9
Yseult
At the foot of the great wall, there was a scaffold set up with a single rope hanging from it. The blond warrior held me while his companion looped the thong around my wrists. Once they stepped back and pulled the rope until my arms stretched over head and my toes brushed the ground. I was hung like a side of meat, at the commander’s mercy.
Tristan stalked around me, his crimson cloak fluttering behind him. He wore his helmet once more; it made him look cruel and unyielding.
I bit my lip, straining to find a rock or clump of grass to push my foot against, to give relief.
For a few minutes, the guards watched me struggle. Gaul’s mouth twisted in a mockery of a smile. “This is the part where you beg,” he called.
What would I beg for? My life? I had one purpose. My sisters’ spe
