“Stand on your feet, woman! Do not let the scum who did this see how much they have hurt you!”
Frima met Garth’s eyes for an instant, then turned her gaze back to the doorway. The man Garth had chosen was trying to pry out a spike, using a knife someone had handed him. He was making a mess of the wooden frame, but carefully avoiding any contact between the blade and Saram’s dead flesh.
The Dûsarran swallowed and twisted her dangling feet about so that she could stand. Garth loosened his grip, and she did not collapse.
“The cult of Aghad has killed your husband and vilely abused his body; stand strong now so that they will not have harmed his dignity as well,” Garth muttered in Frima’s ear.
She nodded.
“You are the Baroness of Skelleth,” Garth reminded her quietly. “You must behave acc
