Free Myrren's Gift by Fiona McIntosh Page B

Prince,” Lord Rokan added, keen to be included in the praise.
    Wyl saw Celimus scowl in Rokan’s direction and it seemed the middle-aged noble considered it politic to remain quiet from here on and allow the young royal to have his moment.
    “Have you anything to say?” Lymbert’s voice suddenly boomed to Myrren above the idle murmurings.
    Apparently the priest had stopped his praying, not that Wyl had noticed.
    He watched Myrren take a deep breath and look around her. “Yes,” she replied. “Who is that person?” Lymbert stepped aside, taken aback by her odd question, and looked at those gathered. “Which one?” Myrren stared at Celimus. “You.”
    Wyl did not have to look to know7 it. He could feel the triumph emanating from Celimus and imagined the smile stretching across his face. Wyl felt disappointment knife through him that she had chosen the Prince for recognition and he looked down while Celimus took a step forward, all easy grace and arrogant swagger.
    “My lady,” he said, accentuating his words to ensure the insult could not be mistaken for genuine politeness. “I am Prince Celimus.”
    Wyl glanced toward her. Whether she was surprised to share such lofty company for her forthcoming pain, he could not tell for she managed to keep her expression unmoved, her voice steady. “I understand why the pig-fingered Lord Rokan would bring along his bruised ego and flaccid member for inflation at my expense.” There was a series of audible gasps followed by snickers amongst the audience and Wyl reveled in the high color suddenly on the cheeks of the noble who had brought about her ruin. “But why,” she continued, “would a Prince of the realm have any interest in this—” she swept her strange eyes around the chamber—“mummery? For that’s what this is, sire.” Wyl watched the Prince grin and wondered whether it made Myrren’s heart flutter as it did so many of the young noblewomen of Pearlis.
    “Lord Rokan’s flaccid member aside, madam, I am here in the name of education,” Celimus replied and then Wyl felt himself grabbed by the Prince. He struggled but Celimus held him firmly. “This lad here has never watched a witch confess before. As he is soon to lead our great Legion and stand up as my Champion when I am King, I felt it was my duty to expand his knowledge of Stoneheart’s ways, which has been sadly lacking in his life. He’s a country bumpkin, you see.” This time Wyl twisted away angrily from Celimus’s grip and shook his head vehemently so Myrren would know his attendance here was forced. He remained silent, though, imploring the woman before him to understand.
    She nodded at Celimus but this time her gaze rested on Wyl. “Thank you.” she offered and he knew she understood. “Do what you will, Lymbert. You’ll get no confession from me.”
    “Feisty.” Celimus said, running his tongue over his lips. “Pity she had to be broken so. I would have bedded her first and loosened her mouth by a different sort of torture.” Everyone around him laughed loudly again, led by Lord Rokan aiming to ingratiate himself to the crowd once more after the young woman’s heinous accusation.
    Wyl, helpless to stop this terror unfolding, saw the confessor step forward. There was a sparkle in Lymbert’s eyes. “Myrren, may I introduce you to the Dark Angel. It’s my favorite instrument. I’d like to take a few moments to explain how it works, if you please.” He was all graciousness now, enjoying the chance to show off his latest contraption of pain. “Your hands are tied behind you for a reason and now my assistant is attaching the Ansel to your bound hands. When I give the word, those three men over there,” he said, pointing, but Wyl cheered silently that she refused to look, “will use that pulley to hoist you aloft so you will fly like an angel, your arms outstretched backward like wings.” he said, enjoying himself. “Now, Myrren, it’s at that point we’ll all enjoy