AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Rowan returned his stare for several moments of silence. “I’m sorry. I spoke out of turn.”
He heard muffled talking and laughter up the stairs in one of the halls. And beyond the walls, the clang of steel reverberated.
“She shall be dealt with appropriately,” Rowan whispered. “Your only job is to find her. Now see it done.”
* * *
Stale heels of bread, a simmering stew above the fire, and a grief that seemed to deepen rather than heal filled the passing days. Petyr’s oblivious laughter was difficult for Blanchette to endure. It seemed impossible that there could be people who still laughed and played and hardly cared about the downfall of a great house.
Nay, I am still alive, keeping my grandmother’s vow.
Blanchette watched the banner of the Black Wolf fly through the village each of those days. Her heart remained a raw and aching wound.
Her actual wounds hurt monstrously as well. Jonathan had applied a salve on her cut cheek, hand, and leg—one of her own making and from herbs he’d collected at her request.
Her hatred for the Black Wolf had become an obsession. She’d grown to blame every little misery on him, and the one thing that kept her going was that very hatred.
I shall fulfill my promise.
Blanchette stared into the hearth, where the cast-iron pot dangled over the fire. The aroma of stewed rabbit, carrots, onion, and barley infused the small space, yet Blanchette’s stomach roiled. Outside, the sky was black and slick as ink. Moonlight streamed through the rough-spun curtains, casting a glow across the oak floorboards. The shadows lengthened and danced, moving like living things.
Beyond the home, wind and rain pelted the thatched roof.
The rain sounds like tears.
Like my family weeping.
Little Petyr sat cross-legged on Norland’s rug, his ruddy cheeks flushed with warmth and excitement. He held a wooden toy in his small hands, carefully carved to resemble a gallant knight atop a steed. The knight’s hand-painted shield bore a faded emblem, and Jonathan had shaped the wooden horse to mimic the graceful curves of a destrier.
Wrapped in a homespun blanket, Blanchette watched the boy play out a grand battle between his knight and an imaginary dragon. Absently, she ran her fingers over the blanket’s threadbare material. Once, the blanket had been beautiful and vibrant, but now it was sun faded and worse for the wear. She enjoyed its warmth all the same.
Petyr’s laughter rang out like a bell as he made the knight swing his sword.
“Look, Blanchette, look! Look, or you’ll miss it! Sir Aldric is about to face the fearsome dragon of the Dark Woods.” The wooden knight charged forward, the horse’s hooves clattering on the rug.
Blanchette leaned in closer, her eyes following the imaginary duel. “Oh, I see him,” she whispered. “Sir Aldric is a brave and noble knight indeed.”
Petyr nodded vigorously. “The dragon breathes fire, but Sir Aldric is too fast. He dodges the flames and strikes the dragon’s belly with his sword!” Petyr moved the knight and mimicked all the necessary sounds.
Blanchette felt herself being drawn into Petyr’s world of make-believe. “Well, don’t stop there. What happens next?”
Petyr’s eyes gleamed as he continued. “The dragon roars in pain—ROARRR!—and runs into his cave. Sir Aldric is victorious!” He raised the wooden knight in triumph, his face beaming.
Blanchette managed a small smile. “Well done, Sir Aldric,” she whispered. “You are a hero of great valor.” She saw her brother, Willem, kneeling on the rug for a moment, his blond curls shimmering in the firelight. She blinked, and the vision disappeared, leaving behind Petyr and his unruly red hair again.
“Do you think he should rescue the princess from the dragon’s cave?”
Blanchette’s gaze fixed on the hearth’s dancing flames. “That would be a noble quest, wouldn’t it?” she said, her voice tinged with sadness. “To save a princess in distress.”
Petyr nodded and flashed a gap-toothed smile, then went back to playing knights and dragons without a care.
Since the siege, Blanchette’s emotions had ranged from sorrow to rage to a grim acceptance. And every dream had been flooded with shades of red and black—blood and the Black Wolf of Norland.
The monsters found her whenever she slept. She’d journey down into the earth, where her dead kin rested in her family’s crypts. She would take shelter behind the stone statues and sometimes even inside the tombs.
But the Black Wolf would always find her. His eyes would glow in the darkness as he stalked through her family’s turf, his head held low, slobber and blood dripping from his powerful jaws. She’d wake as he pounced on her and went for her throat, crying out, her face wet with tears, night sweat everywhere?—
“Ah, Petyr, it’s time for bed,” Jonathan said as he entered the home and shut the door behind him. The rain had drenched his shaggy-looking cloak. He peeled it off and flung it next to the hearth to dry. “Off with you now,” he said, ruffling Petyr’s curls. “Or you’ll wear poor Blanchette’s ears off with your chatter.”
