The small smile at the corner of his mouth told her she’d been right.
“All right then. What do you need?”
“If Eldrossi soldiers are at the front… if one of them even thinks a villager might step out of line—”
Wiren finished for her, grim. “They might use force before thinking.”
Aoife nodded, throat tight. “But your men won’t. You know these people. They know you. If you and the other Morran soldiers are stationed closest to the villagers, it might keep things from… igniting.”
Wiren was silent for a long moment. His breath misted in the air between them.
“If the orders permit it, my men will be there.”
“Thank you,” she whispered.
“For what it’s worth,” he murmured, “I hope whatever you’re planning doesn’t need us.”
Footsteps echoed down the corridor. Clara appeared, breathless, with two figures in tow. Aoife froze, then exhaled sharply and stepped forward, arms wrapping tight around Riona. The woman hugged her with the same desperate strength.
“Thank the Shee you came,” Aoife said, breaking away. “I have a plan.”
As Aoife explained the plan, Riona and her husband Steafan looked unsure.
“It’ll work,” she assured them, though she wasn’t as confident as she sounded.
Steafan gave a grim nod. Riona smiled. “All right, then.”
Aoife gave Riona another hug before she left. “Be careful.”
“We will,” Riona assured her.
Aoife watched them slip through the side door and disappear down the servants’ path toward the yard. She drew a deep breath, trying to steady herself, then made her way up through the servants’ corridor, across the entrance hall and out into the open air.
When she stepped outside, the sunlight struck white off the stones. Halverton was there, hands on the balustrade, looking out over the silent crowd. Six soldiers were on the landing with him, including Wiren, Norin, and Kian. Wiren caught her eye and gave a quick, apologetic shake of his head. Aoife’s stomach turned cold.
She moved closer, keeping her voice low. “What happened?”
Wiren didn’t look at her. “Captain caught wind something was up,” he muttered. “Put us where we can’t do much good. I’m sorry.”
“It doesn’t matter,” she said, and she hoped it wouldn’t.
She stepped up beside Lord Halverton. Her posture was perfect, every line composed. To the crowd below, she looked impeccable, the polished lady of the house standing beside her lord. The villagers were silent, faces dull with resignation. They had seen this before. Nothing ever changed.
Aoife’s eyes roamed the crowd. She knew every face; they were even thinner than she remembered. Her father stood near the front, her brother and sister beside him. Her stomach twisted. She wished they weren’t here to see this.
Aoife angled her head towards Halverton, voice low enough for only him to hear.
“You said once,” she murmured, “that the lord of Dromdara burned his own village because he’d lost control.” She paused. “Will they not think the same of you if you flog a starving man? Does that look like strength to you… or desperation?”
His jaw tightened. He didn’t answer.
She pressed on, voice even softer. “You could show them something different. Show them that your power doesn’t rest on pain. Any brute can order a flogging, but only a man truly in command can choose not to. Show them… show me… that you’re more than they believe.”
For a moment his gaze fixed on her, black eyes unreadable. Aoife held her breath, hoping against reason that he might prove her wrong, to show that beneath the ambition and cruelty there was still a man capable of good.
The silence stretched, heavy as the sky before a storm.
His voice rose, sharp and cold.
