Lys: Fierce Pride

Cathair looked at the blade, then carefully at Lord Ambrosius, searching his meaning. The man was not easy to read, that was certain. But there was a satisfaction in his look that convinced Cathair that he had been measured and found acceptable.

He took the knife from the warlord, bowing a soldier's bow. "Thank you, my lord. It is at your disposal, whenever you have need of it."


Aithne brought herself to her knees, her heart pounding for Cathair, hoping against hope that Lord Ambrosius would accept him, and loving Cathair for the asking, either way.

When the knife was handed back, it was all she could do not to cheer. The danger was past, and it had resolved into something beyond her expectations. She wanted to leap to her feet and fly into his arms, but she was not yet strong enough, and even if she was, she would not interrupt them for anything.

Instead, she spoke, forcefully but quietly, for her own ears. "There. There is my husband-to-be, and a finer man one would be hard-pressed to find."

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