Page 7

Asha

The countess’s reedy voice woke Asha from his tenuous sleep, crying out at something the earl was doing. He couldn’t make out their exact words, expressing their unease, growing clearer by the moment.

“I hardly doubt anyone will come. Sounds like fraud to me. Nobody agrees to this.” The earl, punctuated by the frustrated ripping of what had to be very fine parchment, scoffed. “It’s an attempt to befoul the Tippin name.”

“It is not Asha that befouls the Tippin name, nor Wyverncrest, Vierbalt.” The countess’s shrill voice snipped before the crack of skin-on-skin contact. A slap.

Asha waited for the soft gasp, the quiet sobbing, but what he did not expect was the harder, meatier contact that followed with Earl Tippin’s nasal whimper. “What in Balthier’s name has possessed you, woman?”

“If you wish to become violent with me, Vierbalt, I will trade blow for blow. And I will remind you I have been an extraordinarily good wife considering things. Always remember, I keep a latchkey to your bedchambers, and I’m not afraid to be widowed twice.

Because we both know what would happen if you left a lasting mark on me, husband.

” Countess Elin Wyverncrest never raised her voice or spoke up.

She walked quietly, spoke softly, and apparently held her own well.

“Now go clean the blood off your frock and keep your mouth shut, or I’ll see to it you bear a drunkard’s monocle to match. ”

Asha sat up, quite interested in the proceedings as clipped steps carried their way down and into the hall before his cell. He tilted his head to stare at the flustered countess wearing her best.

“I hear there’s to be a wedding.” Asha’s upper lip curled. He vowed he’d bring shame to them in every way possible. There’d be a new war by the time he finished.

“Loose lips and prying ears. Lyss would have lived longer had she not overheard. I apologize for the chambermaid. Vierbalt’s pride is his undoing when it comes to conquest.” The countess leaned into the bars, gloved hands wrapping around the blacked metal.

“Is that why I’m being shuffled off to Baltheir knows where to marry some heiress?” Asha’s upper lip curled.

“Heiress? Oh, Baltheir’s graces… Lyss didn’t even know…” The countess pulled herself from the bars, swearing.

“Elin! Get your arse up here this instant! There were agreements in place.” The earl hissed from the tops of the stairs, and she turned, her face fierce with all the anger that twenty years had garnered him.

“And you violated them. An heir and a spare were my agreement to you, and your sons are your spitting image. All seven of them!” Elin pulled herself from the bars and whatever she’d come to say, fizzled out when she stormed upstairs. With shocking finality, the heavy, wooden door slammed.

Promiscuous rodent.

Asha had little else he could do but curl onto his side and weather the healing pain of his ripped ear and striped back. His father’s maidservant had given him a thimble of poppy milk once as a child to help, before money grew too thin to afford it.

The bustle of servants overhead ran in full force, people cleaning areas of the castle untouched, making up for Lyss’s absence, softly weeping.

The harder Asha focused, the more he imagined he could hear until all went up in a great tizzy, then silenced, peppered only by the quick step and harried breath of one of the maidservants.

Her eyes were puffy and swollen, filled with tears that genuinely startled him.

“They’s told you about Lyss?” Adrianna, he realized, clutched a bundle to her chest.

Asha couldn’t form words. He only nodded, afraid to say a word lest his voice break.

“My lord says you must clean yourself up for your guest.” She forced her arms through the bars, handing him clean clothes and a razor.

He stared down at the things in his arms as she scurried off before bringing him a bucket of water.

He wanted to refuse it all but risking them turning their nose up at him…

making him stay? He wanted nothing to do with Earl Tippin or his shrew of a mother.

He heard the violence she could give, the stern way she held Earl Tippin at bay.

To claim she was sorry was bitter fruit.

She’d been kind at times, but now that he knew the gestures were out of her own guilt and not kindness… The gifts seemed hollow.

“Fine. If they wish me pretty for my bride, then so be it.”