Bryndle could do nothing. Felt nothing but the painful sobs that wretched from her chest as she tried desperately to pull away from her captures and run to the throne made of stone.
Nodin was on his knees, his back exposed and bleeding. The welts so deep. The Hania warrior didn’t care about his pain though as she yanked his head back ruthlessly. Her lips set in a hard line as she withdrew a wickedly sharp knife from her side.
“No!” Bryndle struggled, not caring that Thrad could see her. That all those here, in this fortress of ancient stone, could see the tears falling from her eyes. Tears that were for him.
The arms around her tightened but Bryndle barely felt it. Barely felt the crushing pressure as the Hania female gripped Nodin’s hair and lifted.
“Your hands are seeped in blood, filthy Iye. I can see their lives now, haunted by the shadows beneath your skin.” The female have a harsh tug and Bryndle felt the wince that hissed from Nodin’s lips.
“This is for them.” And with another sharp tug, she began to saw it off.
The harsh sound of the knife against his long, raven hair made Bryndle flinch, more tears falling from her eyes.
Each slice of the silky strands cut her heart to pieces.
The Hania female was performing one of the most degrading acts. Cutting one’s hair. Sawing at the strands until all that was left was short and uneven.
A sign of pure shame. An outward indication to show all others of his disgrace. Of his failure.
And he didn’t deserve it. Didn’t deserve this humiliation and hatred from a people who believed they knew him.
They didn’t know the first thing about him, but Bryndle did.
Her name was shouted throughout the hall, but Bryndle ignored it. Her arms, now freed, hurried to catch Nodin as the Hania warrior pushed him backwards with her filthy boot.
His massive shoulders filled her arms as they both stumbled to the stone dais. Nodin’s hair was tattered, pieces of it feathering his shoulders. Bryndle pushed the shaggy strands that clung to the bloody sweat of his forehead. Pushed them back from his beautiful but battered face and sobbed, pressing her forehead to his, ignoring the pressing gaze of those around them.
“I’m so sorry,” Bryndle could only whisper.
Nodin’s dark eyes met hers through the pain of a hiss and whispered himself, “it’s alright, Redthorn. It’s alright.” Slowly, the fight to remain conscious drained from Nodin’s frame and Bryndle pressed her face further into the crook of his neck, inhaling cedar and snow and all that was Nodin.
Then, through the haze of her sorrow, anger simmered and as Bryndle finally lifted her eyes to meet that of the Hania Warrior still standing above them on the stone throne, Bryndle let out a chant that was deafening.
And then, in her own tongue, seethed, “you will pay for this.”
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