Ashlynn's condemnation hung heavy in the damp autumn air, weighing down on everyone who heard the fierceness and venom in her voice. As gentle and mild as Ashlynn had been with Eamon and Daithi as they described their life in Sir Ollie's village, when she spoke of Darragh's treachery, it was as though she had become an Inquisitor condemning a heretic.
For a moment, the soft crackle and occasional pop of the campfire and the muffled sounds of horses shifting in the night were the only sounds that could be heard. Among the soldiers and servants watching, everyone held their breath following Ashlynn's pronouncement as they waited for the tribunal of knights to respond. Even Marcel, often one to fidget with a knife or fiddle with the bits of lace at the ends of his sleeves, had gone still as he focused his attention on the knights who served Owain Lothian.
