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August 13, 1185
"What do you want?"
Maesflein hucked a wad of spit over the side of the bed. This, Severin had learned, was how to tell which prisoners were there temporarily and which would only leave by the sweet release of the death sentence. The ones who would be released made a point to be at least marginally polite--or at least silent--when anyone higher up than the usual guard came around, especially if they had a chance at a shortened sentence on the basis of good behavior. There was light at the end of their tunnels, and most knew better than to push their luck.
But the ones with nothing to lose... well, they knew it. So what difference did it make, how rude they were?
In Maesflein's case, Severin was grateful. A show of good manners wouldn't have made him like the man at all, nor did he care to feel obligated to be polite in turn. The rudeness made for a more honest exchange. "I'm here to inform you that your trial has been moved up to tomorrow, if that's what you're really asking. As for what I want--that would be to see you convicted."
"What, for your slut wife and her slut sister?"
"As a slut from a long line of sluts, I know one when I see one. Neither my wife nor her sister comes close to that distinction, but that's neither here nor there. How about we abandon the discussion of so-called 'sluts' and instead speak of moral degenerates who force their tiny little cocks on unwilling parties--and who abandon their employees to sickness and poverty." And to that, he saw not a hint of remorse in the prisoner's eye. "At least we both know that you'll never take the same pleasure in the former."
Maesflein scowled. Nora had, in fact, destroyed only one of his balls--but Aerina had advocated removal of the other, 'in case of infection'. Medically necessary or not, Severin couldn't claim to take issue with that decision. His children had all made habits of throwing their toys at one another. What had Severin done in such instances? He'd taken the toys away.
Maesflein's parents, had they done just that, hadn't achieved the same results. Some people were just born rotten. "You haven't felt a shred of guilt the entire time you've been in here, have you? Not even for your poor daughter?"
"Who's to say she was mine? Her mother was a whore."
"Irrelevant. You still would have been the closest she had to a father. You still owed her a better fate than that."
"She owed me for all the months' work she missed! And for the recovery time after that monstrous stillborn spilled out of her cunt! It's not illegal to demand recompense!"
"But it is illegal to rape a person, as it is to merely attempt it, and it is illegal to employ anyone under eighteen as a prostitute--and for a business owner to demand more than a certain percentage of income from a venture they finance but don't actually run. And while I don't know of any specific precedents of such negligence leading to a public health concern, I would assume that such a thing would be at least frowned upon.
"And now that a teenage girl has died, don't be shocked if the jury votes to send you to the noose."
NEXT CHAPTER:
**Trigger Warning
August 8, 1185
"Well. Don't think I've seen you here before." The man's weasel eyes scrunched in a series of squints, thin lips writhing like worms in rainwater. "Think I would've remembered you."
Nora's legs tensed. A squad of armed guards hid around the house, ready to barge in at the first sound of trouble. Her husband had insisted on joining them. He'd been against her going, but she needed to look her sister's rapist in the eye, and he'd understood in the end, at least as well as she could have expected. "I need some pork."
"Don't we all. Damn shame, though; my business partner just left to buy some pigs." Business partner. That explained why any incidents had been few and far enough between that word of his depravity hadn't leaked before now. The presence of a business partner would make for a leash, particularly if he was a man of principle capable of backing said principle. "But I'm sure I could interest you in something else."
Not even trying to be subtle. Disgusting.
Good thing she had that knife in the back of her belt. "No. Just the pork."
"I don't think you're quite sure about that."
Before she could ask how he'd possibly guess that, a claw-like grip took hold of her backside. "Care to try some sausage?"
"No!"
He had the size advantage, but he was apparently unused to his victims fighting back, so she swatted him away with relative ease. For now, she kept her voice to a low hiss; she would call for the guards when he got rough, but she was not done with him yet. "How dare you touch me!"
"How dare I? And what of you?" He grabbed her by the chin and pulled; for the sake of her neck, she had to step forward. "Parading in here, unaccompanied, all that pretty hair spilling out of its bun and those breasts bouncing about beneath that apron?"
"I don't need help buying meat, and there's nothing forward about what I'm wearing. And hell, even if I came in here stark naked--"
"You might as well have!"
He took her by the shoulders and drove her to the wall, an urn by the fireplace smashing in the wake of her leg. The clay edges scratched at her flesh and one large shard dug in with the force of the wall, a warm drip of blood trickling to her shoe. She made a point not to scream. "Stop it!"
"I see it in your eyes, you filthy strumpet! You don't think I know your womanly sins? I married a whore, you know; you're all the same, you bitches. Every last--"
"I told you--" She drew the knife from her apron and jabbed. Wild eyes bulging, he let go of her, stumbling back and buckling over at once. "--to STOP IT!"
The door burst open and in spilled her husband and a half dozen others. Shaking with mingled fear and fury, she sought refuge in Severin's arms while the guards dealt with their convict, now lying on his dirty floor, bleeding and oozing from where no man ever wanted to take a blade.
NEXT CHAPTER:
AUTHOR'S NOTE -- July 30, 2017: So, this post marks the major reveal of one of the story elements for which the third paragraph of disclaimer in the side bar was eventually written. Adding this now just to echo that sentiment, to acknowledge the problematic nature of the post, the way it was handled, and any comments I made on it at the time, and to generally apologize for my poor creative decisions as an uninformed youth, and to commit to being better in the present and future.
December 31, 1164
Falidor and Nora would have been furious with her if they ever found out she had ridden alone all the way to Tetranshire after escorting Rifden to Jothein's old shop, but the way Alsina saw it, what they didn't know wouldn't hurt them. Besides, did they really just expect her to stay in Lyran Village all day? Hell, it wasn't as if she didn't go there a hundred times a year anyway... and who was she to waste such a beautiful day? Would there ever again be a New Year's Eve Day warm enough to leave one's cloak at home? Alsina somehow doubted it.
Besides, Nora had asked her to fetch some meat, and Willott's shop was closed for the day--why not try this one?
Not that there was any discernible sign of meat here, other than the smell. In fact, the only indication that this was even a butcher shop was the butcher's bloody apron. Had he ever washed that thing... ever? She was almost tempted to ask him, but then he stood; dear God, he was tall! And not just tall, but big--if she commented on his personal hygiene, he'd likely smash her into pieces.
Smirking, he drew nearer, the stench of the apron with him. "Haven't seen you around these parts before, miss. Can I help you?"
Alsina swallowed; she could barely lift her head high enough to meet his eyes. "Yes, I... uh, my sister sent me for some salted pork."
"Salted pork?" repeated the butcher with an unusual expression. It almost seemed to Alsina that he was trying to appear apologetic--trying. "I'm sorry, sweetheart, but the pig farmer won't be here for an hour or so. You'll just have to wait."
Somehow, the smell seemed just a little stronger. "Oh. Well... is there anything to do in this village?"
The butcher laughed; Alsina was reminded strangely of one of the dragons from the old bedtime stories Falidor had told her as a little girl. She'd never found them too frightening before, but perhaps she had grown cowardly in her later years. "Not really. It's a village, angel, and it isn't even midday yet--what were you expecting? Granted... a pretty girl like you could probably get the evening started early."
That was an odd thing to say--the sort of thing she'd only ever heard in her dreams. She didn't know what she thought of compliments like that during the waking day. "Oh, well... in that case, I might as well test that theory at the inn."
"Oh, I wouldn't go there if I were you," the butcher advised, pulling her into him and whispering into her ear. Alsina hastily turned and stared at the staircase; she didn't think she could handle the smell from any other angle. "The innkeeper's just as much of a drunk as the worst of his regulars."
It occurred to her that Florian and Thetis didn't live too far from this village. Perhaps she would drop by and pay them a visit. Maybe she would have Florian escort her back for the meat... or maybe to some other shop altogether. She raised her hand to his shoulder, intent on pushing herself away. "I actually just remembered something else I have to do. I should really be going--"
His hand caught her arm between wrist and elbow, the icy touch of his wedding band burning through her linen sleeve. "Please," he breathed, the moisture of his lips detectable on her flesh, "stay a while."
She watched as a few snowflakes landed on the window. Perhaps she should have brought her cloak after all.
NEXT CHAPTER:
January 6, 1159
"Lau--rei--na!" bellowed Halford to the landlady as he and Adonis stumbled into the inn. "Sumthin' to drink for me an' Master Ind'ruon here, tha's a good missy!"
Laureina's husband sent him a disapproving glare. "You're already drunk as it is--and it's barely midday. Why should we serve you anything?"
Halford chuckled heartily. "'Cos we bring you, people o' Veld'rashire, good joy of great news!"
"Or... sumthin' to that effect," added Adonis under his breath.
Seoth continued to stare stonily, but Laureina laughed. "Oh, good joy of great news, you say? And what, pray tell, might that be, Halford?"
"Well, come o'er here and I tell you," he offered her, slapping his knee as an invitation for her to come and sit on his lap--then he remembered that he was standing.
Laureina didn't move; Seoth, however, made his way around the counter. "I'll handle this, love," he told her, turning to face Halford sternly. His grave and cold manner might have been unnerving had Halford been sober; it was a fortunate thing that the landlord was a fairly small man, and that Halford himself was quite large.
His wife took the opportunity to push a second pint toward the hooded patron in the corner, a figure whom Halford might have ordinarily found suspicious, but of whom he took little notice in his current state. "You do that, champ."
"So..." Seoth began, obliging Halford to look downward in order to meet his eye. "Why is it that you've come to the inn when you've clearly already had your fill of wine, if not something stronger?"
"The news!" he exclaimed, rather exasperated. "The joy! E'eryone oughtta know!"
Seoth's eyes narrowed. "Know what?"
He turned to Adonis, who promptly shook his head. "You better tell him, 'Alford... I think I migh be sick," he slurred.
Chancing a quick glance at his now paled-faced friend, Halford snorted. "You gen'lemen can't 'old your liquor. Anyway, Seoth... we were o'er at the castle, right?"
"The castle here?" demanded Seoth. "Lord Severin's castle?"
Excitedly, Halford nodded. "Aye, tha's the one!"
"Continue," Laureina obliged him as she made her way to her husband's side.
"Right. So... we got there, and Lord Se'erin an' Lady Alina were pretty happy about sumthin'."
Impatiently, Seoth made some gestures that seemed to be telling him to get on with it. "And...?"
"There's gonna be a wedding in June!" blurted out Adonis, clearly no longer able to contain himself.
"And not just any ol' weddin'," Halford added, noting the disappointment in Seoth and Laureina's faces. "The king's! King Ro'erick is gettin' married in June! To Lady Alina's sister, Lar'lita!"
Seoth raised an eyebrow. "The former Countess of Bandera?"
"One an' the same! An' you know what a royal weddin' means," he whispered, pausing dramatically for effect. "Tha's right--holiday!"
Giddily, Laureina clapped her hands together, her features alight with the radiance of her smile. "Well, isn't that wonderful? We'll all have a day off! The farmers will certainly be happy."
"Maybe go tell your patrons," Adonis advised her.
Cracking the first hint of a grin Halford had ever seen from him, Seoth nodded. "Indeed, we shall."
"I'll beat you to it!" his wife teased him as they made their way to the tables. "Gentlemen! I have an announcement to make..."
Halford chanced a quick glance at Adonis. "Still want ano'er pint?"
"No thanks," he replied, shaking his head. "I'm drunk enough a'ready. I'll just head 'ome now--now that I know everyone'll be happy. Abs'lutely everyone."
NEXT CHAPTER:
