Chapter 4 - THE INTERROGATION AT DAWN
The sun rose not as a disk of gold, but as a dull, bruised smudge of gray behind the frozen fog.
The door didn't just open; it was kicked off its remaining iron hinge with a tremendous crash that sent splintered wood flying across the floor. Sir Harold strode into the cottage, his cloak stiff with frozen slush, flanked by four heavily armed guards carrying naked steel blades.
"Clear!" Harold roared, though the room was entirely empty. His eyes darted to the center of the kitchen. The woven rug was tossed aside. The iron ring of the root cellar was exposed. And the heavy oak door stood wide open.
Harold marched over, peered down into the dark, empty pit, and let out a roar of absolute fury that rattled the pots hanging from the ceiling beam. He turned around, his face purple with rage, and grabbed Rosalind by the collar of her tunic, lifting her bodily off her stool.
"Where is he?!" Harold screamed, shaking her until her teeth rattled. "Where did the beast go?!"
"He's gone," Rosalind rasped, forcing her voice to sound weak, though her eyes blazed with a cold, unyielding defiance. "You left a gap in the perimeter by the western fence. A dying man can crawl faster than frozen soldiers can drink."
"You helped him escape!" Harold raised his iron gauntlet, his fist clenched, ready to strike her across the face.
"Hit me," Rosalind whispered, staring directly into his dark, bloodshot eyes without flinching. "Go on. Break my jaw. And when Lord Kelly asks why his most valuable prisoner slipped through your fingers while you were busy looting a healer's kitchen, tell him you spent your morning beating a defenseless orphan. See how long your command lasts in the southern valleys."
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Harold’s fist trembled inches from her nose. The air between them was thick with the threat of violence. For a terrifying second, Rosalind thought he didn't care about Kelly’s orders anymore—that his rage would outweigh his ambition. But slowly, with a sickening curse, Harold shoved her backward. She hit the edge of the wooden table hard, gasping for breath as she slid to the floor.
"Tie her to the pillory in the village square," Harold snarled to the guards, wiping spittle from his lip. "Strip her of her blankets, take every scrap of food and medicine left in this wretched house, and leave her out in the snow until the frost stops her tongue for good. If the northern dog wants his healer back, let him come down from the mountains and fetch her himself."
