Isla leant against the door frame of Bronwyn’s office and watched him search for a form amongst the papers on his desk. Liam had left two days beforehand, and the ache in her heart hadn’t waned. She wondered if it ever would. Her chances of visiting Wandsworth were slim because of the distance and because her das had never ventured further than the outskirts of Maskil. Still, in a few days, she’d ask if they could go.
The sound of footsteps on the stone floor made her turn and look into the hallway. Hauflin lord Peadar Tasgall appeared deep in thought as he walked and didn’t see her. She sneaked a glance at her das; he continued his searched in a cabinet drawer. She slipped from the doorway and followed the lord.
“Hey,” Isla called out. She watched him stop mid-stride and turn to face her.
“What is your query, child?” Lord Tasgall cocked his head and stared at her. The cloak cascading over his slim shoulders hovered near his knees, concealing his body in a layer of brown brocade. His dark hair swooped across his forehead and disappeared beneath the collar of the cloak. His intense gaze intimidated her.
“I wanted to know why…why you let it happen.”
“Let what to happen?”
She drew a deep breath. Her das taught her to respect the lords, to speak to the guardians of the castle with appreciation. The wise lords had important jobs. They kept everyone in Maskil safe. But they hadn’t kept Liam’s das safe. “Why did you let them kill Liam’s das? He didn’t murder Lady Dasia.”
Lord Tasgall sighed and looked at her sympathetically. “My dear child, I passed no judgement. There was naught I could do.”
“But you’re a lord. You have the power to control things. You let them kill him.”
“I empathise with your loss, but the evidence clearly found him guilty of the crime and deserving of the punishment.”
“He couldn’t kill anyone. He was a good man.” Isla felt tears burn her eyes. The anger grew inside, and the words spilt forth unchecked. “You’re the murderer. You watched them take his life, and you”—she dug her finger into his chest— “didn’t do anything! Doesn’t it matter they killed one of us? A hauflin?”
Lord Tasgall stepped back. “You’ve been misled, child. I did not witness the extraction of his life.”
“You knew they’d kill him, and you didn’t have the courage to stop it! I hate you!” Without another thought, she slapped his face. No sooner had she made contact when a force from behind jerked her off her feet.
“I’m sorry, My Lord.” Sanderson flung the hauflin over his shoulder. Her feet kicked wildly and her fists beat on the captain of the guard’s upper back. “I’ll see to her.”
“I understand her grief.” The lord touched his palm to his red cheek. “The day traumatised us all.” He turned and walked away.
Isla fell limp when Sanderson began walking. As she bobbed up and down with his stride, she caught a glimpse of her das following in silence. A look of confusion blanketed his face. When he learnt what she’d done, he’d be furious.
They passed through the doorway of Sanderson’s office. The captain of the guard gestured for Bronwyn to remain at the threshold as he sat in his chair and plopped Isla on his knee.
She pushed her hair from her face and looked up at the largest man in Ath-o’Lea. He reached up and wiped her tears away with one swipe of his shirt sleeve. Then he tugged on the front of her vest to straighten it. In all the years she’d known him, Sandy had never said a mean word to her. Though she sensed a reprimand for her actions, she didn’t fear him. She had lived long enough to know most people in her life acted inconsistently and easily gave way to emotional outbursts. Sandy didn’t.
“I once knew a young sprite like you,” began Sanderson. “She abounded with spit and fury, too. When she believed in a cause, she never gave up. She stayed loyal ‘til the end.” He paused. “I didn’t mind, but it created a problem.” He eyed the young hauflin. “She let the fury get the better of her. I tell my guards, if you’re blinded by rage, you miss fine details. They may not seem like much, but they could add up to a story worth hearing.” He adjusted her weight on his knee. “I know you hurt. Liam’s your good friend. But it doesn’t give you the right to slap a lord.”
Isla heard her das catch his breath, and she bowed her head. She shouldn’t have struck the lord, but he had infuriated her when he said he couldn’t do anything to save Liam’s das. Why couldn’t he? Then she remembered: he said he hadn’t witnessed the killing.
With his thick index finger, Sanderson lifted her chin. “You’re a smart girl, a little young, yet, to understand the workings around here, but I bet if you think about what happened today, you’ll be wiser.”
Isla stared up at Sandy. She wanted to be wise like him and her das and Alaura. Then she could fix things when they went wrong. “I’m sorry I disappointed you, Sandy. I’ll think the next time.” She leant in close. “But if he deserves a reprimand and I’m not angry, can I give him one?”
Sanderson chuckled. “I’d expect nothing less.” He pulled her into his arm pit and ruffled her hair. “Off with you now”—he set her on her feet—“before every guard thinks he can sit on my knee for a reprimand.”
She walked towards her das. She feared he’d have a longer lecture for her. When she looked back at Sanderson, she found him playing with the ring finger on his left hand. He did it a lot. She wondered if he realised it.
“Sergeant.” Sanderson eyed Bronwyn. “One reprimand will suffice.”