“Alazar! You strutting peacock from Hell!” Riaura had been captive for days.
It’s wearing on her.
She’d been pacing the tent for hours. “Alazar! You Spawn of Satan! Where are you?”
She’s disrupting my camp. A dangerous endeavor when these Rebels already want to kill her.
Finally, he could take no more. He shoved the tent flap aside. “Silence, you bothersome woman! Is there no time of day your mouth ceases?”
Her eyes spat daggers and her teeth clenched. “What word has come from the Castle?”
“I’m speaking to the messenger now. Perhaps if you’d delay your complaining for but a moment, I could find out and pass on the word, aye?”
“Nay! I want to speak to the messenger myself.”
Of course, she does.
“Fine then.” He shrugged.
“So be it.”
“Are you trying to get the last word?” Giving her a quizzical side-eye, he opened the flap and called for someone.
She’s not going to answer me. He assessed as a man scampered up to the entrance.
“Here. You tell her.” Alazar gestured for someone to enter.
A short, balding man stepped near the entrance to talk to him. Holding a white handkerchief which he unconsciously wrung. “Um-er-My Lady I-I was s-sent to tell ’er ladyship th-that, well-er-the council-”
This could take the next decade to get out. He frowned at the stumpy man throwing him nervous glances.
Is he wondering if I’ll help?
Nope. Not a chance. Go on with it. He gestured for the man to continue.
The bald stranger began sputtering.
“What? Get on with it, man! What’s the decree? My life or the throne?” Riaura demanded. Making the chain on her ankle rattle.
She looked up at Alazar, who stood behind the messenger, as the silence drew on.
He shrugged. Face expressionless.
“Well?” She demanded from the little man.
“It’s done.” He finally blurted. Shoulders drooping and face looking as though he might cry.
There was an extended pause as both men watched her.
Alazar saw it on her face. Three. Two. One…
“What!” She shrieked.