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It’s been the same every morning since I began watching them three days ago. The woman makes a modest breakfast while the man does all the morning chores. They argue about the cow, and then the man complains about the breakfast she’s made while shoveling it into his mouth.
They have five children, but none of them remain, not even a dutiful daughter to take care of them in their old age. Perhaps they beat them the way they did Elora. And now they’ve been left to fend for themselves.
I haven’t been able to coax any more information from Elora about her mistreatment at the hands of her uncle, but the scars on her back were all the motivation I needed to seek him out. The idea to make him pay was formed the moment I saw the marks on her skin. Only now, he might be useful to me. In more ways than one.
Their small property backs up to the forest on the edge of the Goddess of Nightmare’s territory. Elora was born in the capital city of Dremen, which isn’t far from here but far less remote than this parcel of land. Although it’s perfectly placed for my purpose here today.
No one will hear the screams.
Stepping away from the forest’s edge, I cross the snowy stretch of ground. They’re still arguing about the fucking cow when I pause at the door hanging crooked on its hinges. Rolling my eyes, I open the door with a flick of my wrist, mouth quirking up into a wry grin when the old woman shrieks. I’m going to enjoy this more than I anticipated.
“Who in the fuck do you—”
The man’s words die on his tongue when he realizes who I am, and he drops the knife he’d reached for on the table.
“Beg pardon, m’lord. I didn’t know we had the honor,” he mumbles, the bluster leaving him.
“Sit.”
A chair jerks out from the table at my command, making him flinch, but he ambles over to take a seat, tensing when his wife lays her hand on his arm for comfort.
“Can I get you anything, m’lord?” The woman asks. “We don’t have much, but there’s ale and some fresh bread.”
“You had a brother,” I say to the man, ignoring the woman’s offer.
“I did. He died a long time ago.”
“But he left behind a little girl.”
He glances up at the ice in my tone, shifting in his chair and gripping his hands in his lap.
“My brother and his wife, they had a daughter. Yes. But I…” He casts a sideways glance at his wife, whose hands are clutched so tight in her lap her knuckles are white. “I don’t know where she is. She ran away a long time ago.”
Even if I wasn’t a god, something about the way he says it signals it’s a lie. Or maybe it's the dart of his eyes around the room, landing anywhere but on me.
“We both know that isn’t true.”
He sucks his teeth and pulls at his thinning beard. “She was a handful, that girl. We did what we could for her, and when we couldn’t, we let her go.”
“After you were finished beating her, you mean.”
“Every child needs discipline,” he snaps.
His wife sucks in a sharp breath when I step closer, the knife disappearing from the table and materializing in my hand. I crouch in front of him, the firelight glinting off the blade when I hold it up to his face. His eyes are cold, unfeeling, and I imagine Elora staring into them each time he took a strap to her and left his scars behind.
“You marked her,” I growl, trailing the tip of the knife over the pounding pulse in his throat. “With scars and pain she still carries today. There’s a price to pay for that.”
“Please, m’lord,” his wife begs, leaning forward in her chair. “We’re sorry. He’s sorry,” she assures me even as her husband snorts his disagreement. “We didn’t know any better.”
“Did you watch him beat her?” I tilt my head when she purses her lips. “Tend her wounds when he’d worked out all his rage on a little girl? Answer me,” I snap when she remains silent.
“A wife must support her husband in all things. Even when she disagrees.”
Unsatisfied with her answer, I draw back the blade and plunge it into her husband’s thigh. He screams and thrashes against my hold on the handle, blood soaking through the wool and coating the steel when I pull it free.
“Elora deserved better than the two of you.”
“She got exactly what she deserved,” her uncle replies, pinning me with a hard stare. “And if you want to kill me for raising her as I saw fit, then go right ahead. I’m not afraid of you or any god.”
