“No,” Orval said. “The one thing I can promise is that I will not lie to you.”
The only sound was his own breathing. He was sweating profusely and his stomach was tight with a need to hurl. All he had were words, so he used them. “If you kill me, kill the newly appointed Lord High Baron, conveniently ridding them of the last of the Airion bloodline, Xyrath and Satia will use the excuse of avenging my death to lay waste to this Barony.”
“We are ready,” a younger male voice this time, passionate and eager. “We will fight them off as we have in the past, as did my father, and his father, and—”
“At what cost?” Orval asked. He shifted, trying to ease his weight off his leg. “There might be a way we can help one another. If I am not dead, Satia and Xyrath have no reason to attack, to send another as Lord High Baron.”
“They will find a reason,” the woman said.
“They might,” Orval admitted. He thought of the list of tithes back in the gatehouse and decided now was not the time to mention them. “They might not.”
“Trust a Xyian?” the oldest male asked, a bitter undertone in his voice. “Either Airion or Wyvern?”
Orval drew another breath of close, stilted air. “Then, if you must kill me, spare my wife and babes. Amari is from Uyole and does not deserve your hate. She is a woman of honor, and the children,” his throat closed. He forced the words out. “The children are innocent. Make out that you have slain us all, but let them go.”
“You offer us your life for theirs?”
“If you won’t consider other options, such as an alliance or truce, then yes,” Orval closed his eyes, feeling the sweat dripping down his face, the blood running down his neck.
His breath was deafening in confines of the sack. He heard nothing else for a long moment.
“There was one we trusted, long ago, she and her Lord High Baron,” the woman paused. “They were good people. But they died and left us in the hands of another Lord High Baron, known best for his cruelty and greed.”
Orval frowned, trying to remember his baronial history. “Which Lord High Baron could you trust?”
The woman sighed and Orval swore he heard a shrug. “Lord High Baron Jerrold and Lady High Baroness Xydell. I remember them well.”
The cold shiver of shock and disbelief hit Orval hard, and a laugh escaped him. Xydell?
“What’s so funny?” came this hiss.
“Aunt Xydell?” Orval asked.
“Aunt?”
Orval cleared his throat. “There is someone you should meet.”
Chapter Forty
Amari watched, shivering, as Orval left her, slipping out through the wooden door on his mission. Roth closed it behind him and threw the bolts with a resounding clunk.
She was terribly afraid for him.
Lara yawned and released her nipple, blinking with sleep.
“I’ll see to her,” Rosalind said, offering Dalan in exchange. “I’ll get her cleaned and lay her down upstairs.”
Amari nodded, heart too full to speak. Dalan stared whining and she took him to her breast. The little boy latched on quickly and she settled down to nurse him, her thoughts in turmoil.
Rosalind headed to the stairs. “Come, Yfin, you can hang that tapestry while I see to Lara.”
“Don’t linger,” Roth said. “In case—” he nodded toward the door.
Yfin nodded and dashed after Rosalind.
“You need to go up too,” Roth said, and Amari looked up, startled. “You need to be bolted in upstairs,” he continued. “In case they try the doors.”
“I just—” she caught herself. “When Dalan’s done,” she agreed, and then cast a glance at Xydell, still and quiet on her pallet. “Should we move her?”
