Hoyt lost all interest in any further training the moment he slit my nephew's throat, leaving me cooped up in the cell with only tears and nightmares as a pastime. I consoled myself with the thought that Ria was freed to deliver Friduric's son's head to him - although he might not look kindly on that. He wasn't always unreasonable, so Ria need not fear his rage upon her arrival.

The click of a key turning in the lock of my door interrupts my sombre musings. For a moment I consider grabbing something to assault my captors with, but I doubt my dresses would inflict life-threatening harm. Lord Caith's book is too valuable to desecrate. The strange feeling of being devoid of fear on behalf of Aelfraed's well-being fills me with strange courage as I grab a pencil from my table, preparing to slam it into Hoyt's carotid.

The door opens as I fly off my bed, expecting to see the cruel face of lord Hoyt. The pencil in my hand clatters to the ground.

"You! You are behind this! Why did you -." In two strides Lord Caith is in front of me and puts his hand in front of my mouth. I look up into his unique blue eyes - brighter than the pale sunlight that has been streaming through my prison window during the days. His hand is strong, but his palm is soft on my lips. I would have thought that his hands would have been rougher - with him fighting and all that.

With his other hand, he motions for me to be silent and whispers: "Be quiet. The guards will hear you. Later, when I have rescued you successfully, I will answer your questions."

Nodding, I decide to go with his charade.

He takes his hand away from my mouth, whispering again: "Are your feet bound?"

I nod. "Iron."

He withdraws a dagger, made of a glass-like substance, from the scabbard strapped to his ankle. The hilt is made of gold and inlaid with small blue gemstones - unlike any I have ever seen.

"Lift your dress a little bit up, so I can break the shackles."

Deciding to give a more insightful answer, I bite back a retort about not lifting my dresses up for strange men (or anyone at all, save for my future husband and only when we are married). "It will not work. Iron can only be melted or broken with force."

He ignores me, and lifts the hem of my dress himself with one hand; with the other, he gently strikes the iron, just next to my left ankle. For a moment it looks as if nothing would happen. Then the iron chain anchoring me to the wall breaks, leaving only the iron shackle on my ankle. 

"How?"

"Questions later," he hisses. He puts his sword back in its scabbard and withdraws an ordinary dagger from his other ankle. "I am going to make your dress shorter so that you can move more freely." He stabs the knife into the material just below my knees, pulling the knife out and then tearing the material. He studies me from head to toes.

Suddenly I regret not doing more for my appearance this morning. I could've done my hair elaborately or put on jewels (which I manage to have in my trunk), but how was I to know that today would be the day that I would be rescued, and by Lord Caith of all people?

I am starting to believe that he really is here to rescue me.

"Tie your hair," he orders and hands me a smaller strap of cloth cut from my dress.