Free Crucible by Mercedes Lackey

good idea, Lady,” Ondon said behind her. “He’s got a bit of a temper, and with a bad head, he might not—”
    The man raised his head, his hair long and wild, his beard unkempt. He blinked at her with bloodshot eyes. “Who’n the hells’re you?” he slurred.
    â€œI am Lady Cera of Sandbriar,” Cera started, but lowered her voice when he winced. “I wanted to speak to you about
chirras
. Do you know of—”
    â€œ
Chirras
?” Ager coughed and reached for a bottle, trying to find a full one.
    â€œYes,” Cera said. “Do you know if any are still alive?”
    His bleary, watery eyes went flat with rage in an instant. “They wanted them, wanted them all!” he roared as he stood, scattering bottles and dishes and sending the table scraping over the wooden floor. “And we went, we did, the Old Lord and I and all our herd, and those gentle things gave and gave and gave until their hearts gave out, or the bastard Karse killed them!” Ager staggered where he stood. “I tried so hard to keep ’em alive, and I failed. Dead, all dead and gone and you dare—” He sucked in air and screamed.
“You dare ask?”
He raised his fists and stepped toward her.
    Cera froze, terrified. All she could see was her husband Sinmonkelrath, spewing hateful, hateful words, fists raised to deliver yet another beating, his face enraged as he came toward her.
“Stupid, rude cow!”
    Cera cried out in anguish, for there was no help, no hope, and she deserved every word, every blow—
    She moaned and raised her arms to ward off the coming blows.
    Ager pulled up, his face clear of anger and covered in confusion. “What?” He looked at his fists in horror.
    Gareth had already exploded through the door, boar spear clutched in his hands, looking for blood. He surged forward, his spear aimed at Ager’s chest.
    â€œNo!” Ondon whacked down on the spear with his cane, making the point just miss Ager and dig into the floor.
    Cera felt hands tug on her skirts, and she let Alena pull her out and away. She staggered out, still stunned, feeling somehow there and not there. Trying to breathe.
    She could hear men’s voices arguing in the hut behind her, but the words were indistinct, muffled by the pounding of her heart.
    Alena pulled her close. “Let’s get you home.”
    â€¢Â â€¢Â â€¢
    Ondon stayed with Ager, “to give him a talking to.”
    Gareth glowered as he mounted, but Cera insisted he come with them. The headman would deal with Ager in his own way. She wanted nothing more than to be gone from this place.
    They were halfway home when her numbness wore off. Cera slipped from her saddle, ran into the concealing brush, and dropped to her knees as she threw up.
    She was aware of the commotion behind her, but was helpless to do aught but try to breathe through her heaves.
    And when all that was left to bring up was bile, and not much of that, all she could do was pant and stare at the disgusting mess of vomit and feelings scattered over the autumn leaves.
    â€œHere now,” Alena whispered at her side as a gentle hand rested on the back of her neck.
    Cera shuddered as the touch cut through her pain. Alena pulled her back to sit, her skirts a jumbled mess around her.
    â€œIs everything alright?” Gareth called.
    â€œMy lady’s using the woods,” Alena called back. “Keep to the road.” She sat down beside Cera. “Here,” she used a waterskin to dampen a handkerchief. “It’s alright now, you are safe,” she crooned as she wiped Cera’s face.
    â€œNo,” Cera coughed, trying to clear her throat. “Oh, Alena, Alena, I thought I was free of him.”
    â€œYou are, you are—” Alena started to weep.
    â€œNo, no . . .” Cera could barely force out the words through her tears.
    Alena leaned in, pressing their heads together.