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... e window where he’d been watching the twelve people he’d commandeered from the army’s ranks. They were in an inner courtyard and no doubt cursing his name. It was bitterly cold out and snowing. He’d discovered that even the army generally relented on days like this and let the soldiers retreat to the questionable warmth of their small fires and tents. Sen was a less forgiving teacher. He required them to train every day. That didn’t mean he was without compassion.

Several braziers dotted ...

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“Now… where should I put you both?” he asked casually, not expecting a reply. “It’s regretful that I only have one chandelier.”

“Underneath my bed? No, no, too dirty. My dust bunnies don’t deserve this,” Atticus mused to himself. “The mantlepiece? How about the vanity table? I suppose if I lop off one of your heads I could mount it over… Wife, which head do you want to stare at while you do your hair?”

“Atticus!” Daphne screamed. “I don’t want any heads! Let them go.”

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Daphne gasped, horrified. This man, her husband, had just killed two men with a flick of his finger, as though he was snuffing out candles.

“I told you to let them go!” Daphne cried out.

“Yes, I let them go,” Atticus said. Then, his eyes darkened. “To receive divine judgment from the heavens.”

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